Devil's Pawn (Devil's Pawn Duet 1)

“Isabelle, this is my daughter, Angelique.”

“Nice to meet you,” Isabelle says. “My little cousin calls me Belle.”

“It’s my favorite name,” Angelique says, surprising me. She’s very shy, probably my own doing. I’ve kept her apart from society for all her life. She’s known my mother, Zeke, Dex, a handful of guards and staff, but no one else. Ever. And on the rare occasion she meets someone, she mostly hides behind her stuffed bear, which is always with her, or me.

“Angelique might be my favorite name, too,” Isabelle says.

Angelique beams. “Really?”

“M-hm,” Isabelle says with a smile, and I wonder how kind she’ll be to my daughter once she comes to truly hate me. Because she doesn’t yet. She may fear me. And that won’t change. But she doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know what I plan to do with her. No one does. Because The Rite offers her some protections. I plan to strip her of those. Her brother will agree. He’ll have no choice when he sees the rest of the ammunition I’m collecting against him. I just need Santiago to come through for me and when he does, I’ll act.

Catherine, the cook who’s been with the family since I was a little boy, walks in with a huge platter of French toast. Angelique’s request. I see how she winks at my daughter and hear Angelique’s delighted gasp as she sets the dish at the center of the table.

“Oh wow!” Angelique exclaims at the mound covered in powdered sugar.

“There,” Catherine says.

I look up at her. “Is there anything healthy?”

She raises her eyebrows. “I remember your sweet tooth, Jericho,” she mutters. “But yes, of course.” And several maids enter carrying trays of eggs, bacon, sliced fruit and various freshly squeezed juices.

She makes a plate for Angelique and pours coffee for the adults before leaving. I watch my daughter’s delighted face as she eats the sweet breakfast, sugar coating her lips and cheeks, falling onto the head of her teddy bear sitting in her lap. My mother walks over to clip her hair back from her face before sitting down to butter a slice of bread. I sip my coffee and watch her. She takes a bite then sets the bread down.

I get to my feet, pick up her plate and scoop scrambled eggs onto it along with several strips of bacon.

“Protein. You need to eat to keep up your strength,” I tell her. She’s recovering from chemotherapy and while I’m glad it’s over, it’s a long, slow recovery. A few months ago, we weren’t sure she’d come this far, so every day I’m grateful for it.

She smiles up at me. “I do eat.” She gestures toward Isabelle who is also sitting with an empty plate. “Perhaps you need to make your guest feel welcome enough to eat.”

My guest. She’s not my fucking guest. And she’s not welcome.

Grudgingly, I make my way to the foot of the table. Isabelle stiffens when I reach her and lean down, picking up her dish. “You’ll need your strength, too,” I whisper so only she can hear. I load her plate with eggs, bacon, French toast, and fruit and set it in front of her. It’s a mountain but she’ll eat it. She missed dinner last night and she can stand to put on a few pounds. I straighten, look down at the top of her head as she takes in the heaping dish. “Eat,” I tell her.

Zeke watches without a word then turns to help Angelique with her knife and fork. She’s young but she watches the adults and mimics. She’s never been around other children, only adults. I wonder how she’d appear to them. If they’d find her odd. If they’d make fun of her for the mismatched eyes, the blue and gray that I passed on to her. She won’t ever be subjected to that though. Nothing will change for her now that we’re home. The tutor I’ve hired will begin her work this week and she’ll be safe where I can watch her, protect her.

I kiss the top of her head before resuming my seat and eating my own breakfast of eggs and bacon.

Zeke gets a call a few minutes later and leaves the room to take it. Once Angelique has finished eating, my mother takes her from the table, leaving only Isabelle and me.

“You’ll finish your plate before you leave the table,” I tell her when she puts the fork and knife down. She’s eaten everything but the bacon.

“I’m finished.”

“I don’t know how you were brought up, but we don’t waste food in this house.”

“I was brought up fine and don’t waste food either, but since you scooped a mountain of it on my plate without bothering to ask if I eat meat maybe you can finish it for me.”

That’s unexpected. I’m glad to see she’s got a spine.

I smile, get up and move toward the foot of the table. She isn’t expecting that and squirms in her seat as I take the chair closest to hers.

“Vegetarian?”

She nods.

I am surprised she ate the rest of it. It was, I admit, a lot. I pick up the strips of bacon one at a time and eat them while she watches. I am wiping my hands on a napkin when Dex comes to the entrance of the dining room.

Isabelle stiffens, her hands gripping the wooden arms of the chair hard.