Revenge Read online

  Edward blinked several times, and pride jolted through me. It was rare that I surprised the man. It made me feel like a worthy opponent when I did.

  Even though he did take two of my pieces with each of his next two moves.

  “So when Hudson bought out the majority in your father’s company, it wasn’t just because he didn’t want you interfering with his relationship. It was more like the endgame in a long chess match.”

  “Actually, it was exactly like that. He won, obviously. And I have no desire for a rematch.”

  Edward’s eyes narrowed, calculating, and I had a feeling that it wasn’t the current game he was assessing.

  “I mean it, Edward. I’m not going after Hudson for anything. He and I are done. If he hadn’t won, it’s very unlikely I would be with you here now. And don’t forget, he has those shares. He could hurt us if we tried to hurt him. Which I do not want to do.” I was bordering on pleading, but this was important. Not only had I accepted the status of my relationship with Hudson, but also I’d played the man before. I’d seen what he could do, how devious he could be. I did not want to be on the other side of that again.

  “Fine,” Edward said, his accompanying exhale proving his sincerity.

  I relaxed, letting out tension I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Then his bishop took mine.

  I swiped his bishop with my king in response, which wasn’t that brag-worthy considering the state of the board, but it made me feel good all the same. “Is that all? Are we done?”

  “With this game? Practically.” He moved his queen down the length of the board. “Check.”

  “No way. I still have a fighting chance.” I didn’t. I’d only ever beaten him twice, and we played quite regularly. For now, though, I could move my king out of play. “But I meant with your list.”

  He moved his queen again. “Just one more person to add—the man who introduced you to your games.”

  My stomach dropped. Checkmate.

  And not because of anything on the board.

  The man who introduced me to The Game was also Hudson, another fact I’d refrained from telling my husband. And thank God I had, because if Hudson had that stacked against him, there was no way Edward would let him off without some sort of recompense.

  Except, this was only a conversation. This was my list we were discussing. Edward wasn’t doing anything to anyone. We were only talking about possibilities, and there was none where Hudson was concerned. Period.

  “No,” I said. Now to see if my one-word decrees were as effective as Edward’s.

  “No? I think very much yes. He was the reason you were such a cold-hearted bitch when we met.”

  “Dragon,” I corrected, moving my castle. “Cold-hearted dragon.”

  He moved his queen, and again I was in check. “You can’t say he doesn’t have sins to pay for.”

  “He has to pay for his own sins just like I have to pay for mine. Personally, I’m not holding anything against him.” I scrutinized the board for long seconds, trying to get the shaking of my hands under control. What if he found out it was Hudson? Would that make him retreat or double down? It could go either way. I didn’t like the lie, and I wanted to tell him the truth, but I wasn’t sure how far my husband would go in his search for justice.

  One thing was certain—I could not let him take on Hudson Pierce.

  I could feel him studying me the way I studied the board. “What happened between you?” he asked, in the cold detached voice he used in our sessions.

  No. This would not become a session. I would not pour out my heart over this. “I’ve already told you all that matters,” I lied, moving my king to safety once again. “He knew how to be cut off from the world, emotionally, and I begged him to teach me how he did it. Like with John, I was the one who asked for it.”

  It took him a bit to find his next move. “Like with John, your wishes were irrelevant. He taught you how to hurt people. He made you a weapon. That’s wrong whether you asked for it or not.”

  “You’re exaggerating. He didn’t make me a weapon. He helped me become mean, but I wasn’t dangerous.” I brought my queen nearer to my king, hoping it would be enough protection.

  “What you planned to do to me wasn’t dangerous? I beg to differ.”

  Edward’s tone had grown sharp, bringing my gaze up to his.

  His expression was serious. Deadly serious. “Maybe it’s you who want revenge on him because of what I set out to do to you. Maybe this has nothing to do with him at all.”

  “Possibly.” His eyes took on that mischievous gleam that was present throughout our earliest meetings.

  A chill traveled down my spine. Or a thrill. It was hard to tell the difference between the two where Edward was concerned.

  “I’m pretty sure you and I are even, darling, considering what you planned to do to me.”

  He smiled, and if I hadn’t won the round, I’d at least gotten a point.

  The game resumed. He moved his knight. I took it with my bishop. He took my bishop with his queen. I moved my king. He moved his.

  “You called him A,” Edward said, breaking the silence. “In your journals. Was that his initial?”

  The hard, heavy dread returned to my stomach. I’d thought the subject had been dropped. Silly me.

  “I’m not answering that,” I said firmly. And I was in check again.

  “Why won’t you tell me about him?” The sharp edge had returned, demanding I give answers.

  It wasn’t fair. He pushed and pushed and pushed and expected me to always capitulate. And yet he never once yielded to me. Was that always to be our roles?

  No. I could submit, but there had to be a limit. He had to give back. “Why won’t you tell me about Marion?” I challenged.

  His eye twitched but he otherwise ignored the question, the same way he was now ignoring the board. “Did you love A?”

  A beat passed. “No.”

  “You paused.”

  “I wanted to be sure of my answer. And I’m sure the answer is no.” I hadn’t always been sure. There’d been a time when I’d thought I loved him, but if I admitted that, would he figure out he was also the boy who tricked me into falling for him? Had he already figured it out? Was that why he was asking?

  But I was wrong about his angle entirely. “Then Marion and I are different.”

  “That makes no sense. You should be telling me about Marion because you loved her. She was a significant part of your life. Why won’t you share that with me?” I was frustrated, and it showed.

  “You want to know about Marion because you want to compare yourself to her.” With only a glance at the board, he took my rook with his. “I’m not feeding your tendency to try to be something other than who you are.”

  I winced. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  “Was it untrue?”

  God, he could be cruel. So brutally cruel.

  Brutally cruel and honest. “No, it wasn’t.” I was insanely jealous of Marion, mostly because I knew nothing about her except that she’d once owned Edward’s heart. It was possible she still did, and that hurt.

  If Edward thought the man who taught me The Game owned my heart, would he be jealous too?

  “I didn’t love him, but, if you must know, he did break my heart.” I could be cruel too, in case he’d forgotten.

  His nostrils seemed to flare, but beyond that, he remained stoic. “Even more reason why you owe him this. You’ll never get over him otherwise.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. “How will you ever get over Marion?” I threw back, wondering if we’d crossed from discussion to argument.

  “Stop worrying about Marion.”

  “Stop worrying about A!”

  He held my gaze, his fists curled on the sides of the chessboard, his lip curled downward.

  Then suddenly, with one dramatic sweep of his arms, he brushed the chess pieces off the board, scattering them all over the floor.

  I stared, taken aback. As angry as the move had be
en, he seemed calmer now, as though he’d only needed to let out his temper and then he’d be fine.

  Still, I asked, “I guess this is a fight now?”

  His mouth quirked up into a half-grin. “How about we skip the rest of the arguing and get straight to the punishment for disagreeing with me?”

  I felt the impulse to argue more for half a second.

  And then I recognized it for what it was—an attempt at conciliation, and I was all for that. Being “punished” by Edward was better than fighting any day.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, for once not bothered by the term of address.

  His pupils darkened as he began undoing his belt. “Crawl over the table and put your head in my lap. If you’re such a dragon, prove it to my cock.”

  I did as he said, climbing across the board then, with my legs still on the table, bracing my arms on his thighs so I could take his fat, steel rod into my mouth. Sometime between the first spurt of pre-cum on my tongue and the moment when he released down the back of my throat, his hips bucking with wild abandon, his hands wrapped firmly in my hair, I let our quibble go, dismissing it as a simple lover’s spat.

  But deep down, in the place inside me that I used to bury my feelings, I knew the truth—this conversation was far from over.

  Twelve

  Then: Edward

  “Hold this, will you?”

  Before I’d answered, Roman thrust his whiskey tumbler into my hand so he could pull a lighter and cigar out of his inside jacket pocket.

  “Is that a good idea?” I asked, as he bit off the end. It was his house and his party, so he knew I wasn’t asking because I questioned if it were the right environment.

  “I’m already dying, Edward. Smoking a cigar seems like a splendid idea.” He winked as though it wasn’t macabre to speak of his approaching death so casually.

  Stage four colon cancer, spread to the liver and stomach. And he’d chosen not to pursue treatment. There wasn’t any point, he’d said.

  Instead, he was throwing a party.

  “You’re making it hard to not enjoy this,” I said, because I knew it was what he’d want to hear, but I most certainly was not having a good time. I didn’t have many friends, mostly because I didn’t like the bother of relationships. Roman had become more than that, though. He was family. Practically a father, and I’d already lost one of those. I wasn’t ready to go through the pain of that loss again. No amount of drinking or celebrating would ease the storm of gloom gathering inside.

  “It’s a phenomenal evening,” Marion said, her French accent faded from so many years in the UK. “It’s a beautiful way to honor this season of your life. Much better to have the festivities now instead of later.”

  Instead of after his funeral, she meant. She was more tactful than I, though, always able to be charming, no matter the circumstances.

  “That’s exactly what I was going for.” Roman took his tumbler from my hand and clinked it against my own filled with cognac. “May we never go to hell but always be on our way.”

  I grimaced and chuckled at the same time.

  Then he turned to Marion to clink her wine glass. “Sante, my dear.”

  “Somehow it seems gauche to say it in return.” Her smile was lovely, both demure and reassuring at once.

  “Cheers will do just fine,” he said, his gaze warm.

  “Cheers then, Roman.”

  When the older man’s focus moved again to me, he had the expression of a stern mentor. “Your wife knows how to play along. Take a cue from her, my boy.”

  I forced my lips upward, or at least less down. “Here’s to friends and family who know us well but love us all the same.”

  “That’s better. Not great, but better.” He tipped his drink back, finishing it off before setting it down on the tray of a passing waiter.

  I sipped my drink more slowly, taking the burn in measured doses, wishing I could do the same with the news of Roman’s health. It was too fast, all of it. He was too young, and I needed him. A selfish reason to want him to live, but wasn’t all affection selfish?

  “Camilla has a new boyfriend, I see.”

  I shook myself from my thoughts and followed Roman’s gaze across the ballroom. Camilla was there on the arm of her latest beau—Frank Dougherty. She’d been through a string of men over the past several years, none of them any good for her. Most of them had disappeared before I’d been able to discern just how not good for her they were. Frank was the first in a long time to stick around.

  “What do you think of him?” Roman asked.

  Like the others, he didn’t deserve her, that was certain. He was bred well enough, but he was entitled and impulsive. He had no job, and, with the way he splurged, he was sure to reach the end of his trust fund before he turned thirty.

  But money didn’t buy happiness, as well I knew, and if Camilla was happy with the lazy prick, then I could support the relationship.

  I just wasn’t yet sure she actually was happy.

  Once upon a time I would have discussed my concerns with Roman in full. Now, it seemed unkind to burden him with such trivial affairs. “I don’t know yet,” I said, trying to be honest without going into it.

  “Edward’s worried he’s a brute,” Marion said, wrapping her free arm around mine. It was subtle, but I read the subtext of the gesture clearly. She was goading me, challenging me publicly. Not that it was much of a challenge. She liked to get in trouble, knew that I liked catching her in it, but she was submissive through and through. She liked to please way more than she liked to get in trouble for defying.

  Roman studied me. “That’s fine criticism, coming from him.”

  “He’s a different breed of brute,” I said with a defensive scowl. “He’s pushy and controlling and indulgent. With Camilla, specifically. I’m not sure he knows when to rein it in.”

  Roman stared at me, his gaze so pointed it was impossible to miss the meaning.

  Fuck, he had a point. I might as well be describing myself and my relationship with Marion.

  But Marion was into what I offered her. I hated to think about what Camilla might want in a sexual relationship, but I was worldly enough to know she might be into it as well.

  “I’m sure you’ll step in when needed,” Roman said, seeming to understand my concerns.

  “Yes, I will.”

  At my side, Marion let out a sigh, small but noticeable. If she had more to say about my methods of interference, she should say it. Not now, but later, when it was just the two of us.

  She wouldn’t, though. She never did.

  “How are the kids?” Roman asked. “Hagan’s...what? Seven now?”

  Marion brightened at the turn of conversation. “Nine. Genevieve is seven.”

  “That’s right. What are they up to now?”

  I rolled my eyes. This was as bad as pretending to enjoy his death party, only this time he was the one acting disingenuously. “Don’t answer that, Marion. He doesn’t care for anything to do with kids.”

  “I don’t,” he agreed. “I was being polite.”

  “Excuse me, may I steal you momentarily?” A man I was only somewhat acquainted with ushered Roman away to introduce him to his companion. As though he had any reason to want to meet new people now.

  God, I was an arse.

  Marion shifted next to me, the kind of movement that said she’d likely been uncomfortable for some time and had been holding it in. Only now that we were alone could she let her poise go.

  I smiled, realizing I was the source of her discomfort. Pulling her into me, I positioned my mouth near her ear. “Are you feeling the reminder of yesterday’s punishment?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She’d asked for it, essentially, when she stayed in my bed after we’d fucked the night before. Separate bedrooms had been her decision, a space she said she needed due to the intense nature of our relationship. Choosing to not sleep there was one of the not-so-subtle ways she used to indicate she wanted some physical discipline.


  The irony was that I would have preferred for her to sleep at my side. Every night.

  I resented her for that, if I was being honest. It was that resentment that I’d clung to when I’d doled out her punishment. “Perhaps I was a little vicious with the belt.”

  “That’s not what’s feeling sore.”

  I pulled back to look at her and saw the color rise in her cheeks.

  I had been vicious with more than the belt. After leaving her with red welts along her backside, I’d taken her ass. And I hadn’t been gentle.

  Still feeling cross today, probably more because of the event we had to attend than because of anything that had to do with us, I’d found a way to torture her further.

  “I suppose you’ve been a good girl today. You can remove the plug.” I reached in my pocket and took out the drawstring bag the toy was kept in. I exchanged it for her wine. “Bring that back to me immediately. I’ll hold your drink while you’re gone. Oh, and Marion,” I grabbed her arm, drawing her back so that she could hear me when I whispered. “I’ll know if you touched yourself.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I watched her walk away, admiring the tight fit of the white gown I’d selected for her to wear. It was a style she wasn’t comfortable in, one that showed her curves and didn’t allow much room for movement, but when I’d set it out for her, she’d put it on without batting an eye.

  I loved that about her, that she would bend and yield to my every command.

  But sometimes it wasn’t enough. Sometimes I longed for the struggle, and though she’d give me that too, when I asked for it, it was never real. It was a game we played with very specific moves. She’d go against me on something with no meaning. I’d pretend to be angry. She’d pretend to beg for my forgiveness. I’d punish her. Then she’d go back to submitting to my every wish.

  It had been satisfying for a while.

  Lately, I yearned for it to be more authentic.

  “Ten years and two kids, and she’s still a perfect little doll. You lucked out with that one, didn’t you?”

  I looked over to see Roman had returned, another whiskey in his hand, still puffing his cigar.