I lift her fingers to my lips and kiss the tips. “I know. And I’m not accusing you of anything, I promise.”
Her green eyes rake over my face, like she’s scrutinizing me to determine if I’m telling the truth. After a moment, her face softens.
“How did your parents die?” I know the question is a difficult one, not to mention a potential minefield for me, but I need to know what she believes. What that bastard told her.
“How did yours die, sir?”
Okay. An eye for an eye. I can live with that. “My dad was a junkie who OD’d before my first birthday. And my mom was murdered by her pimp when I was two. Thankfully, I was with a neighbor at the time.”
Her green eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t even remember them, so...” I shrug. “Now tell me about yours.”
“You don’t know about the traitor’s daughter?” she gasps, feigning outrage to mask her true feelings.
“Do you remember them?”
She nods. “I remember their faces. Their laughter. Their smiles. I remember being happy.”
“Was he a traitor, your father?”
“Do you think he was?”
“I don’t know him, angel.” I lie with ease. “That’s why I’m asking you.”
“No, he wasn’t. He was a good man. He didn’t betray the Brotherhood. I think he tried to expose them for what they were and it got him killed.” So despite any lies her grandfather would have told her, she still believes her father was a good man, probably because she remembers enough of him to know that it’s true. I’m filled with pride at the way she’s so quick to leap to his defense and I wish I could tell her more about the kind of man he was. I wish I could tell her about both her parents. “I suppose if he did try to expose them, then the Brotherhood would call him a traitor.”
She bristles. “Well, I would call him a hero.”
So would I, but I obviously don’t tell her that. “How did they die?”
“They were murdered, by my godfather.”
There it is. It takes every single shred of willpower and strength not to react, but she may have just as well punched a hole right through my chest.
“Your godfather?”
She nods, angrily swiping a tear from her cheek. “Killian Wolfe. He murdered my father and my mom took me and hid, but he found us too. And he killed her. He would have killed me if my grandfather hadn’t saved me.”
Lies! All fucking lies!I want to roar that declaration at the top of my lungs, but I maintain my calm. It’s not her fault she was brainwashed. I let them brainwash me too—let them convince me she was dead. Left her all alone when I should have taken care of her. None of this is on her. “Is your godfather still alive?”
I hold my breath waiting for her answer. “No. He died in an explosion a few months later. They found his body burned to near ash, indistinguishable except for a stupid tattoo.”
Instinctively, I want to rub at the patch of skin on my wrist. That tattoo has been long covered, but it’s still there beneath, in my blood and memory.
“Anyway, that’s it. I’m a sad lonely orphan, just like you, I guess.”
I cup her chin and rub my thumb over her pouty lips. “Well, right now, I’m neither sad or lonely. You?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“But you are very good at chess. And you should never underestimate your abilities.”
“Thank you, sir.” She blinks, her eyelashes dusting against her cheeks.
“Shall we resume our game?”
She nods and I release her. We continue our game, but the air is charged with tension now. Sparks of electricity crackling between us whenever our eyes meet or our fingers brush—like a really long incredibly sexy form of foreplay.
