Page 64 of The Queen
30
ELIZA
Bolting through the woods,lungs on fire, legs pushing hard against the earth, each breath is a battle, but I keep going. Sweat drips down my face, and my heart hammers like it’s trying to break free.
The guys are out there, but they are seriously elusive. They’ve set this trap, a game of cat and mouse in which I’m the mouse, but I won’t make it easy for them—not now, not when I’ve been taught to evade and survive.
The forest is thick, and leaves rustle under my feet as I dodge low branches. This is our twisted version of hide-and-seek, but the stakes are higher and the play more dangerous.
My blood spikes again, a rush that tells me I’m alive and I’m in control.
My dress is a mess, torn from where it’s caught on brambles. It’s nothing compared to the dirt that stains my feet, marks of how far I’ve come tonight, of the blood on my arms from the scratches. Echoes of my childhood lessons play in my mind—never show weakness, always stay alert. I can’t afford slip-ups, not when James, Oliver, Tarquin, and Raphael are masters at exploiting them.
Glancing over my shoulder, I search for any sign of them, but there’s nothing. Just endless trees and darkness that seems to swallow up everything. My heart thuds against my ribcage.
A small break in the trees catches my eye, a sliver of moonlight beckoning like a beacon. Without hesitation, I veer off the beaten path and bolt toward the clearing. The thick underbrush tries to slow me down, but I push through, branches whipping at my skin, leaving fresh scratches that sting with every stride.
I burst into the open space, lungs screaming for air, and force myself to slow down for a moment. My chest heaves as I bend over, hands pressing against my knees. Where are they? This silence isn’t right. They’re cunning, sure, but this quiet is unnerving. I strain my ears for any sign of them, but there’s nothing. No crunch of leaves, no whisper of movement. Just my own ragged breathing gradually evening out.
“Fuck.”
The moon washes over me here, casting eerie shadows across the ground. It’s bright enough that if they’re watching, they’ll see me. I need to move. But I take another second, just one more, to let my breath come easy again.
My chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, the cold air filling my lungs. I straighten up, rolling my shoulders to shake off the tension that’s built from running. The clearing feels like a sanctuary for just a moment—serene, untouched. But it’s all part of the game, isn’t it? Part of the thrill.
I let out a slow breath, one that carries with it the weight of my legacy. This is what I’m made for. Danger, strategy, the rush—it’s in my blood as much as any Hughes before me. Somewhere out there, James, Oliver, Tarquin, and Raphael are waiting, planning their next move. I’m ready for whatever they throw at me.
A twig snaps somewhere in the darkness, a subtle sound easily missed by anyone not on edge. My head whips around, scanning the treeline. Nothing but shadows playing tricks in the moonlight—or so it seems. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. They’re close and giving the game away. The tingle at the back of my neck that tells me I’m being watched never lies. It tells me they’re here, lurking just beyond sight, ready to pounce.
I take a silent step forward, my bare feet pressing into the cool earth, every nerve ending alight with anticipation.
Suddenly, without warning, my arms are yanked back, the shock of cold plastic biting into my skin as zip ties cinch around my wrists in a lock that’s way too tight. A laugh bubbles up in my throat. I twist slightly, trying to get a look at which one of my men has finally caught up to me, but it’s no good; they’re holding me firm.
I struggle, keeping in the game, ready to scream and thrash and kick.
The grip on me doesn’t ease; it tightens, and I open my mouth to scream. A hand claps over it, covered in a heavy black glove. Silence stretches a beat too long, and a cold trickle of confusion starts to worm its way into my chest as I squirm. The night air seems colder now, the darkness more absolute.
Something is off.
I crane my neck, straining against the tight hold, and that’s when I see a masked face. It’s death incarnate, and the spike in my blood lights up.
Panic grips me, slamming into my chest like a sledgehammer. My breath hitches as I try to process what’s happening. This isn’t the game. Sweat drips into my eyes, stinging and blurring my vision. The zip tie cuts into my skin, too tight, remorseless. I struggle against the iron grip of the man who has me, but it’s useless.
“Who are you?” I demand when he removes his hand from my mouth.
No answer comes from the masked figure, just the sound of my own heavy breathing. I’m caught, but not by one of my guys.
“Bait,” he says eventually.
I scan the clearing frantically, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of my guys, but there’s nothing, no sign of them, just shadows and the chilling realisation that I am utterly alone.
Dread settles in my stomach, cold and heavy. I’ve run into a trap, or the trap ran after me, and whatever comes next, I know it won’t be good. The stranger’s hold on me is a clear message: I’m not in control anymore. My world, one where I’ve always held the power, has been flipped upside down in an instant.
“Let me go,” I spit out, but my voice trembles, betraying the terror that’s clawing its way up my throat. I can’t afford to show weakness, not now, not ever. But as the seconds tick by, with only the silent forest and this ominous captor for company, I can’t help it. Fear has me in its grip, and for the first time in my life, I don’t know if I can break free.
“That’s not going to happen,” the masked man remarks, his voice bland and not at all menacing.
But it is familiar.
