Page 84 of Sacrifice the Knight (Checkmate 6)

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Eric

Aren Aristov has been, still remains, and will for a long time remain in maximum security prison. It’s been more than a decade since he murdered my family in cold blood, and in that time, he’d earned a little freedom inside his cages. He was allowed time in the yard, time working in the cafeteria, and more recently, time working in the laundry, which is where he was able to have a phone smuggled in for personal use.

He called me to torment me, to hurt me, to scare me half to death, and it worked like a fucking charm. But he’s still locked away, and despite the fact Kane, Jay, and I are no longer federal employees, we were once, so we were able to speak to my former superior and have this taken care of.

You don’t fuck with a cop’s family and expect to have a cushy life inside prison.

Aren’s phone was confiscated, his time outside his cell cut off, and now my answering machine remains void of his slithery voice. But that doesn’t negate the seventeen times he called, the seventeen messages he left, and the seventeen separate occasions he was able to break my heart before we had him shut down.

He was shut down and sent to solitary confinement, and when he’s done with that, his limited freedom will have been revoked, but the fact remains, high security or not, revoked privileges or not, he still described Jess, Laine, Soph, and Andi right down to the pig. Which means someone is watching.

And when that information was relayed back to Checkmate because Soph was able to think clearly when I could not, it wasn’t taken too well.

You’ve never seen a Bishop get mad until you threaten his family. It was too close to what I’d said on that front porch only an hour before. It was too close to home for Jay, but much, much closer for Kane while Jess iced the goose egg on her forehead and rubbed her swelling belly.

I wasn’t running from Katrina for good. I needed space after my dream, if only to dry my eyes and settle my stomach before she saw. But now my distance is something else entirely. It’s protection. It’s necessary. The guys can’t leave their girls. They’re too deeply entrenched in each other’s lives; Aren’s men already know of their existence, and there’s no way in hell the girls would let them go.

But I have freedom where they don’t. I can leave Katrina while she remains invisible to Aristov’s spy. I can create the space so she becomes a waitress again, just a chick whousedtoserve me coffee and burgers. A hot chick, yes, butjusta chick nonetheless.

In the last three weeks, I’ve done my job and dealt with regular clients to keep the company moving, but not for one single second did I stop watching Katrina. Soph was sent into the diner to pick up lunch for us all just a day after the first message was left on my machine, and while she was in there, slipped devices under tables, at the front counter, and on one lucky jump while the diner was all but empty and Katrina was in the hall, a camera was installed on the lighting fixture that hung from the ceiling.

Now we have eyes and ears on Katrina around the clock, but I don’t go in, and neither does anyone else affiliated with me or Checkmate.

If Franky is wondering where half of his clientele have gone, there’s nothing I can do about it. This is me keeping Katrina and Mac safe. It’s me keeping promises and doing the right thing. The loneliness and deep yearning I feel for her in my heart cannot and will not win out over the yearning I would feel if she were hurt because of me.

I’m sacrificing my heart for her life.

I’m sacrificing myself to keep her safe.

So I go through the motions of my life. I go to work, do my job, collect my paycheck, ensure people’s safety, investigate fuckers, search for Aren’s spy, if he does in fact have one, shoot at Spence’s range to keep myself sharp, then I go home and… nothing.

There are no more midnight visits. No more diner dinners. No more dancing in the dark or making love under the stars. There’s just… nothing. It almost feels like those early days after Gemma and Callie died—the darkness, the loneliness, the silence.

But Katrina is alive, which makes the sacrifice worth it.

It’s been so long since Gemma and Callie, and in that time, I’d found myself in a better place. For years after, I was an empty shell, a workaholic with no emotion, a man with no heart, but time helped me find some semblance of peace.

And then I walked into a diner and saw the raven-haired succubus.

Time had healed some of my wounds and made it so I could feel something again, even something for someone who has a kid. It wasn’t scary when it was lust and jokes. It wasn’t scary while she was in that diner doing her thing and I was just a customer. It wasn’t even scary when I was fucking her against the hood of her own car and finally,finallyenjoying her body after only being able to look for so long.

But it sure as hell got scary once my heart was involved, my subconscious fucked me up with dreams, and then Aren finished us off.

You don’t get happiness, DeWhit. You don’t get shit, because the people you love die.

Now I have to choose: love and lose Katrina, or let her go, and let her live.

I lose her either way, so the right choice is to sacrifice my heart and let her fly away. She deserves happiness. She deserves safety. She deserves to not have her home raided while she sleeps and her life snuffed out through no fault of her own.

Now I stay away, but I stillseeher. I see her everywhere, while she works, while she drives home, while she leaves her apartment in a tight dress and a bright smile. The heels she wore that night of her concert made me want to poke my own eyes out. Her hair made me want to snap my own fingers, lest they reach out and touch. I knew where she was going, since Mac had gotten me the dates back in October; I knew she was going to that concert, and I knew when she’d be back.

So I let her go, and for the first time in a month, I went to Franky’s and ate a lemon zesty burger. I would have preferred the regular kind with Katrina-made relish, but life fucking sucks most of the time, so there would be no more relish for me.

I don’t forget my realization from forever ago: I was put here for a reason. I was put in that diner, in this town, in the Blairs’ path for a reason, and it sure as hell wasn’t to fuck Katrina and walk away.

So I watch; I do what I can from afar, and while I wait to figure out my purpose in all of this, I work.

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