Page 21 of Stolen Princess

“Right,” he says, almost as if he needed the reminder.

“Can we go already?”

A slow nod. “Let’s do it.”

A bolt of nerves hits me, but I push through them and go for my bag as I glance around my room. Will I ever see this place again? I sling my bag over my shoulder and head into my art studio. It’s not all bad here. It’s not. It’s just not enough either.

I pull the gun from the bottom of my hamper, and he laughs.

“Wouldn’t have thought to look there.”

I put both the gun and the knife into my bag. “Then I’m glad I hid them there.”

He’s not strangling me or fighting for the gun or knife. Why? He could. He’d be able to overpower me in a minute. These weapons are the ultimate false sense of security. I’m tall and a bit lanky, but he’s got a lot of weight and muscle on me. Why did he tell me about his superpower? Is this all a mind trick with him? Manipulation? And why am I not afraid of him when he’s pointedly telling me I should be?

“How far are we from the sea?”

He pops his last bite of ham into his mouth and eyes me. “About fifty kilometers or so. Why?”

I shrug. “I’ve always wanted to see it. And since I have the gun, the knife, and the necklace, you’ll do what I say and take me there.” I smile smugly. “It seems you’re not the only selfish, self-serving one.”

7

FERRIN

Why couldn’t she have reconsidered? In my three-plus decades on this planet, I’ve never been more at odds with myself. I haven’t had to consider another human in anything I was doing—not in any true way—since I was a young boy when I learned the lessons of life and death and what caring for others gets you.

I did look for the necklace. I’m not a total moron. I went through her drawers and cabinets and even her paints and laundry, where I found my knife and gun, even though I let her believe I didn’t. I searched high and low while she was downstairs with her mother, and I came up empty. I should have taken the gun to her and demanded she return it. But I had a feeling she’d tell me to shoot her or stab her instead of doing the smart thing and handing the necklace back over to me, so that’s why I left them where they were.

I didn’t want to have to make that decision.

She’s right, I don’t want to hurt her. And it’s not because she’s a woman or young or beautiful. I’ve seen that wild, no-more-fucks-to-give look before, and it haunted me all night. I can’t be responsible for another death. One that’s undeserved, that is.

The man she’s seen, for the most part, is Rhys. The thief. The persona. The man who can charm anyone into anything. I’ve been him so long I hardly know where the line between Rhys and Ferrin exists. But she found it and reminded me exactly of who I am.

Yet even when I showed her the darker side of me, she didn’t shy away.

The sadness and despondency in her voice chilled me to the bones. It’s how my mother sounded before she swallowed a bottle of pills and washed it down with a vat of whiskey. She tied me to a chair so I couldn’t call the police to stop her, and I had to watch her die, unable to do anything, knowing it was my fault.

I was seven when she did that. Helpless and broken and bleeding.

My father liked to wail on us. Getting drunk and beating the shit out of his wife and son were his favorite sports. He was giving it to her pretty good, and I got the idea to hit him back. I took his pint glass and threw it at his face. It was a brilliant shot. I hit him straight in the nose and not only doused him in his beer but broke his nose.

He was embarrassed and hateful and hit me harder than he ever had before. He left after that, even as she begged him to stay, and she couldn’t take it.

I spent ten years in the system plotting his death, and when I finally escaped that hell, I hunted him down. He had no clue who I was. He barely remembered my name. I spent hours reminding him, cutting him for every hit and blow he gave me and her. That night, I showed him the true meaning of pain and loss before I finally allowed him to die.

That was the night I came to terms with the monster I am but knew if I wanted to exist in the world, I had to become something else. Someone else.

Then there’s the main part of this. Her mother. I want that tiara back, and I know she has it. If sticking to this girl is the way to do that, then I suppose I don’t have a choice.

Regardless, she needs to know who she’s spending time with. The truth behind my lies and smiles. And though I may know and even possibly understand the look of determination on her face as a means to cover what’s happening in your soul and gain a modicum of control over your shit situation, sympathizing with her won’t get me my necklace back.

So I focus on what’s at hand.

“The sea?” I murmur. “Do you have a swimming costume?”

Her nose scrunches. “A what?”