Chapter 65
Mila
“ Wake up!” Camilla ’ s voice shatters my nightmare. She ’ s perched on my bed, rubbing my forehead like she cares. “ You had a bad dream; it ’ s okay.”
“ No, it ’ s not,” I mutter as I sit up. I grab my stomach.
“ One day, they will stop.”
“ What will?” I ’ m so dizzy; I rub my eyes, but that only makes the spots in them dance with fervor.The nightmare felt so real. I look at my fingers, expecting to see blood caked under the nails.
“ Your dreams.” Camilla reaches for a bottle of water and places it in my hands.
My dreams? Why do I want them to stop?
That ’ s not right.
Slowly, I accept the bottle. “ Don ’ t you mean my nightmares?” I hug the bottle to my chest.
Camilla blinks and stands. “ It ’ s all the same,“ she whispers. “ It will stop.”
I edge back, but my sheets are so wet that they stick to me, making my bed feel like a fisherman ’ s net. “ It ’ s time to wake up. Let ’ s have breakfast first, then we need to talk.”
Why does that sound like my death sentence?
“ Is everything okay?” Are my inners going to be the breakfast because this bitch is crazy enough to eat me?
“ You tell me?” Camilla hesitates at the door as she looks back at me, “ You ’ re the one with the nightmares.”
“ I…” what do I say?
Suddenly, she giggles, and my heart skips a beat. “ Come on, nothing is worse than cold toast.”
◆◆◆
The toast sits on my plate untouched. “ Eat. It will settle your stomach.” Camilla pours two cups of coffee and joins me at the table. This manner has a large dining room, but each morning, Camilla eats in the kitchen; others join her, and some sit on the counter trying to be in her presence. I noticed her tactic the first moment she did it. The dining room is cold and sterile, formal. A kitchen is welcoming and deceptive. She wants them to think she is relatable and not the queen of the manner sitting at the head of the table.
I force myself to pick up the toast. The butter melts into my fingers as I nibble off one tiny piece. “ It ’ s time to collect, Mila. I need your help.” Camilla sits down, hugging the coffee cup tight as she steals its warmth.
Dread coats my nerves like slick oil bubbling free from the deep ocean. My vision turns black and white, shiny and slippery. Glancing down at the table, the butter knife is my only weapon. A French chef might be able to kill with butter, but I can ’ t.
“ I need my linchpin, Mila.” Camilla takes a sip of coffee; the movement looks so regal. Even in the early morning, her red lipstick is perfectly applied. “ The council is gone. The rulers are struggling to maintain order. Soon, it will fall. Without him, they will all be clueless. The Rites of Passage will be no more; everything he has worked for will be gone.”
Titan, Damian, Nova, and Dash all flash in my mind. Have I been here too long? She said they are struggling.
Maybe if I had left sooner, I could have prevented what ’ s happened, but I still feel like Camilla hasn ’ t told me anything. I know her plan, but her final target is a secret.
She sets the coffee down. Her sly hands take out her phone, which she slides across the table like an offering of bread. The gesture makes me feel like I should take it, like it ’ s a gift. My eyes water with tears as I look at the picture on the screen. “ Damian?” I whisper. He ’ s on the screen, leaning against a counter, holding a cup of coffee. He ’ s saved, alive, and happy.
“ He ’ s the man you loved?” My eyebrows shoot up to the heavens. My mouth is hanging open so wide it hits the table.
“ Not him.” Camilla sneers for the first time, making me feel like an idiot.
Good. He ’ s safe.Wait, that ’ s a na?ve thought. No one is safe while Camilla still breathes.
Years of ballet taught me how to mask my pain and shock. At the end of our performance, all I wanted to do was hunch over and catch my breath, but I had to remain standing tall, smiling, and fooling the audience. I do that now.
“ What do you need me to do?”
“ I need to know everything you know about Damian.” She nods towards a guard; he comes forward with a notebook and pen. “ Just write down every detail, even if you think it doesn ’ t matter. Everything, Mila. I need to know how he thinks, what he likes, where he goes.” She stresses the last.
Good. That means she doesn ’ t have him.
“ I didn ’ t know Damian that well.”
“ He drove you to that art gallery. Hours spent in a car must have sparked some conversations.” Camilla responds slowly, watching and waiting to see if I ’ m lying.
How does she know that?
Those conversations start to play in my head. What did he tell me?
“ Did he tell you where he would live after he graduated? What were his aspirations?” She reaches up, touching the side of her lip, ensuring no lipstick has smeared. “ He must have told you something.”
In fact, he did. Damian said he would go to Aspen to take over King Corporation ’ s weapons manufacturing. It was his duty, he said. Maybe that has changed since The Rites of Passage got involved.
Don ’ t let her see that flash across your face! Lie! I furrow my brows and look up as if trying to pull the truth from my head. “ We didn ’ t talk about anything important,” I answer quickly. “ He kept trying to convince me to give Dash another chance.”
“ Any detail helps.” She pushes the phone closer to me. “ Did he ever mention that girl?” She taps her finger on the screen, zooming in closer.
What girl? I grab the phone, blinking, trying not to cry. I didn ’ t notice the girl in the photo. The cashier is standing across the counter. She ’ s smiling at Damian, a flirtatious smirk, and Damian…oh, he ’ s never looked so smitten.
I shake my head. “ Who is she?”
“ Someone of interest. I need to find out where he is keeping her, so any details you can tell me will help. Damian is smart. He ’ s remained hidden along with her, but I have a feeling you got to know him better than his staff did.”
“ What do Damian and this girl have to do with the man who betrayed you?”
“ That ’ s none of your business!” Camilla ’ s composure breaks; her Italian skin flushes crimson. She averts her gaze and takes a deep breath, mumbling to herself. Then, she slowly looks back as if this is a tea party, and we are just giggling over gossip.
My stomach twists, causing that one tiny bite of toast to grate and scrape along my insides. She snatches back the phone, glancing at it with disgust. I grab the notebook and hug it to my chest. “ I ’ ll try.” I lie. My shoulders droop inward, “ You ’ ve done so much for me, and…I ’ m…I ’ m worried I will be of no use at all. I wish I could do more.”
“ All I ask is that you try. If nothing is helpful, we will move on to the next step.”
What the fuck is the next step?
Well, she ’ s got me here; she could try to trade me for Damian. He would do it.
Dash would force him.
I can ’ t allow that to happen! Time ’ s up. I need to get away before that happens.
The moment Camilla took me under her wing, I have been watching and waiting, plotting. Nova would be proud. I ’ ve seen a few chances I could try to escape, rare moments when I ’ m alone, mostly when I ’ m in my room, which means I have to sneak out. That ’ s too risky.
There is another way—a pathway to freedom. I was too scared to plot it before, but I am—right now.
“ Don ’ t rush,” she articulates the statement so sweetly.
I nod. “ Can I do my morning lesson first? It helps clear my head.”
“ Of course.”
“ Um, now that Ben is gone, who will I train with?” I hate you! I ’ m going to smile when you die.
Camilla flicks her hair back, “ Amon can train you.”
Standing, I leave, notebook in hand. When the sun sets, I will either be free or will have taken my last breath.
◆◆◆
As I train, I hold back, saving my muscles and energy for my escape. I learned as much as I can. I need to get out of here and tell my family, so it ’ s not all a waste. After my hand to hand combat lessons, I always have gun practice. It’s the only time I am one on one with someone. A small fighting chance to escape.
By the time Amon drives us out to the open fields, I slide out of the car; literally, I ’ m sweating so much that my seat has turned into a slip-and-slide. Amon grabs the guns without saying a word. Ben used to at least make small talk, but Amon just creepily watches as I aim and shoot, sometimes missing my target.
The wind blows over my wet brow, the sensation churns my stomach, making my insides feel like a foul concoction a child made without its mom ’ s permission.
This is it. It ’ s now or never. Don ’ t hesitate.
We begin to pack up, putting all the guns back into the SUV. We never shoot near the manor; it ’ s always out in the field where the birds tend to flock like poor, unsuspecting targets, just like Amon will be.
This is the perfect place and the only time I can try to escape. It ’ s just Amon and me, who should not have walked to the driver's seat to warm the car, leaving me to pack up the guns.
My eyes linger on the forest line for one more moment before my life changes. The fog is still thick, a small aid on my side from Mother Nature trying to help me get out alive.
I don ’ t think. If I did, I wouldn ’ t be able to do it.
Amon raises one leg about to step into the SUV. He speaks for the first time.
I wish he didn ’ t. It makes him appear more human.
“ You ’ re getting better, but you need to strengthen your arms so the kickback from the shotgun doesn ’ t jerk you so much. That’s why you missed those other targets. Your aim was thrown off.”
Thank you for that tip. I flex my biceps, bracing for the kickback.
He turns his face away to get into the car; I step out from behind the trunk and raise the gun. I clench my muscles so tight a part of me turns to stone. I take two quick steps and right before his left foot leaves the ground so he can slide into his seat, I press the barrel of the gun to the nape of his neck. Directly on top of the tip of his spine.
He hesitates, unsure if he should continue to slide into the car or bring his right foot back out onto the ground. Stuck between a limbo of life and death. All the power is in my hands.
“ I ’ m sorry,” I whisper. I spare him the prolonged moment of shock. Curling my index finger around the trigger.
Boom! Oh shit! Without my protective headphones on, the gunshot is much louder than I had anticipated. The sound numbs me, deafens the reality of the moment as it rings in my ear. It ’ s a blood-curdling ring that ripples again and again, making my eardrums scream.
The pellets dig into the back of his neck, tearing open his flesh, making way for small holes. I did it.
Me.
I finally saved myself.
Now, I need to save my family. I might just be a messenger, but my information is vital. Every soldier, no matter how big or small, can aid in winning a war. I need to get back to Dash and warn him.
Dash didn ’ t just teach me why I should run; he showed me the importance of running. The value of something is only understood after you lose it.
Did my absence change Dash ’ s mind? Will he value our love more, or did he decide it was worthless to him?
Maybe it doesn ’ t matter at all. Compassion may be more important than love. If I were selfish I would cherish my freedom and not consider the fate the Kings are trapped in. Saving them from Camilla by giving them this information in exchange for my freedom is a deal I can accept. I can ’ t live knowing I did nothing to save the Kings. That would mean I was a monster all along.
“ I ’ m sorry.” I cry as Amon falls to the ground. I am. I clear my conscience by telling myself Amon isn ’ t a good man if he works for Camilla. I search his pockets for the keys, but then…he groans!
My eyelids curl back so deep they touch my brain. He ’ s alive!
Sealing my eyes shut, I inhale and pretend I ’ m on stage, tuning out all my emotions. Just perform; worry about the injuries later. I have to reload first, then I press the gun to his temple, and I pray to god that this next bullet ends his suffering.
His body jerks. A few minutes later, I look at his chest. No rise or fall. I peel my jacket off and place it over him, get into the car, and drive away.
Holy fuck!
What am I doing?