Pawn (The Pawn Duet #2) - T.M. Frazier Page 0,3

at least until I can get her the fuck out of here. Besides, it will be easier to break her out of a locked room than a locked cage.

Percy raises his voice, clearly irritated. “I can’t give my wife damaged goods, can I?” he asks. “Tell me, Hop, would you give your old lady a dress with a fucking hole in it or a ring missing a stone?”

Hoppy shakes his head. “Nah, man. I’d get the couch for sure. That is, if I had an old lady.”

Percy crosses his arms over his bare, tattooed chest. “Well then, tell me if you think it’s a good idea to give Mickey a gift that’s all banged up and half-starved to death?” He looks at my sister. “In a fucking cage?”

“Yeah, that won’t be no good.” Hoppy shakes his head and rubs his protruding belly, satisfied with Percy’s explanation. “No good at all. Good call, man. See, this is why you’re the smart one. You’ll make a good leader, P.”

“Just tell me what Knox says,” Percy orders.

Hoppy wheels over a large cart. Locking the brakes, he parks it next to the cage. He lifts it without much effort and sets it on the cart.

“Nobody is to know about this. Not even members. Are we clear?” Percy points his finger sternly at Hoppy.

“Clear as…well...some shit that’s clear.” Hoppy shakes off his hands and follows Percy out of the room with my sister in tow. “What then? What are you gonna do if Knox doesn’t give her all the all-clear? She don’t look too fucking good.”

Percy opens the door, allowing Hoppy to wheel through.

“Then, I’ll load my fucking shotgun.”

The door slams shut, and I’m left alone in the dark.

My entire body is shaking.

The plan has changed. Revenge be damned. There is only one plan now.

I have to get to my sister.

Before they do.

2

Pike

Over the past twenty-four hours, I’ve switched back and forth between the need to drive to the compound and put a bullet in the head of everything and everyone with a heartbeat and a deep burning desire to just forget everything that’s happened over the past few weeks. I could sell my fucking pawn shop, and drive to the furthest corner of the country, leaving it all in the fucking rearview mirror of my truck.

The problem with that plan is that Mickey’s memory can’t be left behind with everything else. Because I know that no matter how hard I try, I’ll never get her off my brain. My chest tightens. Or off my fucking chest. The weight of Mickey leaving without so much as a, See you the fuck later, Pike. It’s been real but I’m going back to the fucking racists, crushes me over and over again like a car falling off its jack, trapping me underneath.

A soft meowing penetrates my thoughts. The longer I ignore the sound, the louder it gets, but ignoring the creature is what I want to do because it only reminds me of Mickey, down on the ground in the alley tending to the strays like they were well-respected members of her family.

Family she doesn’t have because they’re all fucking dead.

Hence her need for revenge on the Fourth Reich and the very reason why she left. Why, in a way, she chose them over me.

If that’s even the truth.

Trust is something I’ve never been fucking good at, but what fucking sets fire in my fucking veins is that I wanted to trust Mickey. I still want to. But the growing doubt grows with each passing hour, twisting into a spark of rage.

Besides, I’d be stupid if I didn’t think there was a small possibility that Mickey played me, and her entire charade, including the show she put on in my bed, was all for the benefit of an easier escape back to her people.

No, that part wasn’t a show. You can’t fake what we had in my bed. Her response to my touch.

I shake my head. Just because she liked it when I made her come doesn’t mean she didn’t lie about the rest. It means she’s human.

She could still be one of them.

“Fuck!” I yell into my empty apartment, emptier now that Mickey isn’t here filling it with her constant need to try and figure me out. I chuckle, remembering when she made the observation about my learning disorder. I looked up her diagnosis, and she was right. About all of it. About me.

Too bad I may not have been right about her.

The meowing continues, at