Page 8 of Stolen Princess

Confusion at the topic change hits me, and I answer reflexively. “Of course.”

“Is it as dangerous as I’ve seen on the news?”

“Dangerous?” There’s that word again. “Why do you think everything is dangerous and everyone is evil?” Something bad must have happened to her. Why else would she be saying that and hiding here?

Uncertainty shifts her mouth and posture, and she inches back until she’s nearly sitting on the ground by my legs. “I… well, my mother told me it is.”

“Your mother told you it is?” I repeat, testing the words and their meaning on my tongue, not quite wrapping my head around them. “Haven’t you seen it’s not that way for yourself?” How long has she been here?

Another flash of anguish hits her, but she shakes it off quickly. “Answer me,” she demands, her bite returning.

“I think your mother was exaggerating a bit, darlin’. Carona is one of the safest cities in Messalina. Hell, Messalina is one of the safest countries in the EU.”

Her eyes glass over, and she releases a shaky breath. She rights herself and goes over to a TV on the wall and turns it on. A news station comes on, talking about a mass shooting by rival gangs.

A laugh hits my lungs. “What the fuck is that? There are no gangs in Messalina, certainly not with guns like that. That looks like America, not here, and even that footage seems old.”

She shakes her head. “That can’t be.”

There’s no sound, but the headline across the bottom is written in Italian and says, ‘Warfare strikes Carona as rival gangs destroy city streets and terrorize citizens.’

“I was in Carona two days ago. There was no gang warfare.”

Her voice climbs. “Why should I trust you when I can see it here?” She points to the TV.

I inwardly sigh, more than a little freaked out. I have no clue what the fuck is going on or why any of this matters to her, but it clearly does. If I want my freedom, I need to prove it to her.

“Come here.”

She glares.

“I’m tied up, aren’t I? I can’t get my phone out of my back pocket without your help. Pull out my phone, and I’ll prove it to you.”

With trepidation in her every move, she makes her way over to me. “Which pocket?”

“My right.”

She crouches beside me, her hair tickling my arm as her hand slides down my back to my ass. I shift my weight to my left side, and her hand slips into my pocket. I twist my head and watch as she works to free my phone. She has her cute little pink tongue tucked into the corner of her mouth, captured by her teeth, and her face is taut with concentration.

This day has already been unexpected in so many ways, but she might be the biggest surprise yet. She has a story, and I bet it’s a big one. I mean, look where she is. The things she’s asking. The bullshit television that looks more like the opening scene from a movie than the news.

Someone is fucking with this girl and fucking with her hard. Her mother, I guess. All I know is that I don’t want any part of it. She’s trouble and baggage, and I have enough of my own.

Once she’s secured my phone, she rights herself and stares at the screen.

“How do I turn it on?”

What in the absolute fuck is this? “You don’t know how to work a smartphone?”

She shakes her head.

Jesus Christ. “Bring it to my face and hold the screen in front of it.”

She gives me a funny look but does it. The screen comes to life, and she stares curiously at it for a long moment. “Wow. Okay. I have no idea how to work this.”

“Untie me, and I’ll help.”

“Or you can guide me.”