Submitting To The Devil - The Devil's Snare - Book 2

Chapter Fifty Eight

Bianca

Niko isn't where we left him, or so it appeared as I stepped out of the bustling market, the vibrant sounds and aromas still echoing in my mind. An icy wave of fear coursed through me as I scanned the expanse of golden sand, which bore the faint impressions of our earlier presence—the remnants of our hurried footsteps now nearly erased by the shifting grains.

"Niko?" I whispered, my voice barely rising above the whisper of a breeze, the weight of anxiety coiling in my stomach.

"Here," he called out, his voice barely breaking through the soft rustle of sand as he emerged from just beyond a small sandy dune, a surprising sight against the backdrop of the sun-drenched landscape.

I raced toward him, heart pounding in my chest, my hands instinctively checking over his form. A shiver of concern shot through me as I noticed the dark, damp patches on his shirt, a stark contrast to the sizable patch of blood I hated before. "You scared me," I admonished, my voice a mix of relief and exasperation. "Sit!"

"I think I would have looked a bit suss, standing around bloody and all. Where's Sven?" He glanced around, a hint of urgency in his tone, before he sat back down in his hiding spot.

"Right here," Sven's steady and reassuring voice said, echoing Niko's need for a quick reunion.

I rummaged through the bag, shifting various packets as I searched for tape. The crinkling and rustling beneath my touch indicated that the bag was full of supplies—more than we needed, and including protein bars.

Why was Benji helping us?

Finally, I manage to retrieve the gauze from the depths of my short pockets; its sterile white is a stark contrast against the chaos around us. Gently, I guide his shirt up and over his head, revealing the wound on his shoulder—an angry red hole seeping fresh blood. I press the gauze against the injury, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath, and secure it in place with the tape, hoping it will hold just long enough to get us to the safety of the boat.

"Let me help," Sven offers, his hand reaching towards the bag. A jolt of panic races through me, and I instinctively snatch it away from him. Our eyes lock in a moment charged with tension. Heat floods my cheeks, a mix of fury and perhaps embarrassment. He recoils, taken aback by my reaction. Embarrassed, I avert my gaze and cover my face with my hands.

"I'm sorry, I stole female products," I mumble, my voice laced with desperation, desperate to explain myself as shame washes over me for reacting in such a way, knowing it isn't products for a period over a phone delivered by Benji. I should tell them, reveal the telephone and the danger my life was in only moments ago. The threat all three of us are in now. But part of me, even if small, seemingly trusts Benji, which has me keeping things back.

I carefully pass Sven a few pieces of gauze, ensuring he has what he needs to tend to the wound on his back, its angry red edges stark against his skin. The bag sits firmly between my legs, a silent guardian for the phone hidden within, as I wrestle with a surge of conflicting emotions about the information it holds.

As I weigh the pros and cons, a gnawing certainty settles in my chest: I must inform them about Benji. Yet the phone's presence casts a shadow over my thoughts, leaving me utterly uncertain about how to handle it. The decision hangs heavy, and each option is fraught with its own consequences. What do I do next?

"Guys," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper as Sven meticulously cleans the dried blood from Niko's back, using his old t-shirt and a bottle of water that I hadn't had the chance to swipe myself. The air is thick with tension, and the desperate urgency of the moment hangs heavily around us. "In the market, at the stall. I saw Benji Densel there," I confess, the reality of the encounter clawing at my mind.

"What?" Niko suddenly jolts closer, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and disbelief. His hand gently cradles my cheek as if trying to draw out the truth from me.

"What did he want?" Sven's voice is low but laced with a sinister curiosity, a faint hint that he suspected as much but hadn't chosen to ask before.

"Nothing," I reply with a shrug, though a frown creases my brow. The memory of Benji's inscrutable expression and actions is unsettling. "He just pushed me towards you and vanished as quickly as he appeared, like a ghost slipping through the shadows."

And there it is—my omission of the phone that I have no clue what to do with, yet it seems a staple in my decision to keep it from them. The danger is lurking, and Niko's already in a bad way. Perhaps when the time comes, I can protect him with everything I have rather than being left with no choice but to watch the only person I care for be hurt.

Don't make such rash decisions, Bee. You've gained his trust, and doing so would destroy it and cause too many problems. Besides, he took a bullet today for us.

"We need to move now; they're closing in, Sven," Niko urges, his voice rising above the chaos and urgency etched in every line of his face. Moments tick by like bombs ready to explode, and I can feel the weight of our decisions pressing down on us.

"Agreed," Sven nods, his expression serious as he takes the water bottle and Niko's old, stained t-shirt from my hands. I scrub at Niko's chest, wiping away the dried blood and grime with determined strokes before tossing the t-shirt into the deep blue of the ocean. The fabric sinks quickly, disappearing beneath the waves, a stark reminder of the chaos we've faced. I help Niko to his feet, and he gratefully accepts the fresh shirt from Sven, pulling it over his head to shield himself from the world and the wounds that weigh heavily on our minds.

"This way," Sven commands, his voice steady as we push through the bustling market again. My hand clasps Niko's, the warmth of his skin grounding me as I guide him through the throng of colourful stalls and chattering shoppers. The scent of spices and grilled fish hangs thick in the air.

A few minutes later, we emerge onto the opposite side of the sun-kissed beach. We quickly spot the large boat sheds nestled along the waterfront dock, weathered wood hinting at the stories hidden within. Most of the sheds stand resolute and locked, and the Moretta's is no exception. Luckily, Sven possesses the code to unlock its secrets. As the heavy doors finally shut behind us, a wave of relief washes over me—but to claim that my breath eases with comfort would be untrue.

"Let's have a proper look at those wounds," Sven suggests, leading the way along the narrow wooden plank that stretches toward the familiar gleaming yacht docked within. I reach into the bag, my fingers brushing against the cool, smooth surface of the handheld phone lodged at the bottom. Niko and Sven move ahead of me, focusing on the task at hand.

In a moment of reckless impulse, I tuck the phone beneath my bikini top, feeling its weight against my skin. I'll take a moment to collect my thoughts, ensuring that Niko receives the first aid he desperately needs before I unveil the truth to them. We'll gather together and unravel the mysteries within the phone.

Until then, I hand Sven the bag, carefully removing a single packet of gauze that I discreetly slide into my shorts pocket, pretending to extract feminine products from the bag. He takes it swiftly, a glimmer of urgency in his eyes, and nods encouragingly to Niko, urging him to descend below the deck. I follow quietly behind them, moving cautiously as we make our way into the dimly lit space below, the sounds of the surface world fading into a hushed whisper as I marvel at how luxurious the boat is.

But not everything is as it appears, and an unsettling sight greets us: dark smears of blood are splattered across the living area of the boat, whispering of a violent struggle that may have claimed someone's life.

I observe as Sven drops the heavy bag onto the stained table, the thud echoing in the stillness. With his gun extended, he methodically sweeps his gaze across the quarters, returning mere moments later after meticulously examining each shadowy room at the other end of the boat. Tension crackles in the air around us.

"It's clear," he proclaims, his voice firm and resolute as he gazes at us intently. "They must have ambushed Dimitri and Lucia while they were aboard the boat just a few days ago."

"Makes sense," Niko replies, his brow furrowed in contemplation as he sits on a dining chair, absorbing the weight of the revelation.