Page 116 of Chasing the Red Queen

“Fucking tape, what the hell,” the woman mumbled as Donja squirmed and grimaced, stomping her feet. “That goddamn Jonas is gonna pay for this if her skin’s damaged,” she said to one of two men whom Donja had never seen before in the front seat. One of them turned but didn’t say a word.

Donja moaned as it was peeled from her lips. Finally, as the last of it was removed, the woman opened a backpack and found a tube of Olay moisturizer. She applied it to Donja’s reddened skin, then pulled a water bottle from the bag and offered it up. Donja drank, coughing harshly. The woman smoothed her hair and in that moment Donja met her eyes, which surprisingly held what she wanted to believe was compassion.

“The name’s Trixie,” she said, “sorry about the tape.”

“Where,” Donja’s voice creaked, “am I?”

“Fifty miles north of Whitehorse.”

“Where’s that?” Donja asked. She sipped the water, but even that did little to soothe her parched throat.

“Yukon Territory, but don’t fret yourself, honey. Drink your water and within a few hours it will all be over.”

“Over?” Donja whispered. “Are they going to kill me?” Tears streaked her cheeks.

“No, no, no. You’re not gonna die,” Trixie cooed, wiping at her cheeks. “Quite the contrary.”

“What do you mean?” Donja croaked.

“I mean you’re lucky as hell, little gal, and you don’t even know it yet.”

Donja met her blue eyes. “Lucky. You call this lucky?” she screeched.

The woman just stared, but her demeanor shifted and then, with a glint in her eyes, she grumbled. “Damn lucky, why I’d give my right arm to be in your position, to be wanted by the son of one of the most powerful men on earth. Your life’s set honey, carte blanche.”

Unable to find words, Donja turned to the window, clutching the water bottle as the Rover cruised over a gravel road, a plume of dust rising around them. The terrain was completely foreign with rolling hills, rocky outcroppings and brush-covered meadows flanked by rugged mountains.

Wilderness, my God not a dwelling in sight.

Minutes later the vehicle left the road, forging a fast-flowing creek. They climbed a rocky hill with the vehicle whining as it tossed them about. Hours later, traversing a path no ordinary vehicle could manage, Donja caught sight of a rocky bluff with a sprawling log mansion the size of a city block. She squinted, unable to believe her eyes, and as they approached she caught sight of a deep gorge where a river snaked the land.

“It’s the mighty Yukon,” Trixie mused, “runs from British Columbia all the way to the Bering Sea in Alaska. You ever been there?” she asked.

Donja just stared.

You’re crazy…you’re all crazy.

“I guess not,” Trixie huffed. “Not much of a talker, are you?”

The Rover came to a stop and her door swung wide. A hulking man with a brown, wiry beard dressed in coveralls, extended his hand. She took it and he assisted her out. She instantly raised a hand to shield her eyes as sunlight stealing past snowcapped mountains blasted her face. Glancing around she saw hundreds of men scattered about, a few lurking behind towering spruce. She spied a barn with a corral where horses stood lazily watching the event. She surveyed the grounds and in the distance, she could see men, hundreds of men scattered along the bluff.

“This way,” the man in coveralls motioned, ushering her up a paved walk flanked by hostas, lilies and sculpted shrubs. She marched ahead of him and it took all her willpower not to bolt and run. Past a fountain with a rocked pond, she tried to steady her nerves, eyes on the mansion for somehow, she knew that what lay waiting may well be her demise. Each step intensified the urge to turn, run and leap from the ledge, falling to the river below. It played heavy on her mind, and she glanced to the bluff, judging the distance.

From behind, the man moved in close, as if reading her thoughts. He placed his hand in the small of her back forcing her forward. They climbed twenty or more wooden steps onto a landing where French doors, with lace attire swung wide. She took a breath, nerves on edge as they entered the sprawling mansion.

Trixie joined her. “Come with me, sweetie,” she giggled with a wiggle in her walk as she sashayed atop stone floors, her spiked boots tapping. Past the foyer they came to a grand room the size of a school auditorium. It was superbly decorated with leather, stone, and polished wood. “Make yourself comfortable,” Trixie said as she took to a staircase spiraling up to a bannistered loft.

Donja raised a hand to her brow and watched her disappear.

Comfortable…not gonna happen.

Seeing Trixie disappear from site, Donja glanced around for a phone, but if one existed she couldn’t find it. A bit weak in the knees, she wobbled to the wall of windows and to her surprise found the glass doors unlocked. She turned the knob, then stepped out onto a deck that jutted out over the river. She traversed the luxurious outdoor furniture and finding the bannister, gripped it firmly, winds whipping her hair. She took a deep breath, leaning precariously over the rail with eyes locked on the white capped rapids hundreds of feet below. Lightheaded and burdened by an intense swooning effect, she contemplated.

Jump…take my chances?

She baulked trembling with fear. Feeling a hand grip her arm, she spun and glanced into Trixie’s eyes. “Naughty girl. Now let’s get you back inside,” she said as she forcefully grasped her arm. Back in the great room, Trixie closed and locked the door.

Donja sat down on a leather sofa, and it occurred to her that there was background music which she had not previously noticed. She listened to the fluidic flow which sounded like a distant opera. She saw movement on the stairs and wearily rose to her feet expecting to see Satan himself, but as the man came into view shirtless and barefoot in tight jeans that left nothing to the imagination, she could only stare.

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