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

Chapter Eighty Three

Bianca

We dash across the golden sand of the beach, the salty breeze whipping through our hair as we push forward. Benji, ever the impulse of energy, scoops me up effortlessly and urges me onto his back. His laughter mingles with the sound of crashing waves as he looks freer than I've ever seen him.

I wonder if this is his escape, a special place he brings himself to feel some sense of control, but I can't ask that, not with the knowledge that we are on a time limit.

Together, we plunge into the tunnel's shadowy embrace, its damp walls guiding us deeper into his father's formidable domain and farther from the openness of the beach above.

As we burst into the dim light, two of the men from earlier stand waiting for us, their expressions grim as they deliver unsettling news: his father is closing in faster than we had anticipated.

"You won't get her back to her room before you encounter him," one warns, his eyes darting nervously.

"Then we need a plan B," Benji replies, determination lacing his voice as he sprints onward. I struggle to keep pace, my heart racing in tandem with our desperate flight.

"Perhaps we should head to the dining hall; after all, it is lunchtime?" The second of the two men suddenly quickens his pace, his footsteps echoing on the tiled floor as he dashes ahead to swing open the heavy metal door. A warmth of conversation spills out from within.

"Yes," Benji nods, his mind seemingly elsewhere, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as he looks momentarily preoccupied.

I can feel a palpable shift within him, an electric tension radiating from his very core, but before I can even muster the courage to inquire about his sudden transformation, we step into the sprawling dining hall. Our breaths come in quick, labored gasps, the air thick with anticipation as Benji begins to issue hushed commands to the two imposing men standing before him.

"Stop the loop," he insists, his voice carrying the weight of urgency.

"Very well," one of the men replies, his tone dripping with scepticism. "But what happens if he looks back?"

"That's my problem," Benji retorts, determination flashing in his eyes. "I'll try to fix it before he sees anything. Don't breathe a word, if I fall, I fall alone." With that Benji walks me through the canteen, leading me to an array of food that he implores me to choose from.

"Just dish whatever you have," I implore the lady with a note of urgency, my palms extending eagerly as she generously heaps a steaming mound of gnocchi onto my plate, the aroma of marinara and herbs wafting up to greet me. In the meantime, Benji dashes past, his arms burdened with vibrant fruit bowls, their bright hues contrasting beautifully against the bustling backdrop of the kitchen, alive with the clatter of utensils and the soft murmur of conversation.

He leads me to a cozy corner of the room, where his brothers are occupying a sturdy wooden table. Each of them scrutinizes me with a combination of curiosity and mischief before Benji pulls me to sit beside him. The warmth of his presence is both comforting and overwhelming in the cold stares of the men he gets to call his brothers.

"What are you up to?" Gerald asks, his face strikingly familiar, like a vivid flashback from that day on the boat I can't quite shake off yet he's older now, with greying hair at his temple showing he's aged some. The other boy beside him bears an uncanny resemblance to Derek though youthful and dark haired he looks ever the young man, making it hard to dismiss the notion that he could be his son, especially since he was just at dinner with us last night.

Still, I'm reeling, my mind a whirlpool of memories from the beach, each wave crashing over me and taking its time to settle as I place their names and faces off memory from our dinner just yesterday evening.