WHAT LIES BENEATH THE SKIRT

Baiting the Trap(Chapter Three)

The atmosphere was strained with foreboding as Nicholas sat across his associate.

The dim lighting of the luxurious suite casting shadows on the walls.

"Godfather, the artifacts have been shipped to the island", the man said with a calm, measured tone, his eyes locked on Nicholas's.

Nicholas's gaze dropped to his phone, his fingers drumming a slow rhythm on the armrest.

Two seconds elapsed in his timepiece before Michael emerged from the shadows, his approach silent on the plush carpet. "Master, the arrival has been confirmed," Michael whispered, his breath close to Nicholas's ear.

With a curt, almost imperceptible nod from Nicholas, Michael raised his palm, and a well-built man in a tailored suit strode towards them, a sleek suitcase gliding across the floor behind him.

The man dropped the suitcase onto the polished table with a soft thud.

A suited figure standing guard near the associate stepped forward, his fingers expertly opening the suitcase to reveal a bed of black velvet, upon which lay raw, glittering stones that seemed to pulse with an inner fire.

An expert, his eyes gleaming with a mix of fascination and professionalism, reached in and picked up one of the stones, examining it with a jeweler's loupe.

After a moment, he nodded, his expression confirming the authenticity of the stones.

The associate's face transformed, a wide smile spreading across his features as he stood up, his entourage following suit.

With a final glance at Nicholas, he turned and exited the premises, his people trailing behind him like a shadowy escort.

"Master should we fly out immediately?" Michael's voice echoed after a brief silence.

As nightfall approached, he nodded and followed Michael out of the office, anxious not to keep dinner waiting.

•••••

As Nicholas stepped out of the luxurious sedan and onto the rain-soaked tarmac.

The private jet gleamed in the distance, its engines purring softly.

Michael stood beside him, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a mixture of caution and vigilance.

The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth and ozone, and the distant hum of thunder rumbled through the sky.

Suddenly, a black SUV screeched to a halt nearby, its tires smoking and squealing.

Men in black tactical gear poured out, their faces obscured by masks and their guns drawn. "Get down!" Michael shouted, as he brought out his gun.

Nicholas ducked behind the sedan, his eyes locked onto the attackers.

The sound of gunfire erupted, bullets pinging off the armored vehicle as Michael returned fire, taking down the attackers with precision shots.

Nicholas sprinted towards the jet, the rain-soaked ground squelching beneath his feet. Michael covered him, firing at the attackers as they advanced.

The sound of gunfire was deafening, the smell of cordite and smoke hanging heavy in the air.

As they reached the jet, a bullet whizzed towards Nicholas, it's trajectory deadly and precise.

Nicholas's eyes locked onto the projectile, his reflexes kicking in as he turned his face with a lightning speed, the bullet narrowly missing his forehead by mere inches.

The sound of another shot rang out, and Nicholas sprinted towards the jet, his movements swift and agile followed closely by Michael.

Just as the door slammed shut behind them, and the engines roared to life, the jet surged forward, accelerating down the runway as bullets pinged off the fuselage.

The pilot's voice came over the intercom, calm and steady. "We're clear of the danger zone, sir. Sitting ducks no more."

Nicholas's eyes bored into Michael's a silent understanding passing between them. They had narrowly escaped death, but the threat was far from over.

•••••

As she settled into the plush couch, Zelda signed contentedly, her eyes fixed on the TV screen where a lively show was playing.

The soft glow of the screen danced across her face, casting a warm ambiance over the room.

The aroma of dinner still lingered in the air, and the comfort of the couch was the perfect accompaniment to her evening.

These past few days had been a treasure trove of happiness for her, a stark contrast to the miserable life she had led before.

The warmth of the room enveloped her, making her feel cozy and relaxed.

Glancing at the clock, Zelda's forehead creased with worry. Nicholas always arrived in time for dinner and his tardiness was unsettling.

She speculated about possible delays at the office, her thoughts straying. In his absence, she had been thinking a lot about her plans. She wanted to get closer to Nicholas, gain his trust, and uncover the truth about her past.

With a glint in her eye, she hoped he would return early tonight, allowing her to put her plans into action.

As her thoughts swirled, the warmth of the room and the comfort of the couch proved too much, and she drifted off to sleep, her head resting on the soft cushions.

The TV continued to play in the background, a gentle hum that lulled her into a peaceful slumber.

•••••

In the dead of midnight, Zelda sprang up suddenly from the sound of murmuring voices on the TV.

The soft glow of the screen had been her only companion until then. She grabbed the remote and muted the TV, and that's when she heard it.

A faint voice from outside, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching the house.

Her heart racing, she quickly picked up her phone and snatched a table knife from the fruit tray on the coffee table. She crept to the door, her bare feet making barely a sound on the floor.

As she stood beside the door, she held her breath, trying to calm her racing heart.

The next minute, the door swung open, and she lunged at the nearest figure with a swift movement.

Nicholas, ushered in by Michael, noticed the danger and stepped back just in time. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice low and urgent, as she reached for his neck.

But before she could grab him, a strong arm stopped her, and the familiar scent of cologne wafted up to her nostrils. She gasped, "Nicholas? You scared me!"

The lights flickered on, courtesy of Michael, who had managed to reach the controls.

Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of his battered face.

Nicholas winced as he withdrew his hand and placed it on the side of his stomach trying to hide the extent of his injuries.

"It's fine, just a slight accident," he said, but Zelda's sharp eyes spotted the wool wrapped around his wound, soaked in blood.

She surveyed his body, taking in the extent of the damage. "A slight accident? And this isn't enough to stop the bleeding?" She sounded incredulous.

Her gaze landed on his hand, where she had sliced him a little, and a pang of guilt hit her.

Despite his protests, she helped him sit on the couch and asked a servant to bring the first aid box.

As she tended to his wounds, her movements were deft and precise, betraying a knowledge and experience that belied her age.

Nicholas's eyes fluttered, as if trying to wake from a dream, as he watched her work.

After dressing his wounds, she ordered some light dishes from the kitchen and gave him a pain reliever before asking him to change his clothes.

As he stepped into the bedroom, his face was etched with uncertainty.

Zelda's eyes lingered on him, her mind racing "Who wants to kill him?" She knew that any mistake could be fatal.