Page 24
Checkmate
T he polished conference room in Boston’s federal building feels worlds away from the horror of my parents’ gathering. I can’t believe it was only two days ago that the police broke us out of the panic room’s cell.
The dark wood table gleams under soft lights, creating an atmosphere of authority and safety that still feels foreign to me. Erik sits beside me, our hands occasionally brushing—subtle touches that ground me in reality as David Stone paces the room, his presence commanding and protective.
“They’re all in custody,” David confirms, his voice carrying the same storm-gray intensity as his brother’s eyes. “Your parents, Griffiths, Gallagher, most of the guests at the party—we caught them red-handed. The FBI raid couldn’t have been timed better.”
Relief floods through me, yet it feels hollow, distant. “And the evidence?”
“Safe.” David taps a secure laptop on the table. “Professor Austin delivered everything just in time. The USB drives, your father’s emails… it’s all here. Combined with what we found during the raid—” He pauses, his professional demeanor faltering for a moment. “Luna, I need to be honest with you. What we discovered at that house…”
My throat tightens. “I know what happened at those parties.”
David’s face hardens. “This was beyond anything we’d imagined. The Munich facility, the blackmail operation, the surveillance equipment throughout the estate—it’s unprecedented. Your parents built an empire on human suffering.”
Erik’s hand finds mine under the table, squeezing gently. His thumb traces circles on my palm—a gesture that has become our private language of comfort.
“What about Belle?” Erik asks, giving voice to the question I can’t bring myself to ask.
David flips open a file. “Belle Gallagher was working directly with your parents, Luna. She was feeding them information about both of you. Her father’s company managed several offshore accounts tied to the operation.”
The betrayal stings, even though I’d known. “She was their spy from the beginning.”
“She’s been expelled from Shark Bay,” David continues. “Her father is already locked up and facing charges, but her mother’s still under investigation. Belle will likely face charges of conspiracy, though her age and some of the other circumstances might work in her favor.”
I laugh bitterly. “She never had a chance either, did she? Just another puppet for her family to manipulate.”
David studies me with eyes so similar to Erik’s, yet harder, more weathered by what he’s seen. “Luna, I need to prepare you. The prosecutors want your testimony. As the… insider, your perspective is invaluable. But it means reliving everything they did to you.”
The walls seem to close in. All those years of forced smiles, of pills dissolving on my tongue, of hands that took without permission—laid bare in a courtroom.
“Do I have to?” The question emerges smaller than I intended.
“No,” Erik says immediately, his tone fierce. “She’s been through enough.”
David holds up a hand. “There are options. Written statements, video depositions, immunity agreements—we can work with you. But your testimony would strengthen the case substantially.”
I meet his gaze. “Will they go to prison without it?”
“Yes,” David says without hesitation. “The evidence we have is damning. But with your testimony, we can ensure they never see daylight again.”
The thought of my parents behind bars—stripped of their power, their control, their empire—sends a wave of dizzying freedom through me.
“I’ll do it,” I say, my voice stronger now. “Whatever it takes.”
Erik’s grip tightens on my hand. “You don’t have to decide right now.”
I turn to him, drinking in the concern etched across his features. “I want to. I need to.”
David nods, respect evident in his eyes. “We’ll protect you, Luna. Every step of the way.”
“What happens now?” Erik asks. “With Luna?”
The question hangs in the air, heavy with implications. What does happen to the daughter of criminal masterminds, a girl whose entire life has been a carefully orchestrated performance?
“For now, security protection,” David replies. “At least until the immediate danger passes. We’ve also arranged an apartment.”
“We?” Erik raises an eyebrow.
David’s expression softens marginally. “Both of you, if that’s what you want.”
Something flickers between the brothers—an entire conversation condensed into a look.
“It is,” Erik says firmly.
Heat spreads through my body at his certainty. I’ve spent my life being a possession, never having choices. Now Erik is choosing me, not as an object to be controlled, but as someone worth protecting.
“I need some air,” I murmur, suddenly overwhelmed.
Both men rise as I stand, but I wave them back. “Just five minutes. I’ll be right outside.”
The hallway is mercifully empty. I lean against the cool wall, breathing deeply. Freedom feels terrifying—a vast unknown without boundaries or scripts to follow.
The door opens behind me, and Erik steps out, concern evident in his storm-gray eyes. “You okay?”
“I don’t know what ‘okay’ feels like anymore,” I admit.
He moves closer, not touching me but close enough that I can feel his warmth. “Whatever you’re feeling is valid, Luna. You’ve been through hell.”
“Have I?” I whisper. “Or was I part of creating it?”
Erik’s eyes darken. “Don’t do that. You were a victim, not an accomplice.”
“I did things, Erik. Terrible things. I used people. Manipulated them.”
“To survive,” he counters. “What choice did you have?”
The question pierces through my defenses. What choice have I ever had?
“I don’t know who I am without them,” I confess, the words tearing from somewhere raw and vulnerable. “Without the performance, the manipulation. How do I just… exist?”
Erik reaches up, his fingers hovering near my cheek without touching. “May I?”
The fact that he asks—that he gives me the choice—breaks something open inside me. I nod.
His hand cups my face, thumb brushing away tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “You exist by breathing. By making choices, even small ones. By figuring out what you want, not what someone else wants from you.”
I lean into his touch, craving the warmth of skin-to-skin contact that asks for nothing in return. “What if I don’t know what I want?”
His lips quirk in a half-smile. “Then you experiment. Try things. Discover what you like and don’t like.”
“That simple, huh?”
“Nothing about this is simple,” he acknowledges. “But you’re not alone in figuring it out.”
Something shifts between us, the air growing thick with unspoken possibilities. I’ve been drawn to Erik since that first day on the cliff, but there have always been barriers—my parents, Belle’s schemes, our own walls of self-protection.
Now, in this sterile government hallway, those barriers feel paper-thin.
“Erik,” I whisper, not sure what I’m asking for.
He understands anyway. Slowly, giving me every opportunity to pull away, he leans forward until our foreheads touch. “I’m here,” he murmurs. “Whatever you need.”
Need. Such a simple word for the hunger that claws through me. I’ve spent my life being needed by others—for their schemes, their pleasure, their power plays. But my own needs have been irrelevant, ignored, suppressed.
What do I need?
The answer comes with startling clarity: this. Him. Truth.
I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his. The kiss is gentle at first, tentative—so different from the calculated seductions I’ve performed throughout my life. This isn’t about power or control or manipulation. It’s about connection, about feeling something real.
Erik responds with equal gentleness, letting me set the pace. His hands move to my waist, steadying but not confining. I deepen the kiss, my fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer as heat blooms between us.
A soft groan escapes him as I press my body against his, needing to feel the solid reality of him. The sound ignites something primal within me—not the practiced seduction I’ve wielded like a weapon, but something authentic and hungry.
I back him against the wall, our kiss growing more desperate. His hands slide down to my hips, gripping tightly as if anchoring himself. The friction between our bodies sends electric currents racing across my skin.
“Luna,” he breathes against my mouth, his voice rough with desire. “We should?—”
“Don’t say stop,” I whisper, nipping at his lower lip. “Please don’t say stop.”
His eyes darken. “I was going to say we should find somewhere more private.”
Heat pools low in my belly. “Your brother?—”
“Can wait,” Erik finishes, his gaze never leaving mine. “This is about what you want. What you need.”
The words wash over me like a benediction. What I want. What I need.
“You,” I say simply. “I want you.”
He takes my hand, leading me down the hallway to a small conference room. The door has barely closed behind us when his mouth finds mine again, this time with none of the earlier restraint. His kiss is consuming, demanding in a way that makes me arch against him, seeking more.
I push his suit jacket off his shoulders, my fingers working at his tie, needing to feel skin against skin. Erik’s hands aren’t idle either, skimming up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through the thin fabric of my dress.
“Is this okay?” he murmurs, always checking, always making sure.
“More than okay,” I breathe, guiding his hand to my breast. “I want to feel everything. With you. For real.”
Understanding flashes in his eyes. So many encounters in my life have been performances, manipulations, and acts of survival. This is different—this is choice, desire, connection. And for once, he’s not rejecting me.
Erik backs me against the conference table, lifting me onto its surface. His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my dress higher, fingertips tracing patterns on sensitive skin. I tremble under his touch, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him closer.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, pressing hot kisses along my neck. “So goddamn beautiful.”
I yank his shirt free from his pants, desperate to feel his skin against mine. His chest is firm beneath my exploring hands, muscles tensing as I drag my nails lightly down his torso.
“Erik,” I gasp as his fingers reach the edge of my underwear. “Please.”
He pulls back slightly, eyes searching mine. “Are you sure? We don’t have to?—”
I silence him with a desperate kiss. “I’m sure. I want this. I want you.”
The words seem to break his control. His fingers hook around my panties, pulling them down my legs with tantalizing slowness. I work at his belt, my movements clumsy with need. When I finally free him, my hand wraps around his length, drawing a deep groan from his throat.
“Condom?” I manage to ask, surprisingly practical despite the haze of desire.
Erik reaches into his wallet, pulling out a foil packet. “David’s not the only Boy Scout in the family.”
I laugh—a genuine, unplanned sound that feels like freedom. Then his fingers are between my legs, exploring my wetness, and laughter gives way to gasping pleasure. He works me with expert precision, his thumb circling my clit while his fingers curve inside me, finding spots that make stars explode behind my eyelids.
“Erik,” I moan, my hips bucking against his hand. “I need?—”
“I know,” he murmurs, rolling the condom on with his free hand. “I’ve got you.”
He positions himself at my entrance, pushing inside with agonizing slowness. The stretch is exquisite, my body welcoming him in a way that has nothing to do with practice or performance. This is pure instinct, pure connection.
When he’s fully seated inside me, we both still, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s air. For a moment, neither of us moves, savoring the completion of being joined.
“Okay?” he whispers.
“Perfect,” I answer truthfully.
Then, he begins to move, and coherent thought dissolves into sensation. Each thrust builds a mounting pressure within me, a tightening coil of pleasure that has nothing to do with calculation or control.
I wrap my legs tighter around him, urging him deeper, my nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. Erik’s rhythm grows more insistent, his breathing ragged against my neck.
“Luna,” he groans, “I can’t?—”
“Don’t hold back,” I urge, feeling my own release building. “I want to feel you lose control.”
His thrusts become more erratic, more powerful. One hand slips between us, thumb finding my clit again with unerring accuracy. The dual sensation pushes me over the edge, my release crashing through me in waves of pulsing pleasure. Erik follows moments later, his body tensing as he pours himself into me with a guttural moan.
For several heartbeats, the only sound is our ragged breathing, followed by the soft rustling of clothing as we both right ourselves.
Erik smooths my dress before raising my hand to his lips. “Are you okay?”
The question pierces through the haze of lust, striking something deep inside me. All these years, the only people to ask about my well-being were trying to manipulate me. But Erik—he has never looked at me with a hidden agenda, and there’s no subtext now, either.
Tears prick at my eyes as the enormity of this small gesture sweeps over me. “Better than okay.”
“I wanted our first time to be special,” he says, sounding almost apologetic. “Not… like this.”
I grasp his hand, pressing a kiss against his palm. “This is more than okay, Erik. This is real.”
He presses gentle kisses to my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth—tender gestures that feel more intimate than what we’ve just shared.
“Yes, Luna,” he whispers against my hair. “That was real.”
I nod, tears pricking behind my eyelids. In a life built on performances and pretense, “real” is the greatest gift anyone could give me.
A knock at the door jolts us back to reality. “Erik?” David’s voice calls. “Luna? We need to continue.”
We scramble to straighten our clothing one last time, sharing secretive smiles as we help each other look presentable. Before opening the door, Erik pulls me close one more time.
“Whatever comes next,” he whispers, “we face it together. If that’s what you want.”
I think about Alex briefly—his kindness, his attempt to save me. Part of me will always care for him. But Erik has walked through fire with me, has seen my darkest truths, and stayed anyway.
“It’s what I want,” I confirm, the certainty settling in my bones.
As we return to the conference room, David’s knowing look skims over our disheveled appearance, but he makes no comment. Instead, he pushes a folder across the table.
“Your new identities,” he explains. “Temporary, until the trial concludes.”
I flip open the folder, staring at the unfamiliar name on the driver’s license inside. A fresh start. A blank page. Freedom.
For the first time since I can remember, the future stretches before me not as a trap, but as possibility.