A Beautiful Evil (A Beautiful Book. 1) #Wattys2015

Chapter Four - Held at Gunpoint

My father taught me how to fight, to use my strengths and talents and even my weaknesses to my advantage. Years of sparring, learning almost every fighting style known to man, made me hard and almost unbreakable. Almost. There were a few of my father's minions that I couldn't best, and all four of them shared a bloodline.

I'd always been taught to never let your guard down, even when there is no visual enemy. "Whatever you do, always keep swinging. Chances are, you'll hit something," Daddy proclaimed many years ago. It was something I'd never forget.

So when I awoke to nothing but darkness, muffled voices, and a pulsing throb in the back of my skull, I panicked. I tried lashing out with my fist, praying that it would hit someone, anyone. But my hands were tied behind my back, and a steady pulse of agony radiated from the cables groped my skin, burning me. My stomach dropped. Holy water.

And that meant whoever my assailant was, they knew how to subdue a demon. I suddenly remembered the foul redolence of something rotten and decayed before I was hit. So I came to the only conclusion that seemed conceivable.

I was captured by rouges of my own faction, and only Satan knows what they'd do to me.

What happened? I rummaged through my memories, searching for anything that could help. Nothing. The last thing that I remember was going outside to check on Alvah, and then the horrid smell, and blackness.

The mumbled voices became clearer, and my hearing sharpened. "-hit her that hard," said a southern accent, a man, coming somewhere in front of me. He sounded as if he'd lived his days in Southern America, or some other Spanish speaking country. The rumble of an engine and the bounce from underneath confirmed that I was in a car, but considering I was completely stretched out on rough, scratchy carpet; I assumed I was in a back of a van.

"Dude, you said knock her out," accused a second voice, also a male, though he sounded younger, weaker. And then in a quieter tone, "Do you think I killed her? She hasn't moved..."

The first guy snorted, his accent thick with amusement, "Bro, you do realized who you just sacked, don't you?" There was rustling, and then country music blew through the speakers.

"I just did as Boss said!" Voice number two. "Who is she? Did I just freaking knock out a Breeder?" Pause. "Shit, bro! I'm so screwed!"

The first guy laughed again, this time louder than before. The booming chimes of his laughter seemed to bounce within the metal skeleton of the van. "Curran, the boss wouldn't send you after something you can't handle. I just didn't think knocking the Queen of Gargoyles out would be that simple."

There was a startled gasp, and then the van was bathed in silence, but one of the two men's heart started to hammer so hard I thought it would beat out of his ribs. Good, I thought. You should be scared. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into. I kept time that way though, counting each hard pulse of the rouge's heart. We all rode in silence for a few minuets, two rouges in front, and their queen bond and gagged int he back, but yet it wasn't long till Rouge Number Two spoke up. My breathing picked up as I tried to sort through the different types of aromas that flooded the van. Cigarette smoke, beer, urine, male, and death. Something all souls from Hell tended to have in common. Well, except the male part anyway. "Carlos, we just freaking kidnapped the daughter of the Devil himself," whispered Curran, his voice hitching a few octaves. I could feel the tremor through the floor of van as Voice Number Two shook with fear in his seat, with the realization of what he'd just done.

But three questions raged in my mind. First, who was "Boss"? And second, why wouldn't he tell his employees who or what they were up against? And third... What in the hell would they want with me? It's not like I had any siblings my crown would go to, nor did I think that whoever Boss was, would be stupid enough to try to blackmail my Daddy.