Page 42 of Stolen Princess

That is, until I feel the press of something metal against my forehead. That’s immediately followed by a hand on my forearm, gripping me. I can’t believe Rhys is putting the gun to my head. Yes, I took his phone, but it’s not as though I actually stole it. I was going back for him. I should have known he’d do this. He warned me, and I was stupid for not believing him. For trusting him despite that. Ire burns through me, and I slowly open my eyes, ready to scream at him, only to see it’s not Rhys.

It’s some guy with an eye patch and a thick, white scar that traverses from the top of his bald head past the patch and onto his nose. I have no clue what could cause a scar like that, but that’s not what I need to be focusing on.

Fear as I’ve never known has my heart pounding to the point of pain. I can hardly catch my breath. Oh god.

“Give me your money.”

Except I don’t have any money because I left my money in my bag back in our room. I brought twenty euros to get breakfast. That’s it. I was too distracted by the bed and the man in it, and I left the gun and the knife behind.

“I only have twenty euros.”

His gaze is all over my face, and his grip on my arm turns bruising. A slimy smile crawls up his lips, revealing decaying teeth. “Pretty one, aren’t you?” He jerks me forward. “No money? You can pay me in other ways.”

“No!” I try to shove him, but he presses the gun deeper into my forehead, eliciting a whimper from me.

“If you scream, I’ll shoot. So shut the fuck up.”

Jesus, this is bad. I have the phone. That’s it. Not much good it’ll do when he has a gun, but I have to try something. I’m likely dead either way, but I won’t let him take me. I’ll hit him over the head with it or something.

My free hand slides along my hip toward my back, but he sees it.

“Oh, no, bitch.” A murderous look takes over. The gun is gone from my forehead, a split second before it whizzes down faster than lightning, cracking me on the side of the face.

I woof out a gasp that’s immediately followed by a cry as searing white-hot pain shoots across my temple. My vision goes double, then sideways, and I collapse to the ground on all fours, blood dripping onto the sidewalk beneath me.

A hand at my lower back jars me out of my stupor, and I scream, righting my body, and twisting to push him off while I grab for the phone before he can get it.

“Shut up, you stupid bitch.” His fist swings and lands on my cheek just below where he hit me with the gun. The side of my body hits the ground with a thud before I’m hauled up by the back of my shirt and my braid.

I’m fighting, twisting and thrashing, my hands wildly lashing out to scratch him. It’s useless. He drags me, and my feet kick out from under me. I partially fall again, except for the grip he has on me that’s keeping my ass off the ground and making it so my feet can’t get purchase beneath me. Pain rips at my skull, and my shirt pulls tight around my neck, choking me.

I reach up for his hands, clawing and scratching. He jerks harder on my shirt, cutting off my oxygen. I rip at the shirt, desperate for air.

Why hasn’t anyone heard this? Why is no one on the street?

“No! Stop!” I scream as best I can, hoping someone will come out and stop him or at least make him drop me and run. He’s pulling me toward the alley between two buildings, and if he gets me there, that’ll be it.

I feel the gun pressing into my head. “If you make another sound, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Click. Everything stops at the sound of a gun cocking, but I’m still held in place, half up, half down by my hair and shirt.

“Not if I kill you first. Let her go.”

Rhys. Holy shit, he’s here.

“Listen—”

Crack. The man bellows in pain, and I’m dropped to the ground hard on my ass. The guy is on the ground beside me, bleeding from his head in the same spot I am. Before I can comprehend what’s happening, Rhys has him by the throat and pulls his head and back from the ground. He hovers over him and spits in his face.

“You messed with the wrong girl.” Rhys squeezes the man’s throat as he pulls his other fist back and hammers it down, knocking him in the jaw with such force I almost grimace. The man’s head flops back, and I think a tooth goes shooting from his mouth. Rhys shakes him, forcing his head back up from its lolling position before he hits him again.

His eye rolls back in his head, and Rhys drops him, his head smacking the pavement with a thud that makes me wince. Rhys winds up and nails him in the flank with his foot, the crunch of bone audible. I crawl to a nearby lamppost and use it to pry myself up. My face is throbbing and bleeding and swollen. My vision isn’t great either.

Rhys pulls the knife from his back pocket and picks up the man’s gun from the ground, pocketing it, but holding the knife in his hand as if he’s deciding what to do with it: put it away or slice the guy’s throat. His chest is heaving, his face twisted in rage, and his fist is covered in blood. He spots me leaning against the post, and that decides it for him. He closes the knife and slips it into the front pocket of his pants. In a flash, he’s on me, his hands on my cheek, his frantic eyes, still venomous and bloodthirsty, all over me.

“Genevieve, look at me, darlin’. Are you okay?”

Am I? I hardly know what I am. Isn’t that my common thread? Only now I mean that in a very different way. I’m shaking uncontrollably, all my adrenaline abandoning me in my moment of need. I want to be fierce. I want to stay strong.