Page 72 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

T he Blackhawk banked sharply as they flew over the ancient stadium ruins, the massive stone arena rising from the lush landscape like a sleeping giant.

From this aerial view, the structure formed a perfect cross—the long oval of the arena intersected by crumbling ceremonial walkways that cut straight through the center.

Tiered seating meant to view the grisly entertainment climbed in weathered circles around each arm, crumbling marble overgrown with wild vines, while underground tunnel networks were visible through broken sections where the two walkways met.

Achilles watched their destination in disbelief. This was where they were going? Not the bell tower? He already suspected that this was part of the underground rebel network from the signal they had seen earlier, possibly even Aggie was imprisoned there.

If Bris was here, she couldn’t be safer. It didn’t matter what arsenal of ammunition and assault rifles, grenades, and tactical gear they’d packed into this helicopter. The armed flight of Black Hawks buzzing around their convoy were about to land in a hornet’s nest.

Did they even realize they’d be surrounded by battle-hardened rebels once they touched ground? Polly had talked all right, and she’d just signed the death warrants of all of Phoenix’s men.

This might actually be entertaining… in a dark, self-destructive, horrible way.

His gaze swept over his fellow passengers—Charisse watched him with predatory hunger, no doubt envisioning crowns and titles dancing in her delusional head.

Phoenix resembled a decaying dragon in his smoke-scented suit, while the tactical teams at the rear studied the terrain below through heavy binoculars.

Achilles suppressed a sudden urge to laugh at what was about to happen.

The soldiers pointed down at the coliseum as the helicopter descended. Were they actually doing this? They lowered directly over the center of the arena floor, where gladiators had once faced impossible odds against hungry lions.

Who were the lions now?

As soon as they touched down, Phoenix lunged forward, barking out orders to his men like he was the one to put them courageously into action.

A manicured hand ran possessively over Achilles’s chest. He stiffened.

Charisse was back at it again, this time with plastic zip-ties.

She worked with practiced efficiency, looping the restraints around his wrists with deliberate slowness, her fingers brushing against his skin.

“Stay put, darling prince,” she purred. “I need you here.”

There was nothing he could do. They were surrounded by guns, and he couldn’t fight back as she fastened the zip-ties to the door’s interior handle, tightening them with a soft clicking sound.

Phoenix cackled at his predicament, and then appearing as eager as a gladiator out on his first fight, he grappled with the door near him and stepped out onto the ancient stones.

The others followed him, making his entrance a little less brave than he probably imagined it to be.

They thought they were going after an unarmed Bris.

“It’s okay, my little mutt!” Charisse whispered into his ear. “Daddy always called me his little princess when I was a little girl! I was made to be queen.”

His stomach turned at her delusional grin.

“But I’m going to marry the man I love,” she announced, still close enough that her breath touched his face. “And he adores me!”

His irritation reached a snapping point. “No, I don’t—”

“Not you, termite.”

He’d honestly never been called a termite before. The military teams rushed past them outside. Gunfire answered their attack.

Surprise. Surprise.

And then something bigger, far more destructive followed. An explosion rocked them against the seats. Achilles fell back with a grunt. Charisse toppled against him with a cry of fear as violence erupted around them.

Ducking down, he felt his arms wrench painfully against his restraints, stopping him from finding direct cover, even while Charisse shrieked and burrowed into his shoulder. “Charisse, cut me loose. We’ll both be killed!”

The woman let out a triumphant cackle of laughter, mingled with terror. What was wrong with her? Did she think she was watching a gladiator match? Charisse’s beautiful blue eyes narrowed on him like glinting jewels. “I loved him long before I ever met you!”

“Who?”

“Daddy took him in as a favor for a few months in America, called him mad after I fell in love with him; didn’t want me to have anything to do with him!

My sister tried to steal him from me, thought he was trying to play me, but no one is as good at that as I am—if anyone will do the seducing, it will be me! ”

In what universe? His eyes swerved to the rebels emerging from hidden tunnels and their concealed positions through the tiered seating. Between Polly’s cunning and Phoenix’s stupidity, O Skia had set up the perfect trap for them.

“He’s here!” she shrieked. “I knew it!” She was turning manic! She held Achilles’s reluctant attention as he watched her transform into both shrieking crone and sensual siren with wandering fingers. They found his neck. “Aggie is here!”

His stomach turned, and he thought he’d be sick as her voice shot him into that terrible night in the crypts. All he could think about was that bloodthirsty woman who’d sent her assassins after Bris. That had been Charrisse all along! The girl wasn’t lying—she did like to get her hands dirty!

“But you knew Aggie was here,” she said. “Didn’t you? Thought we were flying into an ambush.” Her lips turned to a pout as she descended into babytalk. “And you didn’t warn us? We could’ve all been killed.”

Was she completely insane? He watched her produce a pistol from her designer purse.

He moved back as far as he could, not trusting the wild expression.

“We have no choice but to fight his way out of here now that we’ve come.

Daddy wouldn’t listen, you know—he just wanted me to marry you, thought you were the safer option, that I could wrap you easily around my fingers, like the dumb ox you are.

But let’s be honest, I don’t need you. Aggie will do absolutely anything for me. ”

So, this was Aggie’s latest strategy—seduce the delusional heiress and use her family’s resources?

Clever, in a narcissistic, sociopathic way.

Achilles tried to raise his hands in surrender…

they didn’t get too far, and he groaned, his mind racing on ways to de-escalate this madness.

“And daddy—uh… your father is going to be okay with you taking home, uh… Aggie?”

“No, he’ll be enraged.” She grinned. “He’d had every intention of assassinating the man I loved, make it look like the rebels killed him so there would be no rivals to the throne but you! I couldn’t let that happen to my baby. It’s us against the world now.”

Bonnie and Clyde, except Bonnie was certifiably off her rocker, and Clyde was a war criminal. He wished them all the happiness they deserved— which was none —especially since their aim was to destroy his country with their lunacy.

The helicopter door burst open, carrying Achilles with it. His feet, followed by his knees, skidded through the dirt, his chin knocking against the heavy metal siding. His head lifted as he came face to face with Phoenix. He’d returned with several soldiers, all taking cover from intense gunfire.

“Initiate Protocol Seven!” Phoenix shouted. His face was red. Blood spilled down his neck. “Level the entire complex!”

Achilles choked back his dismay. They planned to obliterate the stadium entirely. Was Bris in there?

“No! You’ll get Aggie too!” Charisse shrieked. She tumbled down the seat, ramming Achilles back against the door on her way to the battle outside.

“Stop her! Get her back!” Phoenix yelled. The men all rushed after her, leaving Achilles standing against the door with men shooting around him.

He tugged on his restraints, his brain refusing to believe that a little thing like jagged strips of plastic could keep him trapped here. Pushing to his feet, he cursed loudly, only to be shushed soundly.

Whipping around on his heel, he was almost barreled over by a woman wearing a headscarf—not a disguise, but practical protection from the dust and smoke. Her arms flew around him, and he took in a good whiff of Bris.

He couldn’t even embrace her, couldn’t keep her safe! Panic seized him. “You shouldn’t be here! They want you dead!”

She snorted. “Who doesn’t?” So like Bris not to let anyone stop her!

Her hands were already at her headscarf, unwrapping it as she spoke.

“Your mother knows about Gena now! And she’s definitely working with your father.

Nestor’s been her spy… well, and the Myrdon’s spy, but he hates them because they’re blackmailing him—Oh!

And this place is the cross and her heart—” She twisted the fabric tight between her hands, forming a makeshift rope.

“Hold still.” Working the scarf around the zip tie, she began sawing rapidly back and forth.

Was she actually trying to get off his restraints with her headscarf? “What are you doing?”

“Something I saw on TalkieTalk once.” The friction made the plastic warm against his wrists as her words tumbled out urgently.

“And you won’t believe it, the Myrdons send messages with Nestor to Aggie…

so he pretends to work with them…” The zip tie snapped suddenly, plastic fragments scattering to the dirt.

Achilles stared down at his freed hand in disbelief, but Bris didn’t pause—she worked on the next restraint, talking with the same casual intensity like she was working on his nails at a salon.

“Aggie has been playing some side chick and—and I intercepted the message…”