Page 39 of The Queen
“Got one. Point and shoot.”
“Jesus, slow down.” He grabs my arms as we reach my Mercedes parked up in the driveway.
“No. This has gone on for long enough. She killed my mother, Ollie. I’ve got the chance to take her out. I’m going.”
“Then let us come with you,” His eyes scream at me to slow down.
“Raph needs to stay here, and I’ve got Felix. Please, Ollie. This is something I have to do on my own.”
“So, why ishegoing with you?”
“He knows where she is.”
“Eliza…”
“No,” I say, holding my hand up. “I’m not being reckless. I’m cool and calm.”
“What if it’s another trap?” James asks, coming up behind Oliver.
“I don’t have time for this!”
“Eliza, we need to move; I don’t know how long she’s going to stay there,” Felix murmurs.
“Fine, separate car, but you don’t interfere unless I need help. This ismykill.”
“Understood,” they say and pile into the Jeep, which I think belongs to Oliver. I’ve never seen anyone drive it before, but I see their plan. It’s easier to fire out of if we come under the gun.
As I slide into the driver’s seat and Felix takes shotgun, I grip him by his throat. “Swear to me. Swear this isn’t a setup.”
Felix’s eyes meet mine, and there’s a solemnity in them that tells me he understands the stakes. His hand goes to his chest, right over his heart.
“By my blood, I swear it, Eliza. You have my word as a Hughes.”
“You’re not a Hughes. Not yet.”
“Then let me prove to you how much I want to be, sis.”
“Okay,” I say, and that’s all there is to it. Trust is rare, and right now, with this carrot he’s dangling, I’m going to be the ass that follows him.
We drive off in silence, catching sight of the guys behind me, keeping their distance.
“Take a left,” Felix murmurs, already shifting to get a clear line of sight.
My palms are sweaty as I follow his curt instructions, and a moment of doubt hits me. Can I do this? Can I look at the woman who has my mother’s face and pull the trigger?
I guess time will tell.
“I’m going to ask you one more time, Felix. Can you do this?”
“Yes. Can you?”
We pull up to a red light, and I stare at him. “Yes.”
“Nothing left to say then except, right here.”
I nod and flick the indicator on, waiting to turn.
“About a mile on your right,” he murmurs after a few minutes, during which the tension and my anxiety reaches a peak before the calm of war settles over me.
