Chapter 8: The Queen’s Move
1149 Words
The SUV’s engine roared down the highway, the city lights streaking past in a blur of gold and shadow. Damon’s hand gripped the wheel like he could crush the leather, his other hand resting on my thigh as if making sure I was still there. Still breathing.
The phone sat on the console between us, the screen dark now, but the message was burned into my mind. Tell Moretti his queen dies next.
My stomach twisted. I had blood on my hands literally. It had dried in a sticky pattern across my knuckles, a metallic scent curling up from my skin. No matter how I rubbed them against my jeans, it clung.
Damon’s jaw was carved from stone, his eyes locked ahead.
“Damon…” My voice cracked.
His fingers tightened slightly on my thigh. “Don’t talk right now, baby. Let me get us somewhere safe first.”
The word safe felt foreign. I’d thought I was safe in his arms, in his world. But tonight shattered that illusion.
When we finally pulled into an underground parking garage, two black SUVs followed us in. Damon’s men spilled out before we even stopped moving, scanning the shadows, weapons drawn. Damon got out and came around to my side, opening the door.
“Come.” His voice was a low command, no room for hesitation.
I slid out, my knees trembling as he took my hand. The moment my feet hit the ground, his other arm came around me, shielding me like a wall. We moved quickly, surrounded by his men, through a private elevator and into a penthouse I’d never seen before.
It wasn’t his usual place this one was darker, quieter, with bulletproof windows and a view of the harbor. The moment the door shut, Damon cupped my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks like he was checking I was still real.
“Are you hurt?” His voice had dropped into that dangerous softness I’d learned meant his mind was working ten steps ahead.
I shook my head. “No. But Damon….”
His mouth came down on mine, hard and desperate. Not sweet. Not gentle. Like he needed to taste me, to make sure I was still his. My body melted into his, and for a moment, the terror was drowned in the heat between us. His lips moved against mine with a feverish urgency, until he pulled back just enough to whisper against my mouth:
“They will not touch you again.”
The air between us was thick with more than just fear it was the sharp burn of possession. His hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me steady as his forehead pressed to mine.
“Who sent that message?” I asked.
He exhaled through his nose, anger flashing in his eyes. “A dead man walking.”
I should have been satisfied with that answer, but a part of me needed more. Needed to know who out there saw me as a target.
“Damon… I need to know. You can’t keep me in the dark”
He shook his head. “The less you know, the less they can use against you.”
I pushed his chest. “I’m already a target! They used me tonight, Damon. They almost” My voice broke before I could finish.
His arms locked around me, crushing me against him. “I know, baby. I know.” His lips pressed to my hair, his voice low. “And that’s why I’m moving you. Right now.”
“Moving me?”
“You’re staying somewhere even safer. New security. New location. No one gets near you unless I say so.”
I swallowed. “So I’m just supposed to hide while you go out there and…”
“Yes.” His tone was final.
But something in me snapped. I’d just taken a life tonight. I wasn’t the same girl who’d walked into that club days ago. “I’m not some glass doll you can lock in a cabinet, Damon. I’m in this with you whether you like it or not.”
His eyes darkened. “Eva…”
The way he said my name was a warning, but I didn’t back down. I stepped closer, my hands flat on his chest. “You want to protect me? Then teach me. Show me how to fight. How to survive in your world. Because right now? I’m terrified, and I hate it.”
We stared at each other, the air between us electric. His jaw flexed. Then, slowly, he nodded once.
“Fine. You want in? You’re in. But when I tell you to run, you run. When I tell you to hide, you hide. Understand?”
“Yes.”
His mouth curved into something between pride and frustration. “God, you’re going to kill me one day.”
He kissed me again, slower this time, his hands sliding down my back, anchoring me to him. The kiss deepened, and I felt the heat between us blaze back to life. It wasn’t just desire it was the need to feel alive after almost losing everything.
Before I knew it, my back was against the wall, his body pressing into mine. His hands framed my face, his tongue tangling with mine in a kiss that was equal parts punishment and devotion. Every touch felt like him staking his claim all over again.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. “I’m not letting fear take you from me, Eva. Not tonight. Not ever.”
The knock on the door broke the moment. Damon’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing.
One of his men stepped inside. “Boss, we found the shooter’s phone. You need to see this.”
We followed him to the living room, where a laptop sat open. A grainy video played on the screen shaky footage of me. Leaving my house. Laughing in the club. Kissing Damon in the parking lot.
My blood ran cold. “They’ve been watching me.”
Damon’s hand landed on my shoulder, firm and grounding. “Not anymore.”
But then the video cut to something else a dim warehouse, a man tied to a chair, blood dripping from his mouth. A voice off-screen said, “You took my brother’s life, Moretti. Now I take your queen’s.”
The screen went black.
Damon’s hand tightened on my shoulder. His voice was steel. “It’s time to end this.”
I didn’t know if he meant tonight, tomorrow, or in a week but something in his tone told me there would be no negotiation. No mercy.
And standing there, with the metallic scent of blood still clinging to my hands, I realized something that made my chest ache and my skin prickle I wasn’t afraid of what he’d do.
I was afraid of what we might become.
- Writer
