Page 25 of Rise of the King (Checkmate 5)

This isn’t the skill level of a hobbyist dancer, but of a girl who owns a legitimate graduate certificate from somewhere like Juilliard. Educations like that don’t come cheap, nor do they come easy. So why train so hard, why work until you can literally dance on your toes, only to find employment taking customer complaints?

“Holy fuck!” Soph slams back against the glass so hard, I worry she’ll fall straight through to the street. Hand on her chest, gun in her hand –where the fuck did the gun come from?– Soph points it between my eyes and stares with fear in hers. “You scared the shit out of me, Jay. Jesus, fuck! What the hell is the matter with you?”

Her chest heaves, and her hand shakes. Moving forward on flat feet without lowering her piece, she stops at her desk and points a remote at the stereo until the music dies. It was an orchestra of bassand beauty, and now this apartment is dripping faucets and slamming hearts.

I don’t move a muscle.

I’ve had one too many guns pointed at my head to make the mistake of spooking a woman on the edge.

One leg stretches out ahead of me; the other is bent and holding my elbow as I watch her. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Her voice lifts an octave or two as fear turns to anger. “Where the hell are your boundaries? My front door was locked. I’m a single woman living in a big city all by myself; those locks were my comfort, you piece of shit. They promised safety while I slept. You just stole that from me! What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“I’m sorry.” Lifting one hand in surrender, I use the other to push myself up from the floor. “I was coming up to say hey, but you couldn’t hear me knock. Your music was too loud.”Yeah, that’s honorable, asshole. Put the blame on her and her music.“I swear, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Tears form in her eyes. Real life, tear-my-guts-out, kick-my-own-ass tears, but she refuses to let them fall. “You stole something from me just now, Jay. You fuckin’ stole my safety,andabout ten years of my life.”

“Your home is still safe, I promise.” I keep my hand raised in surrender but step toward the gun like I’m not scared. “No one else would be able to pick your locks the way I did, I swear. Plus, I’m on the fourth floor; no one will come up to see you without having to pass me first.” I stop when the barrel of her gun rests against my heart. “I’m sorry. I was curious about your music, let myself in, then got carried away watching you dance. You’re so good at it.”

She stares into my eyes for a full minute. Her hand shakes, and the barrel of her gun taps the dog tags tucked beneath my shirt. She wages a silent war in her mind.Trust him, or shoot him like a mongrel dog and get him out of her life.“I’ve been dancing since I was three.”

Her voice shakes, and to make a point, she doesn’t lower her gun. But she acknowledges my words.

“You’re really good at it. Like, better than I expected.” I run a nervous hand through my hair. I have no clue why I’m nervous; that’s not who I usually am, but I have a real-life fucking ballerina holding a gun to my chest.And she’s so pretty.“Ah… I’m genuinely impressed by what I just saw, and believe it or not, that doesn’t happen often.”

“Well…” She gives a snooty little sniff. “I graduated high school early and had a full ride scholarship to a prestigious dance school.”

“I can tell.” Slowly, I push her gun to the side. One. Slow. Inch. At. A. Time. “I could tell you dance just by your body, but fuck, Soph, I didn’t realize you werethatgood.”

When the gun clears my chest, she drops it on a sigh so her arm rests along her thigh. “I’m the best. I’m the best at everything I do.”

I step closer, because her eyes continue to sparkle with fear despite her arrogance. Stepping in until the toes of my boots touch her ballet slippers, I pull her forward until her forehead rests in the center of my chest. “I’m sorry for scaring you, Soph. I swear I am. I won’t ever sneak up on you again; you have my word.”

“Don’t come into my apartment without my permission again.” Clearing nervousness from her throat, she gives up fighting my hold when I blow hot air against the top of her head. Drooping with a sigh, she throws her arms around my hips and turns her face so her cheek rests against my heart.

“Your gun wasn’t really loaded, was it? Your daddy give you that and tell you pointing was enough to scare them off?”

“No.” One-handed, she pulls the shiny PK380 back, ejects the magazine with a flick of her finger, then racks it once and pops the round from the chamber. “It was live, and you’re really fucking lucky you didn’t die.”

Chuckling, I fix my arms so they wrap around and secure her against my body. I’m still horny as fuck, but her fear gives me something else to focus on. It’s another piece to the puzzle that is Sophia Solomon the Wise and Peaceful. “Thanks for not shooting me. I can’t deal with more right now. That shit hurts like a bitch.”

Startled, she pulls back and stares into my eyes. Hers are narrowed, her brows pinched close together. Transferring her useless gun to her left hand, she brings her right thumb up and presses just below the scar on my forehead. “I rarely see you without a hat or beanie. You hiding this?”

“Ha.” Stepping back so her perfumed scent can’t cloud my judgment anymore, I walk toward the wall to collect my beanie and drop it on my head. Fixing it low over my brows and covering the still tender scar on my forehead, I stop with a scowl and study her trim body. She lifts to the tips of her toes, then drops down with barely a sound. Lifts. Drops. It’s like she has nervous energy to work off the same way I do. “It’s a long-ass story, Soph, and even if I took the time to lay it all out, you wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“Believe what?” Clasping her hands together and clutching at the gun, she lifts and gives herself an extra six inches of height, then drops so her toes point to the sides.

She’s consistently contradicting herself; sweet ballerina…with a gun. “What wouldn’t I believe?”

“Nothing. You can keep dancing if you wanna.” I poke my thumb over my shoulder and actively try to annoy her… or turn her on.Whichever works.“I can just sit here and jack off while you’re doing your thing.”

“You’re despicable,” she spits. “Why are you here, Jay? We aren’t friends. We aren’t anything! You’re literally a dude I saw in the diner a couple times, you said hey, and now you seem to think we’re pals.”

“We are pals.” Crassly, I slide my hand inside my jeans and fist my cock. “I’m hard as steel and desperate for you, Soph, and lucky for you, you don’t even have to touch me if you don’t wanna. Dancers can touch their toes, right?” I lift my chin. “Go back and do your thing. Bend over and show me what you’ve got; I’ll take care of the rest. You’ll hardly even notice me here.”

“No!” Storming forward on flat feet, she shoves me back against the wall with a deep grunt. “Get out of my apartment! We’re not friends. We’re not fuck buddies. We’re not anything except whatever weird bullshit you made up in your head the past week or so. You were not invited in here, so go away!” Frustrated because she weighs so little and can’t budge me, she smacks my arms so hard, I swear the handgun chips my bone. “Did you get that scar because you forced your company on the wrong girl, Jay? Snuck into the wrong apartment and weren’t so lucky that time?”

Jessie’s fight against my hold replays in my mind. Her screamedNo!and kicking legs play on repeat until I swear I can literally feel her in my arms. “Kinda. There was a lot of noise and screaming that night.”

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