Page 70 of The Queen's Vow (Ruthless Games 2)

FORTY-NINE

REBECCA

I hated myself.

Hiding like a coward.

Shaking like a little girl.

Holding back tears like I’d done for years after Sebastien left me.

It didn’t matter if men were coming to kill me. My father never looked scared leaving our house every morning. I’d only ever seen power and control in Sebastien’s face. Anthony’s too.

How could I get out of this and claim I still belonged on the throne?

Queens don’t fight.

Their armies did. Sure, leaders waited in the shadows and went to the front when a decision was needed. God, I’ve watched too much Game of Thrones.

This was more Sopranos shit.

Anger coursed through me, realizing I’d been reduced to hiding in a dusty hole. The same crawl space I’d used for my fantasy. How dare someone now trigger me like this?

The sound of gunfire outside wracked me with fear.

On a table near the staircase, Bastien had set up a cache of weapons when we first arrived. All the heat lay in their hands now with plenty of reinforcements. I’d filled up my Ruger with bullets earlier in the week and had grabbed it before tearing up three flights of stairs.

“No,” I cried out and reached for the ladder to get the fuck out of here. I’d picked a dumb place to hide. Only I could stop this. I couldn’t let my men die because of me.

Operation Protect the Queen was over. Abort!

The sound of the door opening up in the bedroom above stilled me and I gently placed the ladder back. But it creaked.

Shit.

It’d only been a matter of seconds since the gunshot blasts punctuated the calm below. Who was in this room already?

Sebastien?

He’d found me first weeks ago. The area rug sitting over the trap door hid the notch to open it when I pulled the string to put it back in place. I jumped when slivers of light from the sides of the trap door made my once pitch-black hole feel like Fenway Park at a night game.

The trap door banged. “Come out, Rebecca,” the voice said and I shuddered.

Not Sebastien.

The trap door flew open and I shirked back. A man stood there in a baseball cap and shades in front of his eyes. Long strands of dark brown hair had been pushed behind his ears and flowed down past his shoulders.

“No.” I pointed my gun at him, my fingers trembled, unable to pull the trigger. “Who are you?” There was something so familiar about him which terrified me. Just like the guys had all worn ski masks that night we came here. Was this man gazing down at me, one of my men after all?

“There’s no time to talk.” He didn’t have a gun trained on me, but reached down and grabbed me with a shocking swiftness and inhuman strength that paralyzed me.

He snatched the gun away from me too, released my magazine with one hand, and lifted me from the steep angle. Next, he threw me over his shoulder. I wanted to scream, but wasn’t sure what good it would do me.

If this was the hitman and he wanted me dead, I’d be dead. I had a better shot of talking to this guy. Bargain with him. He stomped down the hall to a narrow staircase with ease and confidence like he knew the house.

“Talk to me, damn it. Who are you?” I pounded on his back.

“Shut up,” the man snapped. “They’ll hear you.”

On the floor below the servants’ quarters, my captor cut down a short hallway again like he knew where he was going. He set me down, but grabbed my throat.

With our faces pressed together, his soft, thick beard tickled my nose. “Don’t speak.”

“Where are you taking me?” I ground out.

“That’s speaking.” He lifted a panel and I recognized a dumbwaiter. Only, I wasn’t sure the last time it actually got used. Was it suspended with a rope that could be so dried out, it would break? Or a rusty chain that would snap? “Get in.”

“No.”

He cocked his head toward me and I reached for the hat, but he slapped my hand away. “It wasn’t a request.” He grabbed me and shoved me inside.

My heart pounded as I waited to plummet to my death. “Stop, please talk to me.”

“Still speaking.” The man crammed his body inside with me.

Now we were definitely going to crash. Unless he knew...

Knew it was safe. But how? How?

With darkness surrounding us, I reached for his face, stroking the soft beard. Jesus Christ, did I have to let another man in my bed in order to live?

“Stop that,” he said, sounding shocked I’d touch him so intimately.

“Talk to me. Who are you?” I sat, crunched next to the man who I could only describe as a beast with wide shoulders and long legs that took up most of the space. “I feel like we’ve met. Please talk to me.”

“Silence.” His rude and monotone responses suggested he was a monster.

Like a hitman...

This was it. My enemies found me. And this man was going to kill me. Perhaps in front of people. In front of cameras he’d set up somewhere. Or worse, he planned to kidnap me and then sell me to the highest bidder.

We lowered in the dumbwaiter drenched in that silence he wanted, making me wonder what powered this thing.

Gunshots sounded louder now that we were on the main level of the house. I grabbed the man. “Do you hear that? That’s the men I love. Please, let me out. I have to stop this.”

“Nope.”

My ears popped and I realized we were now underground. Before I could plead again, the panel lifted and I faced a narrow dank tunnel of cobblestones stacked six feet high. I had a déjà vu from my ordeal in the subway, only the smell now was briny and not urine. A shallow stream of water trickled at my feet.

“Go,” he ordered me.

“No. I’m not going anywhere with you.” I stood firm and crossed my arms.

Exhaling, he lifted his hat and removed his sunglasses, making me stagger back.

“Now will you get the hell out of here with me, Becca?”

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