No one could survive that.
What else is there to do but give in to fate?
Except, this isn’t a game of chess where the fall of the king means the end of the game.
No. This is war. And the war isn’t over until the queen is dead.
And I am the fucking Queen.
Or so I want to believe.
My empire is crumbling around me, and I am surrounded by the enemy.
No, literally, I am surrounded by no less than twenty men, the barrels of their guns pointed directly at me. I am impressed they think they need twenty men to take me in.
“Hello, dear,” a woman’s voice filters through the air, unbothered by the rising smoke and dust that covers the air.
I never expected her to betray me.
“Hello, Grandmother.”
twenty-four
Well, this is boring.
Drumming my fingers on my knee, I tap out the rhythm to “Dead or Alive” by Bon Jovi on my dirt-marred skin. Hunger gnaws at my bones, my stomach growling in protest at the lack of nutrients. I’ve refused to eat the plates of food they send in through the slot at the bottom of my prison door.
They are drugged.
It has only been a few days since the Dashkov building collapsed, and I haven’t heard anything. Not a peep. If they are truly dead, I would have expected my distasteful, backstabbing grandmother to be down here gloating.
They’re alive.
The mantra runs through my head on repeat.
A welcome broken record of reassurance. If they were in the vault, they would have survived. It is a genius system. The vault worked on a separate system from the rest of the building. If for any reason the surface building is breached, the undergroundremains untouched. Matthias even had the foresight to make sure the vault had its own life-support system.
Oxygen, electricity, air. Everything in the vault is self-contained.
They have to be alive.
Which begs the question of why the fuck I am still sitting in this god-forsaken cell. I can’t be all that hard to find, especially since I am still wearing the tracking necklace Vas gave me a few days after I becamePakhan.
It is small and unassuming. Perfect to hide in plain sight. No one is the wiser that the gold anchor on my neck will spell their doom.
The shuffling of feet sounds outside my cell door.Dinnertime.Right on cue. My stomach growls in protest, but there is no way in hell I am falling for that trick again. The door to the cell swings open, the hinges creaking noisily. I wince at the obtrusive sound in the otherwise silent room.
Huh, usually they don’t come in when it is chow time.
“You’re still alive, I see,” a smooth voice interrupts the silence. “Surprising.”
I scoff. “Did you want me to die? You don’t sound too disappointed that I’m still breathing.”
“Why would I be disappointed, dear?” the woman asks, her head tilted slightly. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have brought you here.”
Fair point.
“What do you want, then?” My patience is wearing thin with this woman. “Family bonding time?”