Unfinished Hero 01 Knight (41 page)

Then he said gently, “Plan it. Whatever you want, flowers, food. Wherever you want, I’ll give it to you. No big dress that looks like a cake. This is just a party but it’s a party that celebrates you and me.”

I stared into his vivid, blue eyes twisting my hand at his chest so my fingers curled around his.

Then I whispered, “Okay, Knight.”

He stared into my eyes that were getting wet.

“You know I don’t like tears, baby,” he whispered.

I sucked in a breath through my nose and held his hand tightly. He watched me do this and waited until I got control.

When I did, he muttered, “Good.” Then, “You like the ring?”

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen outside of you.”

His eyes flashed as his head gave a short jerk.

Then he whispered, “Fuck me.”

I knew what that meant and felt my lips quirk.

Then I whispered back, “Thank you.”

His arm slid up my back and got tight in a way my face had to move forward even as his hand crushed mine in his.

“I love you, Anya,” he growled fiercely, so low, deep and rumbling I felt it through my body. “You know that, babe.”

“I do, honey,” I whispered, clutching his hand and I felt my nose sting again.

“No tears,” he ordered.

I pressed my lips together, took another breath in through my nose and nodded.

His arm and hand relaxed.

“Now, sleep.”

I nodded again.

He turned out the light and settled us, Knight on his back, me pressed to his side, his hand still holding mine against his chest.

Okay, that was beautiful.

Okay, that was
amazing.

Okay, I loved this man.

But I had a secret. A secret I was worried would not please him. A secret that pleased me greatly but I was worried it would make him angry.

And he knew I had a secret. He sensed it. He’d guessed at what was bothering me.

But he was very, very wrong.

And after he gave that to me, with all that he’d given me, I had to find a way to share my secret.

I just didn’t know how.

* * * * *

The thin, high heels of my ludicrously expensive sandals clicked on the floors of our apartment as I moved through the L-shaped hall toward the living room-kitchen area.

I had my phone to my ear.

“She’s working my last nerve,” Vivica declared. “Are you fuckin’ coming?”

After a brief respite, Sandrine went on the prowl again. Then we had another brief respite after she hooked herself a handsome, built, wealthy jerk. They got engaged within a month and married two months later in an extravaganza that she threw together in a frightening display of “I’m a princess, all bow to me” that cost her father a fortune and, nearly, Vivica’s friendship. Against Knight’s advice, I forged in and held my posse together by the skin of our teeth. But her behavior definitely lost her any of the dregs of what was left of the respect she had from Knight and Rhashan. They both put up with her for Viv and me and that was as far as it went.

Now they were getting a divorce and she was on the prowl again. Since she and her husband separated two months ago, she’d met and discarded two “loves of her life” both holding this title for less than a week.

She was looking for number three.

Her hunting ground wasn’t normally Slade or other clubs. At twenty-nine, even Sandrine knew she was beyond that. She mostly hunted high-brow charity functions, dragging, on occasion, Vivica (who was now at a different hotel with no “assistant” in her manager title and a huge pay hike) or, more frequently, me along with her.

But she wasn’t averse to hitting the scene.

She also wasn’t averse to getting her groove on, getting hammered and doing stupid stuff.

Like, obviously, she was doing now.

I moved into the kitchen.

“I’m about to leave. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Move your ass, girl, or Knight will be activating the cleanup crew to mop up blood after a very messy homicide,” Viv replied and I grinned.

“Gotcha. There in fifteen.”

“Later.”

“Later.”

I disconnected and shoved my phone in my red clutch. It was one of fifteen clutches I owned, seven of these being red. My dress was also red and it was one of about fifty that I owned, around thirty-five of those being red.

This wardrobe enhancement was because I liked to be around Knight and our schedules, me at the spa during the day, him at the club at night, except for Sundays, meant we didn’t have a lot of time together.

So I often went to Slade.

I did not know any of his “girls” but I did suspect, from some looks, some comments (not overt but thoughtful and respectful) that a number of them came to my spa. When I cottoned onto this, they shocked me. They weren’t exactly what I would think of as professional, classy call girls. They also weren’t skanks. They just looked like, well… women.

But I did know most of his waitresses and bartenders, there was a heavy turnover of both so there was always a new one, and all of his bouncers and security. Those didn’t turnover. Knight was selective, he trained them carefully, treated them right, they respected him, he returned the favor, paid well and they stuck.

So I had Knight on occasion, his staff and often Vivica, Sandrine (unfortunately, these days) or one or several of my other friends would show and keep me company.

I also had my own, small VIP section. The last time Knight gutted the club, he’d had it built for me. It was higher than the others, could accommodate around ten people, was fit for comfort, had some cool-as-heck screening that provided some privacy though you could shift to see whatever you wanted to see but it was also positioned so, from his window, Knight could see me.

When at Slade, I hung in Knight’s office or in my section with myself, his staff or my friends.

I was never bored.

I usually showed around ten, left around twelve thirty. I didn’t see a lot of Knight but I saw him and I knew he also saw me.

And I knew, even though he never told me, he liked to see me.

So I often went to Slade.

I was about to make a move to the front door when something caught my eye.

A flash of bright red.

I knew Viv needed me but still, I took a moment and surveyed the space.

Although there was nothing wrong with them, I got rid of Knight’s counter appliances and replaced them with the same but in red. On the end of the bar delineating the kitchen from the living room there was a tall, slender, red vase that widened at the top that we paid a florist to come once a week and fill. She also filled the squat, magenta, cylindrical vase that sat on the chest at the upper landing by the wall in the living room. And, at Knight’s demand, every week there were new flowers arranged in the two round, black vases in our bedroom, one on the coffee table in the seating area, a smaller one on my nightstand.

These were always, exclusively, perfect ivory roses.

Also Knight’s demand.

I’d kept the rug in the sunken living room but got rid of the streamlined, leather couches that did not invite lounging or, well,
anything
. Now they were black, slouchy suede couches that practically begged you to kick your shoes off and relax. They were covered with different size toss pillows in magenta, aubergine and dark gray.

I’d also gotten rid of the print that didn’t do anything for me. Getting what Knight called a “wild hair”, I’d hired a professional photographer to come when Knight’s parents were in town. I invited my posse, Knight invited nobody and we had a party while the photographer took photos. Now on that wall was a custom-made mess of interlocking, multi-shaped and sized black frames with ivory matting and black and white candid photos of family and friends.

Now
that
made me feel something.

And the black bowls on the chest were gone. Even though the wall above it was filled with photos, along the top off the vase of flowers, the chest was filled with more.

And those were just Knight, me or us together. Color and black and white, in Slade, at Thanksgiving at Rhashan and Vivica’s, at my spa, at Sandrine’s crazy wedding, in our apartment, dozens of silver framed photos sitting on the chest, jumbled. You had to get close really to see any of them. But I loved them. Mostly because Knight loved them too. So much, he got into it and, not often, but it happened, I’d be sitting on the balcony or at a stool at the bar, I’d turn my head and see he was taking a picture of me.

I returned the favor.

I loved the photos someone else took of us together.

The photos we took of each other were a close second.

It wasn’t much (though it all cost a fortune) but it made Knight’s apartment our home. It didn’t look like a museum. It felt like a place where people lived happily. Something which was true.

Even though it still was kickass.

I grinned to myself and walked out of the kitchen, switching off lights on my way. I went to the hall closet, got my sleek, black, to-the hip evening trench with the soft sheen and shrugged it on.

Then I walked to the door and stopped at the narrow table I’d put there that had a big, oval bowl on it where we tossed our keys. I grabbed my keys and looked up.

Then, as it always did when I saw it, pure joy slid through me.

Knight’s only addition to making our house a home, outside my ivory roses in the bedroom, was what was mounted on the wall above that table. It was hanging there, I knew though he did not say, so we would see it every time we came home and dumped our keys there and every time we left.

When I moved in, he’d found the faulty cell phone I never got around to throwing out probably because it meant something to me. Then he’d had it mounted between two sheets of square glass framed in a black frame.

The frame and mounting was awesome.

The cell phone wasn’t that attractive.

I adored it.

Adored it.

My eyes dropped to the sparkling band glittering on my finger that Knight slid there last night.

I smiled huge.

Then I walked out, took the elevator down to the garage, walked to my shiny Mercedes and got in. Then I buckled up, pulled out my phone, started my car and drove out.

When I hit the street, I grabbed my phone and found Knight.

Two rings then, “Babe.”

“I’m in my car on the way.”

“Right. See you soon.”

“Okay, honey.”

Disconnect.

I drove to the club and slid in behind Knight’s Aston Martin.

The sign on the wall in the alley by my car said,
Space Restricted – Ms. Gage

It hit me then that Knight was never going to give me his name. But, in doing so, I’d never lose the one my mother and father gave me. All I had left of them except memories would always be with me.

And when it hit me, it hit me sweet.

I bit my smiling lip, got out and Kurt was there.

“Hey, honey,” I greeted, moving out of the door he moved toward to close.

“Yo,” he grunted.

I again bit my smiling lip.

Kurt. Seriously. He said practically nothing. Still, I found him hilariously funny.

He put a hand light on the small of my back and guided me to the backdoor.

We walked through and I headed to the door of the stairs leading to Knight’s office. I felt Kurt’s presence leave without a word. As was Kurt’s way, the job was done, he moved on. He liked me, this I knew because Knight told me not because Kurt showed me.

Hernando, the security guy at Knight’s door, smiled at me as he opened it.

“Hey, Anya.”

“Hey, Hern,” I muttered, rolled up on my toes and touched my lips to his cheek. I rolled back and caught his eye. “Is Knight up there?”

“Yup.”

Goodie.

I grinned at Hern, walked through the door and started up the steps.

The club sounds muted as the door closed behind me and my happy mood suddenly slid clean out of me.

Knight was up there. His ring was on my finger. The wide, brushed gold band I’d gone out that day to buy him was in my bag.

And I had to tell him my secret. Time was sliding by. He’d done something beautiful for me and would expect me to snap out of the quiet, reflective mood I’d been in and if I didn’t, he’d wonder. Then he’d get impatient when I didn’t share.

I needed to share.

I stood outside his door with my hand on the knob, my eyes to my hand.

I had to do this now.

Face his anger, discuss and, God,
God,
maybe yield.

I turned the knob and walked in.

He was standing at his window wearing a dark suit and a wine red shirt, both looked great on him as usual, and the instant I walked in, his eyes cut to me.