The Last Queen Book Three by Odette C. Bell

Author:Odette C. Bell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: urban fantasy
Publisher: Odette C. Bell
Published: 2017-09-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

I’M SITTING AT MY DESK, in my dressing gown, staring at the sun filtering in through the windows of my loft apartment.

It’s kind of peaceful. Maybe the first peaceful moment I’ve had in weeks. I’m sipping a glass of milk – not guzzling it down, actually enjoying it as it fills my tummy.

In front of me are the documents and papers I’ve managed to scrounge on this world.

I let my gaze dart down them as it locks on the newspaper.

I have it open to the events page. It talks about the garden party. The garden party that’s this afternoon.

It’s been two days.

I didn’t go out yesterday nor the day before. Couldn’t dare allow myself to. For one, I was tired, and for another, I just couldn’t face the prospect that Rogers was still out there looking for me.

Maybe it was a risk. Maybe I needed to take the opportunity given to me and head back down to the chessboard. But that would’ve been a mistake.

“And you can’t allow yourself to make any more mistakes,” I say quickly under my breath, lips and tongue darting as I whisper the words out loud.

I place my milk down, hook a hand over the paper, and draw it closer.

The garden party is to be held in the botanical gardens in the center of the city. In the rose garden, to be exact.

It’s meant to be some kind of charity function. And, you guessed it, it’s being led by Senator Rogers.

“You bastard,” I whisper under my breath, words whipcrack fast like a knife to the throat. Which, incidentally, is exactly what I want to do to him.

It’s not just that I underestimated his power, and it’s not just that I hate the effect he has on my body. It’s that I know he’s far worse than John and Spencer combined. Yeah, Spencer is a lot of things – and underneath his confusion, he’s brutal and arrogant. But he’s not Rogers.

Rogers is calculating. Rogers also doesn’t have a scrap of compassion anywhere in him. All he wants is power. And he has the desire and means to get it.

“But you’re not going to catch me,” I say once more. Yeah, I get it, I’m not speaking to anyone – and it’s just useless bravado to be spitting this crap out in my lonesome apartment. But it has the effect of bolstering me, which is exactly what I need.

“You will get what’s coming to you,” I spit at Rogers as I stare at a picture of him in the paper.

I’ve been staring at that exact picture for the last half hour, trying to figure out what I should do.

The garden party is this afternoon. For the first time in weeks, the weather is nice, the sun’s shining, and there’s barely a breeze out. But for some reason I feel like it’s fake, feel like it’s a trap to get people to come to his goddamn party.

The question remains, should I go?

I know John and Spencer are going to be there.

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