Page 40 of War and his Queen

It’s okay. You know what you have to do.

He moved over my body, hovering an inch above me. I didn’t breathe. I wished it was that easy to just die.

Slowly, his hips met mine, the tip of his cock resting against my entrance.

I squeezed my eyes closed as my lips parted. “War, please.” Dry and hoarse—dead and gone. I couldn’t see past the blinding pain as he forced himself inside of me in one thrust.

“Stay with me, Halo…”

Halen

I fly upfrom where I’m lying with leather clinging to my skin like adhesive, and my brain hammers against my skull like I’ve just woken after drinking for days. I hadn’t been drinking. Except for—

I reach up to touch my head, attempting to open my eyes further. Where the fuck am I? Simple black leather seats.

War’s GTR.

Loose gravel touches the soles of my feet after I’ve shoved the door open. We were still on the track, only now I’m looking out over Halen’s Bend and the cliff that commands a view of the ocean. When I was a little kid, I loved this spot. I’d pretend that pirates would come to take me away.

Now that’s slightly terrifying considering whatever Katsia was yapping on about.

I slam the door closed, observing the once busy party. There’s not a single person within view. I round the back of the car and quiver when cold air conflates with my anxiety and leaves its warning as goosebumps over my skin.

I don’t know how much time has passed since I was with everyone, and I can feel the claws of sobriety sinking further into my brain the more that time goes on.

What the fuck.

Shoving my hands into my jacket pockets, I try to find my phone but come up empty.

I stomp back to the car and swing the door open once again, ignoring the faint smell of War’s cologne that’s still lingering in the air.

Fucker.

He gave me a drink—what the fuck did he slip me?

I’m reaching beneath the driver’s seat, my fingers barely touching, when something pierces the side of my belly.

“Oh my fuck!” I shriek, spinning around while holding the new dull ache burning at my side.

He’s wearing a blank white mask, a small pocketknife grasped in one hand and a phone in the other. I can’t tell if he’s proud or scared of what he’s just done.

Did he just stab me?

“What did—”

He suddenly stumbles backward, dropping the knife and swiping his bloody hand over his mask, leaving a smudge of red.

His head jerks from left to right as if in a panic, before he bolts off.

“Hey!” I scream, moving as fast as I can out the back of the car while swiping up the knife he dropped. “You motherfucker.”

I try to put one foot in front of the other to chase him, crossing the track that I’ve drifted on so many times before, and heading straight for the forest, but the man pushes through the clearing.

I chase him, knife clasped tightly in my fist and adrenaline pulsing through my veins. I fight the fatigue that’s gobbling me whole, and instead feed it my revenge.

I’m going to fucking kill him.

My legs ache as I push forward, jumping over fallen logs and ignoring the leaves slapping across my face. My lungs burn and the tears on my cheeks have long since dried.

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