Page 80 of Pawn's in the Bishop's Game (Checkmate 1)

“No.”

Like a bad omen, a black cat jumps from the dumpster and lands on the roof of my car. I screech into the dark when beer bottles and empty cans fall to the concrete. “Kane! I’m scared, okay? I’m not even lying. There are scary men around here. What about that guy Murphey? You don’t want him to grab me, do you? I need you to save me. Please wake up.”

Kane’s dead eyes snap open and watch me for the longest minute of my life. Licking his lips, he fumbles with his long legs and drops his feet to the asphalt, burping in my face as I lean in to help him. A foul odor – the scent of death and rot – nearly blinds me as my stomach threatens to revolt. I tuck my face into my shoulder, dig my arms under his, and work to pull him up.

My stitches sting as the thread used to hold me together shifts, burning when I lift more than two-hundred pounds and try not to crap my pants. “Come on. You need to help me here, Kane. You’re letting the team down.”

“I’m sorry.” Clutching to me and almost folding me into the car like wet cardboard, his right hand swings out and grabs the doorframe. Grunting, his eyes wheel around in the back of his head, but his feet move and his strong arms help me pull him out.

He stands tall, sways, and crushes my ribs when he uses me to steady himself. “I’m so tired.”

“I know. Let’s move. We just have to get up the stairs, then you can sleep.”

“Don’t let me die, Jessie. I’m not ready yet.”

“I won’t. I promise.” I don’t even know if that’s the truth. I don’t know what’s in him, so I don’t know how to help. And I’m terrified to call my brother whowouldknow how to help. “Come on, Kane. You wanna sleep in bed with me? This is your chance. I’ll take my top off.”

His lips turn up into a stupid grin. “I’ve wanted to fuck you since I saw you.”

“I know.” I kick my car door closed and swing his arm around my neck. He chokes off my air, but at least he moves forward.

Three steps forward. One step back.

That’s as far as we get before he falls to his knees and spews up every last thing he ate today.

“No!” I cry out with frustration. Stepping around his head and avoiding the spew, I squat down and lift his face. “Please get up, Kane. I can’t lift you.”

“Kiss me.” When he leans forward, I arch back so far I almost fall on my ass. “Come on, pretty girl. Lemme fuck you.”

“No. Not fucking a man that’s got vomit in his mouth or cocaine in his blood. Come on.” Just like with the car but a thousand times harder, I push my hands under his sweaty arms and try not to gag at the stench of vomit. “Let me take you to bed.”

“That’s what I just said, Blondie! Your brain getting in your hair?”

If I wasn’t so concerned for his life, I’d laugh at his inability to form sentences.

But I am scared.

I’m fucking terrified.

Just like last night when he was unconscious, I was vulnerable. I wasn’t safe. He’s conscious tonight, but he’s just as useless if someone stops us.

I pull him up and hitch my bag over my shoulder, and with renewed energy, we move forward. I refuse to be caught down here with him this way. I refuse to be victimized again.

Pushing through the shitty glass door that acts as security to this shitty building, we stumble to the bottom stair and look up with dread. Five flights of concrete stairs. No elevator. No escalator. Nothing but grit and a man stoned out of his head.

“Alright.” Holding his weight up, I start up the first stair. One down, six-hundred-million to go. “What happened tonight, Kane? Why’d you take drugs?”

“Had to.” His arm wraps around my shoulder until his palm rests over my boob, and each time his floppy hand brushes over my breast, he grins like a fool. “Abel will kill us if we say no. Nice titties, Blondie.”

“Who is us? Who else?”

“Jay.”

“Who’s Jay?”

“My best friend with an ugly ass. He was monster fuckin’ tonight, Blondie.” Stopping at the first landing, I pant and recoil back when he leans in and presses a vomity kiss to my hair. “Turned me the fuck on. I had one girl, but I wanted you.”

“You called me?”

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