Chapter 12 Bastiaan
Bastiaan
Amber hasn’t said a word since that last whisper, and I don’t push her. She’s wrapped in her bubble of fear, and I know that bubble all too well. I used to live in it. After Marieke… God, I practically built a home there.
I glance sideways at her. She’s staring out the passenger window, eyes wide but unfocused, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her knuckles are white where her fingers grip her elbows. Every bump in the road makes her flinch.
I reach across the console and rest my hand on hers. Her fingers twitch under mine, hesitant, like a startled bird testing the air—but then she curls them around my hand, and the slightest bit of tension eases from her shoulders. It’s barely a shift, but it’s enough to keep my focus razor-sharp.
The hum of the engine fills the heavy silence.
My wipers swish once, clearing a fine mist from the windshield.
Streetlights glide over her pale face, gilding her in fleeting amber.
I want to say something that will make it all go away, something light or comforting, but I know the wrong words might splinter her calm.
“You’re quiet,” I murmur finally, keeping my tone low, non-intrusive.
Her lips part, but her voice is a rasp. “If I talk, I think I might… fall apart.”
“Then don’t,” I say softly, giving her hand a small squeeze. “Just breathe. I’ll hold you together for now.”
Her throat works as she swallows. She nods without looking at me, and her fingers tighten around mine like I’m her lifeline.
Amsterdam rises around us, a patchwork of bridges and shimmering canals.
The narrow streets twist like veins, the tall gabled houses leaning over the water as if eavesdropping.
Usually, I’d smile, seeing it through someone else’s eyes—through her eyes—but tonight, I just want to get her somewhere safe.
A sharp car horn cuts through the night. Amber jerks like she’s been shocked.
“Easy,” I murmur, stroking my thumb along her hand. “Just a taxi. Nothing else.”
“I hate this,” she whispers. “I hate feeling… hunted.”
I nod, jaw tight, because I feel the same, but she can’t know that. She needs me to be strong. “I know. But they’re not going to find you tonight. Not with me.”
We drive in tense silence for several more minutes, winding deeper into the quieter streets.
When I cut the headlights, the van feels swallowed by shadows.
I slow as I approach the canal where my friend Sander keeps his barge.
It’s dark and still, the only light coming from a string of soft golden fairy lights along the deck.
Thank fuck. Exactly as I hoped—no one in sight.
Amber exhales shakily. “We’re… staying on a boat?”
“Not just a boat,” I say, forcing a reassuring smile as I pull into a small gravel patch to park. “A barge. Solid, private, and—most importantly—off anyone’s radar. You’ll like it. Trust me.”
Her eyes flick to mine, and for the first time since that phone call, I see a spark of curiosity break through the fear.
“You’ve done this before?” she asks, her voice small.
“Lay low?” I grin faintly, shutting off the engine. “No, but I’ve been on more barges than I can count.”
I step out first, the chill air biting at my neck. I scan the narrow street and the rows of dark houses, my instincts crawling like ants under my skin. Quiet can be good… or it can mean danger is waiting. I circle to her side and open the door.
“Easy,” I say, offering my hand.
She hesitates, then takes it. Her legs wobble the moment she’s upright, and I grip her waist to steady her.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur.
Her wide, anxious eyes meet mine. Her fingers bunch in the fabric of my jacket before she lets out a tiny, shaky laugh. “You make that sound like you mean… all of me.”
“I do,” slips out before I can stop myself. Her lips part in surprise, but I clear my throat and nod toward the dock. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”
We move quickly down the wooden planks, our footsteps muted by the water lapping beneath us.
I punch in the code Sander gave me during that rushed call earlier tonight.
I’m lucky to have a friend like him—no questions, just trust. The barge’s door unlocks with a soft click.
I usher her inside first and flick on the dim cabin lights.
The space smells faintly of coffee, wood, and river air.
It’s cozy, almost storybook-small, with built-in shelves lined with mismatched mugs and nautical trinkets.
A narrow corridor leads to a snug bedroom at the end.
Amber steps in cautiously, her gaze flicking over the low ceiling and warm wooden walls.
“It’s… cute,” she says softly, voice shaking. “I feel like I should be wearing a fisherman’s sweater or something.”
I chuckle, tension loosening in my chest. “Don’t tempt me. I’m sure I can find one somewhere in the back for you.”
Her lips twitch, almost forming a smile, and I take that as a small victory.
“We’ll be safe here,” I tell her, locking the door behind us. “No one knows this place except Sander. And he’s halfway to Fortuna in Spain for the next month.”
Amber sinks onto the worn leather sofa, curling into the corner and clutching a pillow to her chest. Her breathing is shallow, uneven.
Her eyes follow me as I make a slow circuit of the room, checking locks, peeking out the small round windows, making sure to cover up the ones with no curtains, making sure every shadow outside belongs to a tree or a fencepost.
My pulse is still pounding, but a strange sense of relief seeps in, slow and heavy.
We made it.
For now.
When I finally sit beside her, she leans into me without hesitation. Her head rests against my shoulder, soft and trusting. Instinct takes over—I wrap an arm around her and pull her close. Her trembling seeps into me, and I wish I could absorb every shake, every ounce of fear, and carry it for her.
“We’re okay, liefje,” I whisper into her hair. “I’ve got you. I promise.”
Her soft breath fans against my neck, and I know sleep won’t come easily for either of us tonight. But for now, she’s safe.
And I’ll burn the world down to keep her that way.