Page 44 of Stolen Princess

A sob rattles through me, and I stare at the blood dripping onto my lap from my chin drop by drop. The thought of going back… oh god, I won’t make it. I can’t live that life, and I can’t live this one.

What am I going to do?

14

FERRIN

It’s my fault. I woke up at the sound of the door clicking shut. I was annoyed she managed to sneak out without waking me, and even more annoyed that she took my phone. I knew she’d be back. Her stuff was here. But I didn’t follow her. I let her walk out.

Last night in the shower after I came in two fucking seconds, I stood there trying to figure out what it is about her that has me so affected when no one’s affected me since my parents. No one’s gotten in. I didn’t come up with much other than it has to be from the insane situation we’re in. It can’t be her because I don’t do that. Not with anyone.

But I don’t know how to handle her.

One minute she’s driving me up a wall in the best and worst of ways, and the next she’s pulling at strings inside me that don’t need or want to be pulled. Last night with her was a mistake. A mistake that nearly had me coming in my briefs without even touching myself. A mistake that had me up late, way into the wee hours of the morning, watching her sleep and debating my next steps and plan.

I was going to leave her. I planned to take her out for breakfast, tell her I was using the washroom, and slip out the back. I was going to stalk her mother, figure out her motive, and possibly kill her. I wouldn’t feel remorse about that either. She deserves what’s coming to her.

I’d get my necklace somehow, get the fucking tiara from whoever has it, sell the lot, and never look back. I told myself that’s how it had to be. That I don’t care about the girl because caring about someone only fucks you in the end. She’s a means to an end. Someone I’ll never see or think about again. That’s how this goes.

I made it another eight, maybe ten minutes before I lost the battle with myself and went to find her. But that’s all it took, isn’t it? Ten minutes. If I had gone after her sooner, she wouldn’t be shivering and bleeding and crying in the bathroom.

I’m barely holding it together. A hot minute from losing my fucking mind.

I want to go back out there, find that guy, and literally eviscerate him. I’d cut him slowly. Make sure he feels every slice.

A ragged breath heaves past my lungs, and my fist clenches tighter. I press it into the wall when what I really want to do is punch straight through it. But that’s not what she needs, and I don’t want to scare her more than she already is. I return to the tiny bathroom, shaking like a goddamn leaf, and set everything down on the counter. I can’t look at her, though I don’t have to, to know she’s an absolute mess.

“We need to get you warm.” I meet her eyes in the reflection of the mirror, and my jaw instantly locks. That motherfucker was lucky she was standing there. “Do you think you can shower?”

She nods, her arms wrapped around her chest, her expression stoic to the point of troubling as her focus stays on the countertop. She lost it on the guy too, and I give her credit for that. She didn’t cower. But now she’s in her head, and I know from experience that can be a dangerous and dark place to get trapped.

“Look at me.”

Slowly her gaze pulls up.

“I’m worried about your head. Are you dizzy at all? Seeing double?”

She shakes her head ever so subtly.

“Do you think you can shower? I need words.”

“Yes. I can shower.” She wipes furiously at a tear that falls as if it offended her when she’s already drenched in them.

I face her. “I’ll bring you your bag, and I’ll be right outside the door if you need anything.”

She blinks, a slow-rolling sort of thing that comes with a puzzled expression. I’m being nice to her when I told her I’m not, and she doesn’t know what to make of it. I don’t either. Before she can question me, I leave the bathroom, grab her bag, set it on the counter, and close the door behind me.

I don’t relax until I hear the water turning on. Then I strip out of my soaked clothes and change. The guns and knife go back into my knapsack. Jesus, he was trying to take her. What would have happened to her if I hadn’t come out there?

A shudder rolls through me.

She’s safe now, and the extent of the relief that comes with that is gripping. I saved her. He can’t hurt her again. But others can. Others are. It hits me with a hard truth and a fresh spike of protectiveness. Yes, she’s sad. Yes, she’s likely been suicidal. But it’s not what she wants to be. It’s not who she is.

She’s sunshine.

She’s smiles and giggles and sass and strength and caring.

It’s genuine. And in the two and a half days I’ve been around her, she’s brought out elements of me I would have sworn were dead. No one should hurt this girl. Not ever.