Through dinner, my smile feels more and more horrific, worsening as the night wears on.
Rhys and Jake make great speeches, and I stand and clap with everyone else but I cannot recall one word of what either of them said up there. I feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin.
Eventually, there’s a break and I excuse myself to the ladies’ room. As I move through one tent and then another to get to the walkway to the main building, someone grabs my arm and pulls me into the bushes. Before I can scream, a hand is wrapped around my mouth, and I’m turned to face my uncle.
“You have a job to do and you’re going to do it,” my captor says without preamble. That must mean I’m held by none other than the earl. He uncovers my mouth but does not let me go.
“And what’s that?” I ask quietly.
“You’re going to kill the president.”
“No,” I whisper.
He lashes out and slaps me across the face.
“You don’t have a choice,” he says. “You owe me and you’re going to do what I say. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he says. “You’re going to stab him in his sleep. Tonight.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You’ll die,” my uncle says. “It will be ugly and painful, and death will only be granted after I say so. And that, my dear, will be long after the earl has had a chance to play with you,”
“And I do so love you play.” The earl licks his tongue up the side of my neck.
I want to throw up all over again, but I manage to swallow it back.
My uncle hands me the evening bag I droppedwhen I was grabbed, and says, “The knife is in here. Do be sure that you’ve finished the job.”
“And when I’m done?” I ask.
“You’ll be tried and hung for your crimes.” He smirks.
“You didn’t think you were anything but a pawn, did you?” The earl sneers as he lets me go and walks away, my uncle following in his wake.
One thing is certain, I may have been brought into this game as a pawn, but I’ll finish it as a Queen. Only God can save me now.
Chapter 21
Not on Our Watch
Gabriel
“Target spotted,” I whisper into my coms as I sit overwatch on one of the White House buildings. It’s not usually my job to keep eyes on POTUS, but when there’s a credible threat like a plot to murder the sitting president and blame it on foreign nobility, it’s all hands on deck.
“Let me know when you’ve got the shot,” my commander says into my ear.
“Bad copy,” I reply because I know for a fact, he’s not asking me to take out a foreign dignitary. My mission objective was just to watch over those dignitaries no matter how nefarious.
“Copy is good,” he says before continuing to issue the orders again. “Confirm when you’ve got the shot.”
“Good copy,” I reply because if there’s one thingwe’re good at, it’s the ability to adapt and overcome.
I continue to watch the group as they mill in and about the rooms of the White House. The older man in question moves seamlessly throughout the building. He stays close to FLOTUS and a visiting queen. He’s smart, keeping himself near those who are protected.
Finally, he breaks away to follow a server—a young woman with a long blonde braid down her back. She’s not dressed provocatively, but he doesn’t seem to care as he corners her and grabs her ass, startling her. She pushes his hand away and he says something that makes her eyes go wide before she nods with a sad expression on her face. I can only assume he’s forcing her to meet with him soon.