Page 63 of Stolen Princess

“But… why? I don’t understand. Why did you do all of this?” Before I can answer her, she continues. “You killed him. I have his blood on my dress. It’s all over me. This is my new dress, and it’s splattered with his blood. And you left me. You’re as bad as he is. I know you are.”

Shit. She’s white as a sheet and going into shock.

“I’ve got you. You’re okay. Stay with me, princess, okay?”

“I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. Since I met you, two people have tried to kill me.”

She has a point.

“You’re going to be next, aren’t you? I saw it.”

I don’t know what she’s talking about, but I can’t question her now. We reach the front of the hotel, and I turn us away from registration, keeping her body tucked tightly to mine. As far as they know, she’s a married woman who lost her wallet and is here alone, and I don’t want them to see her with me. Thankfully, they’re preoccupied with another guest.

“Your room key.”

“You’re not coming to my room.”

This girl. There she is. “I am. I paid for it. Or you can come to mine, but either way, we need to talk and get cleaned up.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I know. But we have to do this.”

She huffs, but pulls out her key and, when we reach the top of the stairs, unlocks her door for both of us. I flip the lock latch and close the curtains on the windows.

“Get yourself out of that dress and into something else.” I grab a towel from the bathroom and throw it at her, then I go back into the bathroom, shut the door, and wash my hands and the knife. The water runs pink to clear, and I meet my reflection in the mirror.

I didn’t plan to kill him in front of her.

But more than that, doing so has sealed this for me. And it’s only the start.

21

GENEVIEVE

Rhys is in the bathroom, and my hands are shaking so damn badly I can hardly get my dress off. As it is, I hear seams tearing. Not that it matters. It’s ruined. But I need it off. I need it off right this second. It has that man’s blood on it. The blood that splattered from his neck. This morning I got attacked on the street, and now this. How is this happening, but more importantly, what am I supposed to do about it?

I can’t live out here like this. I’ll be dead by tomorrow.

Tonight I went to dinner by myself. It was a pretty place, and I felt beautiful in my dress with my hair done, and the bartender handed me a menu and talked to me about specials. It was incredible. I felt… free. Alive. Real.

I ordered a drink and food, and a man sat beside me and flirted with me.

Only he didn’t flirt the way Rhys did. I could see it in his eyes. There was no warmth there. I never felt ice race up my spine when I was with Rhys. I never felt that pang of unease or warning in my gut. Even after he told me he was dangerous and his charm was insincere. Odd, perhaps, but still. The moment this guy sat beside me at the bar, somehow, instinctively, I knew I was his purpose.

He was too… instantly attentive. There was no meet-cute moment. He noticed me from the start and zeroed in.

I tried to shake it off. I tried to tell myself I was being paranoid or crazy. I was still thinking about Rhys, which I knew was insane.

But the moment he opened his mouth and started asking me questions, that was it.

I ate quickly, got the check, paid, and tried to leave despite his protests to stay.

Then he followed me out, and I knew I was going to have to escape him somehow, and I didn’t rule out the possibility of using the gun hidden in my bag if necessary. That is until he told me he’d kill me if I tried to get away from him and jabbed the gun into my hip.

When I saw Rhys coming up behind us, my heart did something odd. It was beating fast already. But this was different. This was knowing I was going to be okay and yet knowing I might never be again.

The dress hits the floor, and I run the towel along my body, smearing the white cotton with red and streaking it across my skin. It’s everywhere. All over me. I need a shower. I need to wash the residue of his blood off. It’s on my hands and legs from when I pulled the dress off, and I can feel the wet stickiness on my back and the backs of my legs.