Aimee Carter - Pawn

“What if I don’t want to?” I said, and Celia gave me a look that could have melted diamonds.

“Whose life do you value more? Daxton’s or Benjy’s?”

And that was the end of the argument.

I still wasn’t convinced it was the best thing to do, though. There had to be another way, one that didn’t involve taking so many chances, but Celia was adamant. Daxton was due to travel across the country the next day now that lockdown was over, and if I wanted to do this, it had to be now.

“The first time you do something wrong, he’ll murder Benjy,” said Celia. “You know that.”

I did, but that didn’t mean I was ready to kill someone with my bare hands.

I hid behind a corner a few yards from the entrance to Daxton’s suite, which took up two levels of an entire wing on the opposite side of the mansion. As I waited, I clutched the syringe and tried to remember that this was for Tabs and Nina and everyone else who had died because of Daxton. This was nothing more than justice, and if anyone deserved to die for his crimes, it was him. No matter how passionately he claimed he was making the world a better place, when the most I could have hoped for as a III was an early death, I couldn’t see how it was benefiting anyone but those who were lucky enough to be born into a position of power. Or like Benjy, smart enough to earn it. And while I knew better than to think Celia was doing this to help me protect him, I also knew that Daxton had killed her daughter. So far she’d shown remarkable restraint, but it must have been easier to face him knowing this was her plan all along.

Celia’s strangled cry echoed down the corridor, and they were soon joined by shouts from the guards. When I peeked around the corner, I saw two uniformed men hunched over Celia, who lay on the floor shaking violently. Horrified, I stared, forgetting for a moment that my time was limited. What if she wasn’t okay?

No. I had a job to do. Celia would be fine, and even if she wasn’t, she was willing to risk it in order to give me a chance to kill Daxton.

I shook myself out of it and snuck toward Daxton’s door, opening it as silently as I could. Once I slipped into the dark living room, I noticed the light was on underneath an adjacent door. Taking a breath, I knocked.

“Come in,” said Daxton distractedly. If he had any idea about the commotion in the hallway, he wasn’t letting on.

Stepping inside, I glanced around, my grip tightening around the syringe. Daxton sat behind a massive black desk that spanned nearly the entire width of the room. Bookcases as high as the ceiling surrounded us, each shelf packed tightly with volumes that looked like they hadn’t been touched in decades. A pair of fountains trickled on either side of the door, but what caught my eye was the portrait of the entire Hart family hanging on the wall behind Daxton. In the painting, he sat on what could only be called a throne, his wife posed beside him and her hand resting on his. Celia and Augusta stood behind her, and I could almost feel Celia’s hatred through the canvas.

Jameson, Daxton’s elder son, stood at his other side, his chin raised with pride. He was handsome—much more handsome than Greyson, who lingered nearby, smaller than he was now. But the most surprising part of the portrait was Lila, who stood on the fringes of the frame, her blond hair perfectly curled and her expression matching her mother’s. She hated the family as much as Celia did, and I still didn’t understand why. Was she parroting her mother? Following in her footsteps? Or was there a reason no one had explained to me—a reason Lila had risked her life for the people beneath her?

I opened my mouth to greet Daxton, but he held up a finger and looked down into a screen on his desk.

“Yes, I realize that, Creed,” he said. “Do remind the other ministers that even though they outnumber me, I outrank them, and their privilege is granted at my pleasure. If they do not like the allocation of funds for the next quarter, there are dozens of others who would be happy to sign their name in exchange for the title of minister.”

“Of course,” said a man—Knox’s father. “I will let the council know. Thank you for your time, Prime Minister.”

Daxton waved his hand over the monitor, and it went dark. He straightened, and a poisonous smile spread across his face. “Ah, Kitty. I see you’ve been released.”

“Yeah, they told me lockdown was over.”

“Did you see the present I left you?” he said, and I hesitated.

“You mean Benjy?”

“Indeed. And how is your little friend?”

I pressed my lips together. Talking to Daxton about him seemed wrong, like I was somehow tainting Benjy. “He’s good, I think. And don’t worry,” I added. “I’m not going to tell him who I am.”

“Of course you won’t. You’re far too smart for that.” Daxton slipped around the desk and stopped in front of me, his expression a mockery of sympathy. “It’s such a terrible thing, being separated from the one you love. After my wife died...” He sighed and cupped my cheek. “Well, I’m afraid I’ve never been the same.”

I glanced up at the portrait. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”

“It was,” he murmured, closing the distance between us. “I would have done anything to get her back, but that isn’t how the world works, now, is it?”

It seemed to me that that was exactly how the Harts’ world worked, but I didn’t dare say it. I clutched the syringe. He was close now, and all it would take was one stab.

“Tell me, Kitty,” he said, his mouth inches from mine. I could smell garlic on his breath. “Now that you have what you want so badly, how do you intend to thank me for it?”

“With words,” I said. “I’m your niece, Daxton.”

“You’re not my niece,” he said, running a hand down my arm. I shrugged it off, and he set it on my waist instead. “Lila was always so beautiful. When Mother told me her plan, I was so certain we would never find someone who could pull her off, but here you are. So like her in every way. She refused me, too, you know.”

He traced my lips with his fingertip, and I had to clench my jaw to stop myself from biting him. “Is that why you killed her, you sick bastard?”

Daxton chuckled. “Of course not. I would hardly go to all this trouble for something I could have any time I wanted.”

His hand slipped under my shirt, brushing against Lila’s butterfly tattoo. My resolve hardened, and before I could second-guess myself, I kneed him hard between the legs.

Daxton doubled over, grunting in pain. “You stupid bitch,” he wheezed. “You just earned your boyfriend a death sentence.”

I uncapped the syringe. “The only person dying today is you,” I said, and I jammed the needle in the side of his neck and pressed the plunger.

What are you doing?

Benjy’s voice echoed through my mind, and for a split second, I couldn’t breathe.

I wasn’t a killer. Doing this made me no better than Daxton, and I hated him too much to want to be anything like him.

He went rigid in my arms. I grabbed his neck to hold him steady as I yanked the needle out and threw it aside, but it was too late. Half the dose was gone.

There was something else, too. Underneath my hand, where his VII tattoo faded into his tan skin, I felt ridges—

But not a VII.

Instead they were in the shape of a single V.

I stumbled backward. Daxton touched the spot on his neck where I’d injected the poison, and when he pulled away, a bead of blood stained his finger. “What did you—”

He hit the floor with a thud, and panic seized me. Half a dose. Would it be enough? I had no idea, but I couldn’t bring myself to finish him off.