Page 116 of Royal Desire

Ruby

Enzo is New York through and through. He’s the least outdoorsy man I’ve ever seen. He considers the city streets his jungle.

Which means I have no confidence that he can drive the mountain roads of Winslet. I only pray he’ll drive into a boulder or off a cliff where the car is supported only by age-old evergreens. It might be my only chance at survival.

I witnessed Enzo Caruso shoot his own brother in cold blood. And he did it so he’d be the next in line to run the family. Then he killed an innocent man for no reason other than to frame me for murder.

If Enzo is cold blooded enough to go to those extremes, he’ll have no trouble offing little old me. Hell, I’m surprised he didn’t do it right there in The Speakeasy. It probably would’ve been easier, but what do I know about murder?

Nothing. Not a damn thing.

We’ve been driving and driving and driving. I can tell we’re going uphill from the way I’m being thrown around in the trunk. This is hardly the car to navigate these roads.

The tires beneath us slip on the gravel.

Until we bounce so hard, my entire body jolts. We come to an abrupt stop. The engine dies and an eerie silence takes over. The only thing I hear is my panicked breaths and muffled cursing from inside the car.

But he doesn’t get out. The faint smell of cigarette smoke seeps into the trunk as he starts to talk to someone.

“You promised you’d talk to him—convince him I didn’t kill Collin.” There’s a tense pause before an outburst. “Dammit. What the hell am I supposed to do now?” This doesn’t bode well for me. I have no idea how I’ll ever escape. “Right. You think I’m going to tell you where the fuck I am when you refuse to help me? Fuck you.”

A crash rings out from inside the car. Enzo mutters to himself.

The trunk is empty, but I do feel a metal loop on the carpeted floorboard. I twist and turn it.

The spare tire.

I have to make room to lift the cover and wrench my arm around, but I feel the cold metal. It’s wedged in so tight, it takes everything I have to pry it loose.

I barely get the spare tire lid closed when I hear his car door open. Muffled footsteps on rocky gravel make my skin crawl.

The trunk clicks before cool night air floods the small space. I pull in a deep breath and start to beg. “Please, Enzo, don’t hurt me. I’ll do whatever you want me to do, I swear. But, please, don’t hurt me.”

He flicks the half-smoked cigarette to the ground. “Hurting you is the least of your problems, Ruby. I’m fucking done.”

He reaches in and grips me by one of my biceps. I don’t put up too much of a fight, but I do cry. In my other hand, I fist the crowbar. Somehow in the dim trunk light, I keep it behind my back just enough that he doesn’t see it.

When my first bare foot hits the ground, I move.

And I curse myself for not working out with weights. I wish I were stronger.

I swing the crowbar around as hard and as fast as I can.

His eyes widen before it comes into contact with the side of his head. If nothing else, the surprise of the attack is enough for him to loosen his grip.

I pull away and run. But the gravel road cuts into my feet with every step. I’m not fast enough. Especially for him.

“Bitch!” He tackles me to the ground.

I cry out in pain as we land on our sides.

I can’t give up.

I throw my arms, my elbows, and kick as hard as I can.

When he pushes me to my back, I reach up, grip his face, and don’t let go. I manage to get one finger in his eye.

I sink my nails into his flesh.