Daughter Of Shadow's King

Chapter 10: Forced to smuggle

Darkness closed in. I was out.

As I fell into the void, fragments of thoughts swirled. Who were these people? What did they want? Grandma...

The black car door opened. The bulky man tossed me in. I landed on a cold leather seat.

A figure leaned in, voice low and gravelly. "Get her to the facility. Now."

The door slammed shut. The car sped off, engine roaring.

In the darkness, I was helpless. Unconsciousness dragged me under.

After what feels like eternity, I finally gain my consciousness. I groggily opened my eyes, my head pounding with a dull ache. The room was dimly lit, sterile white walls, a faint smell of disinfectant. I tried to sit up, but dizziness washed over me, forcing me back onto the bed.

Memories flooded back—the gala, the stranger in the dark coat, the needle jabbed into my neck, the black car. Fear gripped my chest, heart racing. Who were these people?

The door clicked open. A woman in a crisp white coat entered. “Hazel, you’re awake.”

I glared. “Where am I? What do you want?”

She smiled calmly. “You’re safe, Hazel. We’ll explain everything soon.”

I laughed, trying to keep my cool. “No, you’ll explain now.”

Her expression didn’t change. “Dr. Lee will brief you soon. Rest.”

She turned to leave. I swung my legs off the bed, ready to bolt. She glanced back, a warning in her eyes. “Don’t try anything, Hazel. You won’t like the consequences.”

The door locked behind her. I scanned the room—hospital bed, monitors, an IV line I yanked out, a camera in the corner. They were watching.

Minutes ticked by, silence oppressive. I focused on breathing, trying to calm the racing pulse.

The door opened again. A man in a tailored suit walked in, followed by the woman. “Hazel, I’m Dr. Lee,” he said, voice smooth. “We need to talk.”

He placed a folder on the table, opened it. A photo of a small, sealed package stared back at me. “You’re going to carry this for us. Simple courier job.”

My gut twisted. “No way. I don’t know what’s in that, and I don’t care.”

Dr. Lee’s smile stayed polite, eyes cold. “It’s harmless, Hazel. Just a little something for a client. You’ll get paid, and we’ll consider your… debt paid.”

Debt? What debt? “I don’t owe you anything,” I spat.

The woman stepped forward, voice icy. “You owe your stepmother, Hazel. She’s the one who’s been paying for your… accommodations.”

My blood ran cold. “My stepmother?”

Dr. Lee nodded, a hint of cruelty crossing his face. “Jasmine. She’s been covering your expenses, Hazel. Now you’re going to repay her.”

Jasmine. The name hit like a slap. She’d tortured me for years, emotionally and physically, she always enjoy hurting me. Why would she…?

The pieces clicked. Jasmine was behind this. She was using me to smuggle drugs.

“The stranger rescued me from Kael and took me in, gave me a home,” I whispered, trying to steady my voice. “Jasmine must be furious I escaped.”

Dr. Lee chuckled low. “Furious enough to make you useful. This package—cocaine—has a street value that will settle her ‘investment’ in you.”

I felt the weight of it. If I got caught, prison. If I complied, I’d be forever chained to Jasmine’s will.

The door opened, a guard stepped in. “Time’s up, Dr. Lee. The plane’s waiting.”

Dr. Lee glanced at me. “You’ll get on that plane, Hazel. Deliver the package. Or else.”

The guard grabbed my arm, pulling me up. I struggled, but his grip was iron. “Let me go!”

As they dragged me out, I caught a glimpse of the package—a sleek, black box, the label barely visible. My mind raced. I had to get out, had to run as far away from Jasmine as I can.

The guard shoved me into a black sedan. The engine roared, tires screeching on the night road. I sat, hands shaking, thoughts spiraling. Jasmine’s face flickered in memory—her smile when she’d lock me in the basement, her cold voice saying, “You’re nothing without me.”

“Where are we going?” I demanded, voice trembling.

The guard glanced back, indifferent. “Airport. Private jet. You’ll be in Europe by morning.”

I tried to think of the stranger, of anyone who could help. My phone was gone, the IV ripped out, no signal, no escape.

The car stopped at a private runway. A sleek jet waited, lights blinking. A man in a dark coat— the same stranger from the gala—stood near the steps, his face still hidden in shadow. He watched me, unmoving.

Dr. Lee approached, handing me the package. “Take it. Slip it into your luggage. No one will check a student’s bag.”

I stared at the box, heart pounding. “I won’t do it.”

Lee’s smile faded. “Then Jasmine will make sure your grandma pays for your defiance. You know she has reach.”

My breath hitched. My grandma. Jasmine can go as far as she can to get whatever she wants.

“Think, Hazel,” Lee whispered. “You can walk out of this alive, or you can die trying.”

The stranger in the coat stepped forward, finally revealing a scar across his cheek. “She’s not the only one who wants you,” he said, voice low. “Jasmine’s orders come from higher up. You’re a pawn.”

I felt the world tilt. A pawn. A tool for Jasmine’s revenge and someone else’s profit.

The guard pushed me toward the jet steps. I stumbled, the package clashing against my chest. I turned one last time, eyes searching for an ally, for any sign of rescue.

Nothing. Only the cold wind, the humming engine, and Jasmine’s shadow looming behind every decision.

I stepped onto the plane, the doors sealing shut. The flight attendant offered a smile that felt like a mask. I clutched the package, my mind a storm of fear, anger, and a flicker of resolve.

Maybe somewhere, the stranger would notice my disappearance. Maybe the stranger’s scar was a clue. Maybe I could still break the chain Jasmine forged.

For now, I had to survive the flight, find a moment to act, or everything I loved would crumble under Jasmine’s ruthless plan.

The plane took off, cutting through night clouds, and I sat, trembling, with the weight of the drugs and a stepmother’s vengeance crushing my soul, wondering if I’d ever see daylight again.

The plane leveled off, the engines humming steady as I stared blankly at the package in my lap. The black box seemed to radiate a toxic energy, a constant reminder of Jasmine's grip on me. I thought of grandma and the stranger. Did they know I was gone? Were they looking for me?

The flight attendant—a polished woman with a sympathetic smile—offered me a drink. I shook my head, eyes fixed on the package. She didn't press, just nodded and moved on, likely used to passengers with secrets.

My mind spun. How did Jasmine plan to get the drugs past customs? Was someone on the plane in on it? The stranger with the scar had hinted at bigger players—who were they?

I shifted subtly, feeling for hidden pockets in my jeans, searching for anything useful. Empty. The plane's bathroom was a crivice I'd have to make do with. I stood, grabbing the package, and headed aft, trying to look nonchalant.

The bathroom was tiny, a fragile lock on the door. I flipped it shut and leaned against the sink, the package pressed to my chest. I examined it—no seals, just a simple latch. I flipped it open, a bitter taste in my mouth.

Cocaine, neatly packed, a kilo maybe. I knew what Jasmine wanted—distribution in Europe, using my "student visa" cover to avoid scrutiny.

I couldn't let that happen.

The plane hit turbulence, dropping suddenly. I grabbed the sink, heart lumping. Think, Hazel.

The window—tiny, but maybe… I peered out, clouds whishing past. No way out that way.

The package. My only leverage.

I repacked the drugs, hid them back in my jacket, and flushed the empty box. The latch clicked open easily; I'd primed it to open silently later.

Plan forming: pretend compliance. Wait for the right moment.

I slipped out, returned to my seat, the package a weight against my ribs. The attendant raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

The hours crawled. Europe loomed.

As we descended into Paris, lights twinkling below, I felt Jasmine's breath on my neck. The plane touched down, a jolt.

We taxied, doors opening. I stood, package secure, and followed passengers out.

Customs was a blur—student visa, quick smile, no questions. I walked through, heart pounding, into the arrivals hall.

A man in a suit held a sign: HAZEL. My stomach sank.

He approached, smiling. "Mademoiselle Hazel. Welcome to Paris."

The man's smile was polite, but his eyes lingered on the package in my jacket. "Mademoiselle Hazel, I'm Alain. I'll be your contact here."

I nodded, trying to match his tone. "Hi."

Alain led me to a sleek black sedan, parked outside the terminal. The city lights of Paris blurred past as we drove—cafés, streetlights, the Seine a dark ribbon. We crossed the river, heading into the 6th arrondissement.

"Where are we going?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Hotel first. You'll freshen up. Then we'll handle the... delivery."

I nodded, my fingers twitching near my jacket pocket. The package was still secure, but for how long?

We stopped at a quiet hotel on Rue de Vaugirard. Alain handed me a key card. "Room 304. Rest. We'll pick you up at midnight."

I took the card, smiled sweetly. "Merci."

Alone in the room, I locked the door and dumped the package on the bed. Now what?

I searched the room—no obvious bugs, no cameras. The balcony overlooked a narrow street; escape possible but risky.

My phone was gone, but the hotel had landlines. I dialed grandma's number from memory, praying she'd answer.

Static. A click.

"Hazel?" Grandma's voice, rough, urgent. "Where are you?"

Tears pricked my eyes. "Paris. Jasmine's people. Smuggling—"

A knock. Alain's voice through the door. "Hazel, everything okay?"

I hung up, smoothed my hair. "Yeah, fine."

Alain entered, eyes scanning. "Ready?"

I nodded, grabbed the package. Time to play.

We drove into the Marais, narrow streets, shadows dancing. Alain stopped near a crisse club, bass thumping.

"Wait here," he said, taking the package.

I didn't move. A figure emerged from the shadows—a tall, lean man with a scar across his cheek.

"He's watching," I said low.

Alain's smile twisted. "Good. He works for... the other party. They think you're just a mule."

Other party? What did that mean?

The scarred man approached, eyes locked on me. "Hazel," he said, voice gravelly. "You’re playing with fire."

Alain stepped closer, hand on my arm. "She's fine. Delivery’s tonight."

The man leaned in. "Tell Jasmine... the boss wants results. Or else."

Alain pulled me away, into the night. "Time to move, Hazel."

I glanced back—the scarred man vanished. Alain’s grip tightened.

We walked into a dead-end alley. A van waited, engine running.

This was it.