《Bitten by History》 Prologue ''You bitch!'' Emelia lunged for the woman in front of her but was held back by her boyfriend. ''Emelia,'' he yelled. ''Calm down!'' ''As if!'' she shouted, jabbing a finger at the woman she wanted to pummel. ''You think you can kiss my boyfriend and get away with it?'' ''Oh, please, Emelia.'' Charlotte, a girl she had known since primary school, laughed. ''If Reuben has to get with other girls it''s obviously because he isn''t getting what he needs from you.'' Emelia''s blood boiled and Reuben, sensing her rage, tightened his hold around her waist. ''You would know all about what a man needs, wouldn''t you, Charlotte?'' Emelia sneered in response. ''I suppose as London''s number one slut you''ve had plenty of time to practice!'' Charlotte''s face flushed an ugly shade of red. ''You take that back.'' Now it was Emelia''s turn to laugh. ''Nope,'' she said. ''Sorry, the truth doesn''t give refunds.'' ''Can both of you just please stop shouting?'' Reuben''s voice was barely audible above the thumping music. ''You''re going to get us thrown out.'' Emelia turned her attention to him, enraged. ''I can''t believe you kissed her!'' ''I didn''t kiss her,'' he said. ''She kissed me. It was an accident, babe.'' ''An accident?'' Charlotte gasped. ''That''s not what you said last time.'' ''Last time?!'' Emelia stared at him. ''This has happened before?'' ''What-?'' He blanched, spluttering. ''No, of course not.'' ''Have you slept with her?'' Emelia asked, wanting to know. Needing to know. ''No!'' ''Yes!'' He and Charlotte both answered at the same time and Emelia felt betrayal sink its poisonous hooks into her heart. Oh, my god. Seeing the realisation on her face, Reuben quickly attempted to conjure up an explanation. ''Babe, look,'' he rushed to say. ''I was drunk and it was just the once. It meant nothing. She means nothing. I love yo-'' He was cut off midway when Emelia slaps him hard across the face, stunning him into silence. Then, without saying another word, she turned and headed across the crowded dance floor towards the exit. The palm she had used to strike Reuben burned but the sensation was nothing compared to the acidic, alcohol-tinged bile making its way up her oesophagus. Oh God, she thought, I''m going to throw up. When she finally made it out of the bustling nightclub and onto the less crowded street, any relief she would have found was thwarted when a wave of nausea caused her to double over and vomit onto the pavement. A few moments later, two hands appeared from behind her to hold back her hair while she retched. At first, Emelia was grateful, but then she heard Reuben''s voice. ''Take a deep breath, babe. It''s okay.'' ''Don''t you dare touch me!'' she yelled, stumbling out of his hold. She managed to avoid stepping in her own vomit, but that was the only dignified thing about the moment. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ''Em,'' Reuben pleaded, ''please just let me explain. ''There''s nothing to explain,'' she replied, hating how hoarse her voice sounded. ''I know the truth now.'' Had there been signs before tonight? Red flags she''d missed? How could she not have seen this coming? ''How long?'' Reuben looked away, just for a second, but it was answer enough. A humourless laugh escaped her. ''I swear it meant nothing,'' he said. ''It was a mistake. She''s not... You''re the one I love.'' ''If you loved me you wouldn''t have shagged my bestfriend!'' she yelled, drawing curious glances from some of the people standing around outside of the club. ''Where are you going?'' He grabbed hold of her wrist when she tried to leave. ''Home.'' She tried to yank herself free but the alcohol''s influence stole her strength. ''Let me take you,'' he said, as if he was a gentleman. ''Let go of me or I''ll scream,'' Emelia threatened, fully prepared to follow through if he didn''t listen. When he released her wrist she whirled around to face him, ger hair slapping him across the face. ''You don''t have to walk me home because you''re dumped!'' Reuben didn''t try to stop her a second time and just watched as she stormed away. When Emelia arrived home almost an hour later she got the cab driver to drop her off at the bottom of the street rather than right outside the house. All the lights were off, and she punched in the security code at the front gate with great care, not wanting to risk drunkenly getting it wrong and setting off the alarm. Emelia went around the side of the house to the lesser used side entrance in order to avoid the motion sensors. It took her three tries to get the key into the lock and she whispered profanities until she got it right. She didn''t dare turn on any lights once inside, instead using muscle memory to safely navigate across the foyer and up the stairs and down the hall. All was silent behind her parents'' door as she passed and she made it to her room without incident, breathing a sigh when she softly shut the door. The relief was short-lived. A human-sized shadow by the bed caught her attention and she almost screamed. ''Where have you been?'' ''Dad?'' She slumped against the bedroom door, heart pounding. ''You scared me.'' She fumbled for the light switch and blinked rapidly against the brightness. ''What are you doing in my room?'' she asked. She couldn''t remember the last time her father had stepped a foot through her doorway. His presence was disconcerting. How long had he been in here, waiting in the dark for her to return home? ''Where have you been?'' he repeated. It was 2AM and he was still wearing his suit. ''Just out with friends.'' ''And you didn''t think to let us know you would be gone all weekend? Your mother was worried sick.'' ''I texted,'' she said. ''On Friday evening,'' her father snapped. ''It''s Sunday, Emelia.'' She grimaced. Shit. ''I''m sorry.'' Her father''s eyes narrowed as he appraised her, his critical gaze all to familiar. ''You''ve been drinking.'' ''A little,'' Emelia said. There was no point denying it; he could probably smell the vodka from where he stood. She was just thankful her speech wasn''t slurred. One less thing to be embarrassed about. ''And there''s vomit on your dress.'' Blood rushed to Emelia''s face after she glanced down to see that he was right. The slurring would''ve been better. ''You''re a mess,'' her father said and she barely suppressed a flinch. ''Do you think this is an appropriate way to be behaving? Staying out all hours of the night. Getting drunk. Dressing like a slut.'' A flash of anger then and Emelia glared at him. ''It''s the twenty-first century, dad. Women can wear whatever they want.'' ''Oh, so you want to shame yourself?'' he said, his upper lip curling. ''You want to waste all of my and your mother''s efforts to raise you right?'' ''No,'' she replied, ''Of course not.'' ''Well, you certainly have me fooled,'' he said. ''The way you''re behaving makes you seen you want to amount to nothing.'' Emelia swallowed, the anger dissipating as fast as it appeared and leaving nothing but painful numbness. ''Look, dad, I''ve had a rough night,'' she said weakly, knowing that he probably wouldn''t care. ''And I''m really tired. Can we continue this tomorrow?'' ''You can guarantee we will,'' he said. ''Your mother and I have had enough and will be having a serious discussion about your behaviour tomorrow which we expect you to be present for.'' Emelia looked away and gritted her teeth. Yay. She moved aside so her father could leave and she resisted the urge to slam the door once he did. A lock. She didn''t have one and had never thought she needed one. But now getting one was on her top list of priorities, right below blocking and deleting Reuben''s number. Using the wall for balance, Emelia removed her high heels and clothes. She turned the light off and got into bed without bothering to remove the makeup from her face and stared up at the dark ceiling. The night''s events replayed in her mind and the numbness was soon overshadowed by a sharpness in the chest. She gasped as her lungs constricted and her eyes began to burn. I''m never going clubbing again. ''Don''t cry,'' she whispered, but it was no use. Seconds later she was rolling over, burying her face into the pillow, and sobbing herself to sleep. Chapter 1 A week later Emilia stands up on a grassy hill overlooking Primrose Hill park. She takes a long drag from her cigarette, relishing the burn as the tobacco fills her lungs, and stares out at the twinkling lights of London city. Tonight is colder than usual and the smell of gunpowder hangs heavy in the air, leftover from the recent fireworks display. The muffled voices of other bonfire attendees filter through the breeze along with the high pitched laughter of children. Distracted, Emelia doesn''t hear anyone approach until the cigarette is snatched from her hand. ''Hey!'' She turns to glare at the culprit. A pretty face framed by goldish-blonde curls scowls back at her. ''These things are bad for you, you know,'' her younger cousin Sofie says. ''They''ll give you cancer. It says it on the pack.'' ''Everything gives you cancer nowadays,'' Emelia points out. ''Give it back.'' She holds out her hand but Sofie drops it to the ground and stomps on it instead. ''That''s littering,'' Emelia says and Sofie quickly picks the now-flattened cigarette back up. ''You didn''t have to do that.'' ''I''ll find a bin,'' Sofie says. ''I don''t want some animal to eat it and get sick.'' Emelia''s phone rings then. She pulls it out and glances down, already knowing who it''s going to be. Reuben''s name flashes across the screen. Sofie moves closer, brushing up against Emelia''s side. ''You''re not going to answer that?'' she asks curiously. ''Nope.'' Emelia shoves the phone back into her jacket and knocks her cousin''s hand away from where it''s trying to pickpocket her packet of cigarettes. Caught out, Sofie jumps back and giggles. The sound bright and welcome, and Emelia smiles. How long has it been since they''ve hung out like this? Too long, that''s for sure. ''Did you enjoy the fireworks?'' she asks. ''Yeah.'' Sofie grins, cheeks flushed from the chill. ''I did. Thanks for bringing me.'' ''No problem,'' Emelia says, guilt coming to the surface. She will have to be sure to spend time with her cousin more often from now on, like they used to when they were younger. Today has been the nicest day she''s had all week and Emelia finds herself wondering why she''d thought Sofie would snub her invitation to meet up. Because you deserve it, the nasty little voice in her mind says. You''re the one who pulled away, not her. ''I''m hungry,'' Sofie says, drawing Emelia out of her own head. ''Let''s get food!'' ''What time did your mum say she wants you back home?'' Emelia asks. ''Eleven-thirty.'' ''OK, good, then we have time.'' Emelia links her arm with Sofie''s and together they follow the path leading down the hill and out of the park. Plenty of places are still open at this time in the evening, so it doesn''t take them long to find a decent place to eat. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Afterwards, they make their way to the train station by foot. Emelia would''ve usually preferred to get a cab but it felt good to walk along the sparsely populated streets, especially with company. They take a shortcut through a housing estate to get to the station faster and, apart from the sounds of fireworks being set off in the distance, this area is has an extra layer of quiet. No lights shine from any of the building windows; most of the flats here are empty, having been scheduled for demolition to make room for more modern developments. The entryways and most of the lower level windows are boarded up with plywood to prevent squatters from moving in but Emelia doubts it''ll be adequate. Her attention is drawn away from the buildings when Sofie suddenly stops walking and stares intently across the street. Emilia stops too, confused. ''What is it?'' She follows Sofie''s gaze and spots three dark figures congregating in the shadows of one of the looming buildings, far outside the reach of any streetlights. None of them are moving or talking, just standing like statues in the shadows, and and chill goes down Emelia''s spine. ''Come on, Sof,'' she says and tugs on her cousin''s hand. ''We''re going to miss the train.'' But then she realises that if they want to continue taking this shortcut, they will have to walk directly past the buildingand risk being spotted. Emelia doesn''t like the idea of potentially getting mugged or followed home. If there''s one good thing her parents taught her it is to never trust anyone who is poorly dressed or hanging around late at night for no apparent reason. It seems that Sofie has the same instinct. ''I think we should head back and go a different way.'' ''Good thinking. Let''s-'' The unexpected roar of an engine cuts through the air, startling them both. Headlights flash up ahead. In a moment of unexplained panic Emelia yanks Sofie across the street and behind the wall of bushes on the other side of the footpath. Sofie doesn''t resist when Emelia pulls her down into a crouch but she''s frowning. ''Emmy, what-'' she starts to ask but then dark car comes speeding down the street, its tires screeching as it comes to a violent halt just a few feet away from where they had been standing. Sofie''s eyes widen and Emelia brings a finger to her own lips, signalling her to be quiet. There''s a moment where there''s nothing but the sound of the idling engine, then the sound of a car door opening and closing. Next, there are soft footsteps. Multiple pairs. ''Good evening, Jacques,'' someone says. Male and gravelly. ''Stanislav,'' another person responds. Their voice is deeper but they sound younger, and have a slight accent. '' ''You''re late.'' ''Traffic.'' ''At this time of night?'' the voice belonging to the man named Stanislav sounds a little disbelieving. ''You would be surprised,'' the other man, Jacques, replies. And Emelia finally pins his accent. French. There''s a metallic clink and then the sound of a lighter striking. The familiar scent of tobacco fills the air seconds later. ''Hm, this week has been full of surprises,'' Stanislav says. ''Finding out that you were in London was one of them. Are you enjoying your visit so far?'' Unable to resist the rising curiosity, Emelia pushes up on her knees and peeks through a thin gap in the bush. Through the the leaves and branches she can just about make out the scene in front of them. The man Emelia assumes is Stanislav is darkly dressed and has a cigarette hanging from his lips, the end burning bright as he takes a drag. He flicks the ash on the ground. Then Emelia notices that he''s not alone. There are three other men, all wearing similar attire of long dark jackets, standing silently behind him. Look who''s trying to be Keanu Reeves from the Matrix. Then there''s the man who must be Jacques. Emelia can''t make out much of his appearance from this point of view other than he''s got brown skin, cropped hair, and is leaning against the front of his car with his hands in the pockets of his trousers. His shoulders rise in a subtle shrug. ''It''s not comparable home,'' he says. ''But I admit I'' biased. Would you like to ask me about the weather next, or would you like to get to the point where you tell me why we''re having this meeting?'' ''You''re impatient,'' Stanislav remarks. ''I have better places to be than here.'' ''And what about your precious prince? Did he have better places to be also or was he just too much of a coward to show up tonight?'' Stanislav turns his head, eyes scanning the street, and Emelia holds her breath. But the bush provides ample cover and they remain unnoticed. ''I''m sorry to disappoint you but you''re the last person he would ever be afraid of,'' Jacques replies. ''Oh, really?'' Stanislav''s voice now carries a hint of mocking. ''Then please tell me, where is your prince? Is he hiding? Choosing to be like the cockroach he is?'' He says that last part a little louder like he wants someone else besides Jacques to hear. What the hell are these people talking about? Sofie taps on her shoulder and and leans in close. Her breath is warm on the inside of Emelia''s ear as she whispers, ''There''s someone on top of that tower block.'' Emilia frowns and glances at her, before looking up to see for herself. Sure enough, outlined by the dim moonlight above the building opposite, is the undoubtable figure of a person. What the¡­ The figure shifts, sways forward, and an awful thought enters Emelia''s mind. They''re going to jump. And then they do. Chapter 2 The figure steps off of the concrete ledge and Emelia''s breath catches as they plummet to what will no doubt be their death, falling so fast they''re almost impossible to follow. Emelia hears when they hit the ground - a heavy thud that resounds across the street. She squints through the foliage, eyes going wide when the jumper appears to still be alive. In the place of what should be a pile of broken bones and a growing pool of blood, is a man. Slowly, he unfurls from his crouch and moves into the line of the streetlights. ''Who are you calling a cockroach?'' His voice is soft and smooth, no hint of pain or strain from the drop, and unease becomes a tight ball in Emelia''s gut. What. The. Fuck. No one should be able to survive that kind of fall, let alone get up and walk afterwards, and it sends a chill straight down Emelia''s spine. If anyone else is shocked by the man''s survival or that he heard Stanislav''s words from up there, they don''t show it. ''Fran?ois Dashiell,'' Stanislav drawls. ''I was wondering when you''d have the guts to show up.'' ''You know what they say about being fashionably late.'' The man named Fran?ois continues moving until he reaches the centre of the road, putting him directly between Stanislav and Jacques. ''And I agree with my friend, quit the small talk and get to the point. Why are we here?'' ''Your recent activities have caused some concern.'' ''That''s interesting because I haven''t broken any laws.'' ''Oh, but you have,'' Stanislav says. ''Being here without expressed permission from the British government is a crime.'' ''So is signing non-disclosure agreements with the British government to cover up unjustified slayings,'' Fran?ois replies, voice harsh. ''But you have problems with that.'' Stanislav takes another drag from his cigarette, the action relaxed and unhurried. ''I''ve absolutely no idea what you''re talking about,'' he says, and Emelia recognises the blas¨¦ tone of denial as one she''s heard from her father too many times. ''The only agreement the prime minister and I have is in our shared belief that England has the right to be protected. We take the safety of this country''s citizens very seriously and will not standby and watch you shed blood in the streets.'' ''No blood has been shed,'' Jacques cuts in. ''We haven''t harmed anyone.'' ''Yet,'' Stanislav retorts. ''But it''s only a matter of time. No one''s safe when your kind is around.'' "Our kind," Fran?ois says, voice dripping with disdain. ''You have some nerve speaking of us like that, after everything you''ve done.'' Stanislav flicks ash in Fran?ois general direction; an insult even Emelia can see. He says, ''As much as I''ve enjoyed this little meet up, it''s time for you to leave.'' Emelia can''t properly see Fran?ois'' expression but she imagines it''s as unforgiving as his voice. ''And if I''m not ready to?'' ''My men and I are well within our rights to use deadly force.'' ''That won''t be necessary,'' Jacques says, pushing away from the front of his car. ''We''ve had enough of London anyway. Isn''t that right, Fran?ois?'' Fran?ois doesn''t respond, nor does he move. He stares at Stanislav, his posture rigid. Seconds pass and the tension in the air grows. The men behind Stanislav shift minutely, their unease clear. ''Fran?ois,'' Jacques repeats warningly. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Surprisingly, Fran?ois appears to concede then. He glares at Stanislav for a moment longer before taking a step back and turning away. Emelia notices Stanislav reaching for something from the inside of his long coat as Fran?ois walks towards the car. Jacques is opening the driver side door, his attention momentarily diverted, and Fran?ois'' back is turned, so neither of them see the object Stanislav pulls out. That''s- a gun. He has an actual gun. Emelia watches with wide eyes as Stanislav raises the weapon and aims it at the back of Fran?ois'' head. A millisecond later Jacques is jumping into action. ''Fais attention!'' he shouts. Fran?ois turns and Emelia can''t force herself to look away, even when Stanislav pulls the trigger. Sofie flinches violently beside her as the gunshot rings out across the street. ''Backstabbing scum. How dare you,'' Fran?ois says, seething and somehow still very much alive, having moved so fast it was like he had just teleported out of the way of the bullet. But that''s impossible. Right? So is surviving a fifty foot drop. He lunges and grabs Stanislav''s wrist. There''s a sickening snap and Stanislav lets out a pained shout. The gun clatters to the ground. Stanislav''s men pull out weapons of their own but they all hesitate to fire when Fran?ois forces the older man to face them and uses his body as a shield. ''What are you waiting for?'' Stanislav shouts, struggling against Fran?ois despite his broken wrist. ''Shoot them!'' ''Oh no,'' Fran?ois says. ''I wouldn''t waste my bullets if I were you.'' The events that transpire next all happen too fast to comprehend. In a display of impossible strength, Fran?ois lifts Stanislav clean off his feet and tosses him forward and then uses the momentary distraction to dart towards the closest man. He grabs the guy by the hand that''s holding the gun, pushes it upward, and then forces his finger down onto the trigger. Another gunshot. The man drops like a rock, half of his head a mangled mess. His face just completely gone. Emelia''s stomach lurches and her eyes burn, and she still can''t look away. Fran?ois wipes at the blood splatter on his face and licks his lips. Then he grins like a madman. ''Now blood has been spilled.'' Everything that happens after that is a blur. Fran?ois manages to take out another man and Jacques moves out from behind the car, some kind of object in his hand. He charges the last man standing, somehow managing to dodge the bullets as more gunshots go off. He swings his arm and the object - a wrench? - connects with the side of the man''s head hard. He goes down and before he can attempt to get back up Jacques brings the wrench down again, and again, and again. Until there''s too much blood and the guy is clearly dead. It''s the most violence Emelia has ever witnessed in her entire life, and if she wasn''t so terrified she would be sick. ''You bloodsucking bastard,'' Stanislav spits as Fran?ois stalks towards him. ''You think you''ll get away with this?'' ''I already have,'' Fran?ois says before lashing out with a fist. Stanislav falls back but Fran?ois grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and holds him up. ''I came here for answers,'' Fran?ois continues. ''But all I''ve found is lies. They haven''t saved anyone.'' Stanislav snorts through a most likely broken nose, either from amusement or the lack of ability to breathe properly, it''s impossible to tell. ''And let me guess; you will spare me if I tell you the truth.'' His voice is filled with derision. ''No,'' Fran?ois says. ''By trying to slay me you have confirmed my suspicion that you''re somehow involved. But if you tell me what I want to know, I''ll kill you quickly.'' ''Ha!'' Stanislav gives a humourless cackle. ''What a deal. How could anyone resist!'' ''Who gave the order, Stanislav?'' Stanislav hawks up fluid and spits it at Fran?ois. ''Fuck you and your family, Dashiell,'' he snarls. ''I would''ve danced on your mother''s grave if her body hadn''t been burned to ash.'' Any self control Fran?ois may have had is obliterated by those words and a vicious, inhuman sound bursts from his mouth. He grabs Stanislav''s shoulder with one hand and gets a fistful of hair with the other and wrenches his head to the side. Stanislav jerks when Fran?ois brings his face to his neck and then he screams, and Emelia can''t understand what''s happening. None of it makes sense. And then Fran?ois is yanking his face away and blood is spraying like water from a fountain. Stanislav''s body seizes violently, and his cry tapers to a wet gurgle. As seconds pass, and blood continues to pour, his movements diminish until he is still. Dead. Fran?ois makes a sound of disgust and lets the body fall. Jacques approaches him a moment later. ''What happened to interrogating him?'' ''I lost my temper.'' ''I see,'' Jacques sighs heavily. He glances down at himself and touches his left shoulder. ''Ah¡­'' Fran?ois'' head snaps up. ''You''re hurt.'' ''It''s just a graze,'' Jacques says. Turns out he hadn''t managed to avoid every bullet after all. ''What do we do with the mess?'' ''Leave it,'' Fran?ois says. ''It''ll send a nice little message to the rest of them.'' They switch to conversing in French and Emelia is too stricken and overwhelmed to even attempt to figure out what else is being said. Sofie is clutching at her, trembling, and Emelia implores with her eyes for her to remain quiet. If either of them make even the slightest of sounds, they''re as good as dead. The two men move towards the car and Emelia experiences an inkling of hope that they both might walk away from this unscathed. And then a terribly loud and familiar sound perforates the air. Her phone''s ringtone. Chapter 3 Horror hits like a ton of bricks. Dammit, Reuben! Emelia fumbles for her phone, desperate to silence it, but it''s too late. A hand reaches around the bush and grabs a fistful of her hair. ''Emmy!'' Sofie cries as Emelia is dragged out from their hiding place with a shriek. ''Mon Dieu, what do we have here?'' Fran?ois says. ''A little eavesdropper.'' ''Ow! Let go of me!'' Emelia scrabbles to get her feet beneath her, adrenaline turning them jelly-like and useless. ''I''ll be taking this, merci.'' He tears the phone from her hand and closes his fist around it. The ringtone cuts off with a crunch as he crushes it. Breaking it as easily as he broke Stanislav''s hand. Emelia stares in dismay as what''s left of the device cascades to the ground, and then her hands shoot up to wrap around his wrist as he hauls her up, her scalp screaming in protest. Fran?ois looks her up and down, and smiles with a bloody mouth. ''What a treat.'' ''There''s another,'' Jacques informs and Sofie releases a scream when he seizes hold of her. ''Leave her alone, you psycho!'' Emelia yells, anger momentarily eclipsing her terror. ''Oh l¨¤ l¨¤,'' Fran?ois says in a light sing-song voice. ''Tu es impoli.'' He releases her hair and grasps her arms instead, swiveling her to face him. Now closer up, and with grace from the streetlights, Emelia is able to see him properly and is momentarily stunned. The guy is young; he can only be a few years older than her at most. His face is pale and the drying blood looks extra red against it and contrasts vividly with the curly black hair atop his head. Dark circles paint the space beneath his eyes. The kind someone gets when they haven''t slept in a long time. Maybe he hasn''t, she thinks. Maybe he''s been too preoccupied with murder to get a good night''s sleep. And his eyes themselves... She''s never seen such a vibrant green. Like emeralds. They would be beautiful if they didn''t belong to a murderer. ''How long have they been here?'' Jacques asks. He scowls down at Sofie, who''s trembling in his hold. ''How much did you see?'' Sofie offers no response, just stares up at him with wide, frightened eyes. ''We didn''t see anything,'' Emelia says, putting as much conviction in her voice as possible. She hopes it''s convincing. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Fran?ois'' smile disappears and those intense eyes narrow. ''Do you really expect me to believe that?'' Emelia darts a look over his shoulder at the dead bodies strewn across the street. That will be us at any moment. The thought ignites her and she lashes out, kicking and aiming for his groin. But he just maneuvers out of the way and tightens his hold, fingers digging cruelly into her flesh. ''Let go!'' Emelia shouts, breath coming hard and fast. ''Let me-'' ''Keep fighting and I swear I''ll kill you.'' She freezes, all the while her heart keeps speeding, and Fran?ois makes a pleased sound. It looks like you two are coming with us.'' No. Emelia shakes her head. No, they couldn''t go anywhere with these men. She''s heard enough stories to know what happens to those taken to a second location. ''T''es s¨¦rieux?'' Jacques asks, looking incredulous. ''Oui,'' Fran?ois says. ''Search the other one.'' Jacques digs around Sofie''s pockets and removes her phone, which meets the same fate as Emelia''s; broken and discarded. ''There''s some cash in my purse,'' Emelia says quickly, wishing she had more to offer and hoping that''s all they decide to take. ''You can have it. Please just let us go.'' Fran?ois laughs, the sound mocking. ''We don''t want your money.'' He hauls her towards the car, not bothering to slow when she trips or tries to dig her feet in. When he throws open the car boot instead of the passenger door Emelia rears back. ''Wait, no- you can''t put us in there!'' she exclaims. But Fran?ois simply laughs again and forces her in despite her struggling. Sofie is roughly bundled in after her and then the boot is slammed shut, sealing them in claustrophobic darkness. Emelia blinks rapidly, trying to adjust her eyes to the lack of light. She shifts onto her side in the uncomfortably small space and gets kneed in the stomach by her cousin. ''I can''t- I can''t breathe. I can''t breathe in here,'' Sofie says, voice high with hysteria. ''We need to get out.'' ''Yep,'' Emelia replies, barely able to hear her voice above the heartbeat in her ears. Solid statement there. Would be great if it came with a plan of action. Emelia blindly feels around her side of the boot but there doesn''t seem to be anything inside with them that could be used as a tool or weapon. ''Sofie, check if there''s some sort of safety latch.'' Cars are supposed to have those, right? But Sofie is too busy hyperventilating, limbs flailing around in a space that''s too crammed for them. ''There''s no air,'' she gasps. ''There is,'' Emelia says while fighting to keep her own breathing under control. She can''t afford to lose her head. ''I promise there is. Now calm down and check for a latch.'' She feels Sofie shift, hopefully doing as instructed. ''I don''t feel- There isn''t one,'' she says. ''There has to be.'' ''There isn''t!'' Gritting her teeth, Emelia pushes herself up as much as she can. Her back presses against the roof of the boot as she clambers over Sofie to check for herself. ''Don''t kick me again,'' she says as she feels around and- dammit, there really is no latch. Why the hell is there no latch?! ''We''re gonna die,'' Sofie whispers and Emelia can hear the tears in her voice. ''We- we won''t,'' Emelia replies, and it feels like a dirty lie. ''We''ll figure something out. It''s going to be fine.'' Lie, lie, lie. ''It''s got to be past eleven-thirty by now, right? Your mum and dad will know something''s wrong.'' Emelia prays her aunt and uncle call the police straight away instead of waiting because her own parents certainly won''t realise anything until it''s way too late. ''And there are cameras everywhere in London,'' she continues, for her own sake. ''We won''t just disappear without a trace.'' If Sofie replies, Emelia doesn''t hear it above the roar of the engine. Then the car is accelerating violently and she loses her balance, half falling across her cousin. Sofie whimpers and jerks, breath hot and harsh across Emelia''s face. The car spins around and Emelia uses the momentum to roll off of her, hmphing when she hits the other side of the boot. The bastards aren''t even bothering to drive considerately. Her stomach roils and she prays she doesn''t throw up, because that would only add to this real-life nightmare. Please, she thinks to a god she doesn''t even believe exists. Please let us survive this.