Queen of Nothing

23. Queen of Going Through Hell

The deafening bang of gunfire split my eardrums. A hot spray of blood splashed my face, blinding me. Something heavy threatened to fall against me and I stumbled backwards so as to not be crushed by its weight.

No. No, this wasn't supposed to happen. Chauncey wasn't supposed to kill him. I wiped the blood from my eyes and looked down, seeing the prone, lifeless body of JC Sinclair at my feet. A dark bullet hole marred his forehead. Blood seeped from the back of his head, staining his sandy hair a crimson hue. His eyes were still open. I screamed.

"There goes your only bargaining chip," Chauncey spoke.

I forced my self to look up from JC's corpse and into the eyes of his killer. They held no regret, no disappointment, no indication that he was the least bit sorry to have murdered someone in cold blood. Sheridan had given him permission, and he was only happy to have carried out the task.

"You killed him," I found myself muttering. "He's—"

"A problem to be dealt with later," Chauncey replied.

I glanced back to JC's guards, who all looked as horrified as I felt. All held their guns at their hips, but none dared fire. Chauncey's men outnumbered them. Chauncey saw this, and with his hands folded casually behind his back, he stepped over the still warm corpse of their charge and went to address them.

"You three have failed gravely in your mission. You allowed the witch to escape and take your charge hostage. His Majesty has only one answer for such a flagrant disregard for one's duty," Chauncey said. His high, boyish voice did not diminish the gravity of his words. "However, you are entitled to a trial. Lay down your arms and surrender to my custody. Fail to comply, and this standoff will get even bloodier."

I was willing to be that was exactly what Chauncey wanted. JC's guards exchanged pained glances, then slowly placed their weapons on the ground. Chauncey let out a satisfied huff, then spun back around to face me. "Seize her."

Two of his men grabbed me, forcing my hands behind my back and slipping a pair of handcuffs around my wrists. There was no more fight left in me — it died the moment JC's body hit the ground. The gun I held tumbled from my limp fingers. It was of no use to me anyway. Chauncey was right. My only bargaining chip was gone.

The guards forced my numb body down into the metal chair and secured my feet with chains. There was no way out. I couldn't burn through metal, and even if I did, I was outmatched. To add insult to injury, one of them placed the barrel of his pistol against the back of my head.

"The prince is inside the Jeep!" called an unfamiliar voice, one of Chauncey's previously silent guards.

My pulse hammered at the reminder of Tristan. I'd forgotten about him in the chaos, but he was still here, tied up in the passenger seat of the black Jeep. He'd seen everything. I listened, not daring to move lest I give the vampire holding me at gunpoint a reason to fire, as Chauncey sauntered over to the Jeep. The door opened, and I heard the muffled oomph sound of someone being kicked in the chest.

"Now, now, Your Highness. There's no need for that," Chauncey said.

"You sick fuck. Let her go!" Tristan exclaimed. My heart warmed.

"I'm under express orders by His Majesty not to. It is unfortunate that you were not informed of the threat that girl poses to you," Chauncey explained. "As for Mr. Sinclair, well, I apologize for the... vulgar display you witnessed. Though from what I've heard, there is no love lost between you and your cousin."

"She's no threat!" Tristan growled.

"Ah, but is it not her doing that resulted in this... unfortunate circumstance?" Chauncey sneered. "Peter, lock His Highness in the office. I can't allow him to make this situation difficult."