Page 6 of The Sinners Gambit

I hear a knock on the bedroom door. When I get back to the room I see a note being passed underneath. I jog past the note and try to open the door again. It’s still locked. I slam my hand on the door. “You can’t lock me in here forever!”

“You’ll see I can do whatever I want, my little firecracker,” someone says from the other side. I don’t know if it’s the driver, the one with the gun, or someone else. I hear footsteps continue to walk away from the door.

I bend down and pick up the piece of paper on the floor.

Killian and Axel. Everyone knows Killian Morel, the fucking billionaire tech mogul. And Axel is his right hand, always there next to his best friend, ready for trouble . . . or apparently to impersonate an Uber driver. They’re a bit under a decade older than me. Now that I know for sure who took me, I feel a lot calmer. The unknown was hard to handle. But knowing it was Killian’s emerald green eyes staring at me from beneath the hoodie while he drugged me brings a smirk to my face. I know exactly what to do.

He wants me to dress appropriately? No problem. I’ll play his games. Chess has always been my favorite because I always win. And what he doesn’t know yet is that’s exactly what we’re playing.

I go take a shower and get ready for dinner.

Game on, bitch! I do love a gambit.

Chapter 4

Killian

I’msittingdownatthe computer desk in my study, watching my little firecracker on the screen. I designed this room just for her, just like her bedroom. There are floor to ceiling vintage bookshelves with a built-in ladder for those tough-to-reach shelves. I took care to make all the spaces in our home fit to her tastes and needs. Not the ones she shows to the world, but the ones she tries to hide when she thinks no one’s watching. Everything is in shades of dark woods and shadowy colors with splashes of blood-reds, royal blues, and emerald greens here and there.

Naomi Adams. Her name means pleasantness, while she’s anything but. There’s a fire within her, one that I can’t wait to bring out to play. She’s the vixen of my dreams . . . maybe nightmares is more accurate? Or maybe I’m the devil of hers. Nevertheless, she’s my soulmate, even if she doesn’t realize it just yet. She will.

I can’t contain my excitement as I see my girl getting ready for our first date. It’s hard for me to see her upset, but I’ll do whatever it takes to forge her into her full, fiery potential.

I can see the rage in her eyes even from here. I know it’ll take a while for her to warm up to me and accept what I already know. Our souls are meant to be one. I knew it in my bones the moment I first laid eyes on her. I’ve waited for this moment for over a year, making sure everything is perfect for her here before bringing her home.

My right hand finds the curve of the antique knob of the desk drawer. I pull out the small keepsake treasure chest and place it in front of me. I’ve done this so many times I don’t even have to look. As I open the chest, my eyes land on one of my favorite ascots with a skull-face pattern on it. It’s folded up with a small red bead on top. No matter how many times I open this box it brings a smile to my face and brings me right back to the moment my whole life changed.

“Coffee! Coffee! Coffee!”I yell in my head in Lorelai Gilmore’s voice as I walk down the block to the coffee shop. I grew up watching the TV show with my mother before she and my father died in a burglary when I was in middle school. That’s not what the world thinks though. The family's PR team thought it wouldn’t be good press for the company, so the world believes they died in a car accident due to mechanical failure.

While I pretended like I hated every moment of watching the show because it was too “girlie,” I enjoyed the time spent with my mom. I’d like to think despite the stereotype of filthy rich families, we were a close-knit one.

I smile when my salvation is finally in view, but it quickly turns into a frown once I walk in. The line is to the door—which is unsurprising because it’s rush hour for everyone starting their morning shift. Groaning, I decide to wait it out as this is the only thing I look forward to when I’m this far from home and in the city. My uncle raised me after my parents' early demise in the mansion he calls home at the tip of Long Island. I couldn’t stand being in the home where my parents were murdered. Being there had the night of me walking in on them replaying on a never-ending loop.

I pull out my phone to respond to some emails while I wait when something shiny catches my eye. A woman with split-dyed hair is wearing a tiara that caught the reflection of the sun shining through the shop windows. She may have been the one to catch my attention, but she’s not the one holding it. No, it’s the hauntingly beautiful woman with raven-colored hair she’s speaking to.

I catalog every inch of her five-foot-eight inch—give or take—body. She has an athletic build and is wearing scrubs that are doing great things for her ass. While the girl she’s with seems animated with a no-shits-given attitude, she looks like she does nothing without exact precision and intention.

“Excuse me, beautiful. I think I’m in need of assistance from a nurse,” a stereotypical Ken doll look-alike says from behind them.

Split-dye turns her head quizzically and asks him with a straight face, “You hear voices in your head too?” This makes Raven Goddess chuckle.

“I’m not a nurse, sir. I’m a surgeon.” She gives him a polite nod. Her tone doesn’t give her away, but her beautiful midnight-blue eyes do. She’s pissed, but able to keep her composure well. I’ve spent a lifetime studying people and can easily pick up on these things. “Hence thejokeof voices in your head.” Something tells me Split-Dye wasn’t joking and she knows it.

Ignoring Split-Dye, he turns to solely focus on my girl, which oddly makes my spine steel. “Even better, I saw you when I came in”—great, he’s an asshole who also cuts in line—“and I’m absolutely going crazy thinking about how good you’d look wrapped around my—” The line starts moving forward, and I take a step. Part of me wants to help because I hate nothing more than douchebags, but the other part is equally enamored with this woman, and I’m curious how she’ll handle this. I don’t know her, but something tells me she knows how to put people in their place.

“I’m going to stop you right there because I would definitely look good wrapped around anything, but that wouldn’t help the fact that the size of your giant ego is probably telling of your lack of skill in other areas.” His mouth thins as his face and neck turn red. “So, simmer down and get to the back of the line where you belong.” Fire is igniting her eyes.Yes! I knew there was something that was drawing me to her. My eyes go to her grabbing Split-Dye’s hands to calm her, because she looks feral and ready.

“You bitch,” he says, grabbing her wrist. The next moments happen in a flash. She twists out of his grip and instantly grabs his arm, pulling it behind his back and kicking his legs from under him. Next thing I know he's chest down on the floor with her on top of him. Every pair of eyes is on them with absolute silence. The only sound in the coffee shop is the beads from her bracelet rolling across the floor. It popped apart in the scuffle.

“No means no, buddy,” Split-Dye says. “You’re lucky I let my sister handle this one.”Hmm.I would never have guessed they’re siblings. Raven Goddess has tan skin with curly black hair, while Split-Dye has alabaster skin. It’s like they both have European roots, but the opposite ends—much like their personalities.

“Is everything okay, miss?” says the definitely underpaid security guard.

“No, I think this man was just leaving.” She slowly gets off him.

The security guard helps escort the man out. Split-Dye starts giggling, and her sister chuckles. And my God if it isn’t the sweetest sound.

That’s when I make the decision that I need to know her. I bend over, pretending to tighten my shoe and pick up a red bead to keep.

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