The Beauty's Hidden Beast

11 - Precious (1.58k words)

╔═══ Author's note ════╗

This chapter is going to be dark. I'm not going to put any warnings because if you've reached this far already, it means you know what type of story you've got into. 🙈

We will delve into one of Yaya's past memories, and they are not going to be nice. Her backstory is actually the trigger that prompted me to start writing this novel.

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Riding on Curtis's shoulder, I was caught off guard by how fast he could actually move. He whipped through the thick woods like it was nothing, and I was just trying to hang on. The wind was whipping against my skin, bringing along an army of bugs, branches, and twigs, making me squint and dodge to fend them off.

I found myself holding onto his neck tighter, trying to block my face with my arm. Thankfully, I had on my trusty hoodie and gloves from my backpack to keep me a bit protected.

"Alright! Alright! I get it, I get it. Curtis, just carry me in your arms already!" I yelled, pretty sure he was feigning deafness.

Curtis came to an abrupt halt, his movement stopping as if the forest itself commanded it. As I dismounted from his towering shoulder, I caught the briefest flicker of a smirk playing across his lips, "What did you say? I didn't hear you."

I brushed off the remnants of dirt and bugs from my clothes, feeling the grit under my fingertips, "I said you are moving too slow still," I said, causing a little vein to pop up at the side of his forehead.

As I peeled off my gloves, Curtis's eyes narrowed, his initial curiosity quickly morphing into a grim frown. "Why are they like that? What happened to your hands?" he asked, his voice a mix of concern and something like anger, as if he was upset with me for letting my hands get to this state.

I looked down at my hands, seeing them through his eyes for the first time in the eerie light of his lantern.

They were far from delicate. Calluses ridged my palms, and my knuckles were hardened. These were not the hands of a gentle soul. They were marred by the darkness of my past, twisted by the trials I had faced.

Bound tightly in the back of the Hummer, the rough ropes dug into my wrists and ankles, securing me in place. With a mouth gag in my mouth and a black bag covering my head, I tuned into the mercenaries' conversation.

A gruff voice pierced the monotonous drone of the engine, "Why did only three of you return? Where is the rest of the group?"

"The mission was simple: a two-day recon with her through the conflict zone; But come sunrise, we're down by half, and she's nowhere to be found. When we found her, she took down Jackson with a trap. And Marcus and Ty? Outsmarted them at their own game. Used the environment to her advantage. We underestimated her, big time. The boss isn't going to be happy about this. " A cold, calculating voice from beside me spoke up, "The real question is, will her rich daddy pay up? We're talking about a hefty sum."

A grunt of agreement from another corner of the vehicle entered my ears, "He will. If he values his daughter's life, he'll pay up quick."

"Yeah, crazy rich folks," another snorted with contempt. "Ready to throw wads of cash for his little princess to get a front-row seat to a real action movie. Like it's some damn thrill ride instead of bloody war. What a fucked up world, eh?"

Their laughter, filled with greed and anticipation, echoed around me. I sat there, forced to listen to their banter, my worth reduced to mere currency in their eyes.