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

Chapter Sixty

Bianca

Niko slips into slumber with serene grace, his descent into a dream-like state seemingly effortless and swift. His breathing is a gentle rhythm, warm air brushing against my neck like a comforting whisper, yet sleep eludes me.

I've spent countless hours intertwined with him, basking in his body heat as the chilling tendrils of the night air invade the space around us, prickling my skin with their icy touch.

A phone, which one of the three is a mystery, has buzzed three times in quick succession, each sharp ring slicing through the tranquil stillness of the room—a persistent reminder of unwelcomed communication from a source I might not want to communicate with.

I should consider rising from the comfort of the bed and waking Niko to check the phones. It's possible that Luca has reached out with the much-anticipated rescue we were all hoping for. Dimitri may have chosen to come by himself to help us, which could lead to interesting developments regarding the Densels. After all, they are of matched calibre.

Lastly, I cannot overlook the likelihood of one of the Densels contacting me through that unassuming blue phone—a device Benji incidentally delivered to me this afternoon. Its simple appearance belies the importance of the messages it may convey, and I feel it is prudent to gauge the significance of what I might find in said message to prepare myself not to act on gut reaction over instinct. But I always act on my gut.

That's why I've found myself here, still cocooned in Niko's warm embrace, as I struggle to steady my racing thoughts and maintain a semblance of composure.

PING

That's the fourth time the phone has emitted its insistent chime in just as many minutes, a jarring reminder that whoever is on the other end is eager to reach out and connect. My gut tells me it's him, that it's Derek demanding I go home. And I believe that's why I dragged my feet in moving off the bed to find out.

That is until the sixth ping stirs Niko from his deep slumber into a lighter form. His hand loosens from my waist, and his leg extends out from the half-raised position along my body. I take the reprieve of his touch to roll to the opposite side of the bed, and I watch him settle back into sleep when silence greets him. I contemplate reading these messages, and anxiety rolls through my body at the unknown.

Come on, Bee, I encourage internally.

Indeed, the blue phone pings for the seventh time, and MMS messages are listed on the small screen, daring me to open them to reveal whatever he deems necessary.

I open them, watch the images download and present themselves individually, and then you have the last message, which is just words. Yet each of them instils a fear like no other that settles within the pit of my stomach.

Good evening, Bianca, it reads.

It remains an enigma how the sender of these messages knows I'm the one peering into them, but if it is indeed Benji, he might have an inkling that I'm the most likely to sift through the phone. And if it's Derek, I'm sure he knows me well enough to know my lack of self-control.

As I scroll upwards through the messages, the rush of the downloaded images fills the screen: one of Luca striding purposefully through a vast hanger alongside the imposing figure of Mass; he looks tired and frayed, and another captures Emma, serene and unaware, nestled in her bed with her pillow between her legs as she always sleeps, and a third – a jarring sight – shows Niko, the fabric of his t-shirt drenched in crimson, stark against the sandy backdrop of the beach just earlier on and lastly, a picture of Sven, bruised and bloody, hanging on a familiar chair from the dining table of this very yacht in the darkness.

Each of these snapshots feels painfully recent, yet Emma's photograph unsettles me the most. It appears pixilated, as though captured from a distance, and an unsettling thought creeps into my mind: could there be a breach in Luca's defence whilst she's left to defend herself and her baby? Is it possible that Emma, seemingly safe in her slumber inside a seemingly impenetrable home, is the one who may be in the gravest danger, all because of me and my lack of choice in being with Niko?

And then I look at Sven's picture, dressed in the same clothes he's worn all day. I feel sick.

Which one do you choose? A new message blinks ominously on the screen, its bright letters slicing through the dim light of the room.

The sudden vibration of the phone jolts me, almost causing it to slip from my grasp. I fumble with it, my fingers grappling for purchase as it tumbles in my hands. Just as it seems destined to fall, I manage to catch it on the third attempt, clutching it tightly against my chest. A wave of relief washes over me as I dart a nervous glance around the room, my heart racing in response to the thrill of this precarious moment. Thankfully, Niko remains blissfully asleep on the bed, his steady breathing comforting against all the chaos. I silently thank my lucky stars for not waking him because if I did, I'm sure he'd step up and tell me to ignore the threat. But I can't.

Which one dies first? The message vibrates through me, chilling my bones and stealing my breath.

I know I should ignore the messages; that was the pact we made, the three of us discussing the matter earnestly only a few hours ago. Yet, despite my better judgment, my fingers hover over the reply button, trembling with the weight of my decision. I am drawn to the screen, compelled to type out a response, caught between fear and curiosity as my things press the old-style buttons. The message takes double the time to type compared to a smartphone.

Who is this? I type. My thumb hovers over the button between me doing the right and wrong things.

I panicked, placing the phone down on the counter as if it were the plague, hoping to prevent myself from replying when we agreed to monitor the messages but not communicate in any form. I deleted the three words I typed, but soon, another message came through, shocking me to my core as I realised the phone was bugged enough for them to read the message I never sent. Changing the tides to their corner. And the realisation that they have me right where they want me hits me like a wrecking ball.

They've been watching my every move with the phone. Niko's every move earlier on.

Sven was right; the phone was a form of manipulation. So, was Benji's apology for what was to come rather than something he'd already done?

I glance at Niko again, ensuring he's asleep before I read the message in full.

You know exactly who I am, Bianca. And you know I could storm into that shed right now and make you kill both of them as punishment for your lack of obedience. The thought is enticing, but I don't want to create a war over an agreement only you need to fulfil. I have my men ready, surrounding you. But I'm giving you a chance—a choice. Come out and end this before bloodshed. Before all four of their deaths sit on your shoulders, perhaps if you do, I'll feel generous enough to leave Luca and Emma alone. I'm waiting.

You have fifteen minutes to decide.