Chapter 32 Trapped Between the Shelves
My back slammed into the bookshelf. Thud.
It wasn't a spy. It wasn't some grunt. Claus stood right there, his massive frame blocking out the light of the store.
He slammed both hands onto the wood on either side of my head, locking me in.
The shelves groaned. The gap between us was basically non existent.
I could feel the heat radiating off his uniform.
"Thought you could lose me?" he growled. His voice sounded like gravel being crushed.
I tried to back up, but the books dug into my spine. "I don't know what you want, Duke."
"Cut the crap," he snapped. He leaned in until his nose was nearly touching mine. "The military files. The ones missing a Varannes family seal. Julian found the trail, but I'm the one finishing the hunt. Where is the rest of the smuggled shipment?"
I felt a cold shiver go down my neck. Smuggled?
Goddamn it, original Ilse.
I started cursing the girl who owned this body before I got here.
What kind of insane, suicide-mission crap did she pull?
She wasn't just some bratty noble; she was a criminal.
She'd been smuggling military gear, and that's why Julian and Claus were hunting me down like a stray dog.
My 'heroic' party trick was totally useless against this.
The reputation I was building? It was all going to burn down the second the truth came out.
"I don't have it," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs like a bird in a cage.
Claus didn't buy it. He didn't even blink. He tilted his head, his dark eyes scanning me, looking for a crack in my armor.
"You were a nasty little brat when we were kids, you know," he muttered.
My brain froze. What?
"You don't remember?" He pressed his hand harder against the shelf.
"You used to tear up my training logs and throw my practice swords into the lake. You spent your whole childhood trying to make my life miserable just because you were bored. Did you really think I'd forget the face of the girl who made my life hell?"
I swallowed hard. Great. Not only was I a smuggler, I was also a childhood bully. My luck was absolute trash. He moved closer. His breathing was heavy, warm, and hit my forehead. He was so close that I could smell the leather of his gloves and the lingering scent of that cold, sharp metal.
He didn't trust a single word I was saying.
Every time I tried to turn my face away, he'd track it, forcing me to look him in the eye.
He was enjoying this. He liked that I was cornered, that I had nowhere to run.
The aisle was cramped, hot, and smelled like dust and dread.
I couldn't move. I couldn't talk. I just stood there, pinned.
Claus slowly lowered his head. He stared straight into my brown eyes, which were shaking, and I knew I was busted. He leaned down, his lips practically grazing my ear, and whispered in a voice so dangerous it sent chills down my legs.
"Got you. Now, tell me what kind of game you're playing in my city, Mademoiselle?"