Chapter Thirty-Three
Alfie
When I negotiated fake-dating Mia for a favor from a prince, I had no idea I would be using it to save her life months later.
The whir of the helicopter thuds against my skull.
The harsh wind whips around us as we step into the cabin of the helicopter.
The pilot is already seated, clicking various buttons as he talks into his headset.
Once Lottie, myself and the detective are seated, the pilot is quick to take off, turning so he’s now headed north.
Lottie ties her long blonde hair back, taming it into a tight bun.
“I don’t think this was the kind of favor Luca had in mind.”
She gives me a tight smile, which indicates getting use of Orzanna’s Royal helicopter took more than her usual charm or name use.
“It’ll be fine. I explained how wonderful it would be for his PR team when the public finds out that the extravagant wealth of the royal family was used for saving a missing girl rather than transporting sex workers across borders.”
She’s referring to King Alaric of Orzanna and father to Lottie’s boyfriend, Luca.
They weren't exactly estranged, but they didn’t get on.
It was in that awfully polite way the upper crust of society behaved.
At face value, everything was fine and dandy, but that could quite easily mean they hate each other with the fire of a thousand suns.
It made someone like Luca very appealing to Lottie.
His whole life has been orchestrated. His public appearances, his interviews, the way he dresses, what he eats.
I could go on and on. No one cares about the individual royals.
They’re pawns in a larger game. A strategy to uphold the traditional values of whatever country they’re from.
They work for the establishment from the second they’re born until the day they die.
And they’re expected to be grateful because they have access to helicopters and luxury goods.
Their problems, from the outside looking in, are easier to deal with.
They don’t have to worry about paychecks or how to pay their bills or how they’re going to feed and clothe their kids this month.
And I think that’s why Lottie is so drawn to Luca.
He offers a unique look into the human psyche and what happens to someone when they’re controlled their entire life.
Part of me wonders if she loves him, or if he’s just an interesting case study.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the upcoming onslaught. Lottie squeezes my hand as Detective Jenkins watches us curiously.
The pilot’s voice crackles through the headset.
We’ve located the target.
Driving northbound along I-5, traveling approximately ninety miles per hour.
Fuck, he’s gunning down the highway.
Police cars are approaching now.
I look out the window at the scene below.
Four police cruisers are gaining on the vehicle after joining from northern precincts.
The Ford F-150 weaves between cars, and although I can’t hear above the thumping of the rotator wings, I imagine the horns blaring and the wheels screeching as they swerve.
My phone buzzes.
Jonesy: We’re tailing the car. Police are present. Do you want me to call it off?
I’m stuck. I can’t think what the right thing to do is. The detective is eyeing me curiously, but he says nothing. My heart thumps like I’m chasing them on foot instead of up in the air.
“Can we get lower?” I shout.
The detective shakes his head.
Too risky, he mouths.
I nod, frustration inching through my neck and down my spine.
Focusing on the truck Mia’s in, I make a silent prayer to the universe that nothing happens to her.
The truck swerves across three lanes of traffic.
A red car turns sharply right, avoiding hitting her and Sanders but instead collides with the side of a blue people wagon.
Smoke billows into the air, obstructing the view for a minute.
We’ve lost visual.
The raspy voice of the pilot comes through my headset.
I text Jonesy.
Alfie: Stay on her.
Mia
The slam and crunch of metal on metal lets me know that the red car we just swerved into has crashed into another vehicle.
I dare not look behind to see the aftermath in case it aggravates Carter further.
His white knuckles contrast against the black of the steering wheel and they match my own, gripping the edge of the bench.
The sirens blaring behind us aren’t helping.
It’s only causing him to drive more dangerously.
I place my hand on his thigh, desperately trying to reassure him so we can get off this damn highway.
We’re heading north, but he hasn’t told me where to.
I presume he’s heading for the border at this point.
Especially now that the police are following us.
“Carter,” I say softly.
He grunts, and I squeeze his thigh.
“Carter.”
“This is your fault. He’s sent them here.”
I take a deep breath, looking out the window. The man in the car next to us looks at me, lowering his sunglasses.
Holy shit.
It’s Jonesy.
He holds a finger to his lips, warning me not to say anything, so I flick my head back toward the road.
Carter has slowed down a little. We’re not swerving through traffic like we were, but if he spots Jonesy, it’s all over.
Twisting so I’m facing Carter, I maneuver my hand behind my back and strain my fingers to spell out the letters B. A. C. K. U. P. in sign language.
“What are you doing?” he spits.
“I’ve got an itchy back,” I say, leaning forward to show him my fake attempt.
“Okay,” he breathes.
“Hey, why don’t we pull over? Then I can explain to the police that this is a misunderstanding, and I went with you willingly. I’ll tell them how we reconnected.”
He says nothing but continues past an opportunity to pull off the highway. I look out the window and see that Jonesy got my message. In my side mirror, I can see him behind us from a car’s distance.
The sirens are closer now as more and more cars move out of the way. Carter weaves across the lanes and at the next junction pulls off at the last second.
Jonesy’s car misses the turn, and I close my eyes, willing myself not to cry in front of Carter.
Another car behind us swerves into place in front of the four police cars, which are now chasing us down a country lane.
Fields run parallel to the road, mostly muddy with a hint of green with the beckoning springtime.
He’s keeping the same speed as when we were on the highway, hurtling at a pace that is going to kill someone, if not us.
By some miracle, there doesn’t seem to be any oncoming traffic.
Up ahead, I can see a car pulled over between two trees.
A man throws something out into the road and then dips back behind the car, crouching down behind the vehicle.
Carter spots this too, and tugs the right-hand side of the steering wheel down hard, but the wheel must hit something because we start to spin out of control.
The car flips; my body lifting out of the seat.
My shoulder strains against my seatbelt as we’re airborne.
My hair floats around me, tickling my nose.
The feeling of weightlessness is quickly shattered as the noise of crushing metal and splintered glass of the windscreen hit my eardrums. I close my eyes on instinct, and before I can take a breath, the car is thankfully upright again, landing on its wheels rather than the roof.
A scorching pain rips through my leg as my head swims from all the rolls. Bile crawls up my throat as I try sucking in air. My heart is racing, smoke billows out of the engine and I hear shouting, screams, my name being yelled by a familiar voice.
The sirens are louder now, the high-pitched wail emanating before I realize the sound is coming from me. My leg screams at me as I try to shift in my seat. I undo my seatbelt, but an officer runs toward the door.
“Just stay still ma’am, emergency services are on the way.”
Smoke continues to swell out of the crushed engine, and I turn my neck to check if Carter poses any danger, but he’s knocked out. The rise and fall of his chest let me know he’s still alive, despite the blood seeping down his temple.
I close my eyes, willing the pain to ease slightly
A thudding noise clouds my thoughts, and soon all I can hear is a constant thumping as wind gusts in from the field. I’m almost glad for it because it drowns out the sound of the sirens.
Running footsteps make their way to me, and I open my eyes, and there he is.
The pain doesn't feel nearly as bad as it did ten seconds ago. Because he’s hurt.
His eyes are filled with pain and remorse, and I just want to reach him.
I want him to hold me. But he’s scanning my body, reaching an arm through the window to caress my cheek.
With his touch, I can finally breathe. He found me. I knew he would.
“Alfie…” I whimper.
“I’m here, love, I’m here. I’m going to get you out, okay? Does anything hurt?”
“My leg.”
He shifts so he can look into the footwell. I follow his line of vision and see my left leg protruding at a funny angle. The leggings have ripped, and I can see the purple bruising of the exposed skin already.
“I don’t think I’m going to fulfill that dream of being a figure skater.” I huff out a chuckle, feeling the blood drain from my face. I’m going to be sick soon. Alfie squeezes my hand, but his face is pinched, no doubt worried he’s in the firing range for some projectile vomiting.
“Love, you look like you’ve gone a round with Tonya Harding. No skating for you today. But I promise, as soon as you’re better, I’m gonna take you out on the ice myself, okay?”
I twist away from him quickly as a hot, sour wave hurls up my throat, the lumpy, acidic liquid spraying over Carter’s legs.
“You’re okay,” I hear Alfie’s soft whispers. He’s holding my hair awkwardly through the window.
Voices descend, and he turns to the paramedics, who are rushing toward him. “Please help her.”
“Sir, I need you to let go of her hand.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, gripping me tighter.
“Sir,” the EMT barks, and he finally lets go, stepping just enough out of the way that they can get to me but close enough that the EMT rolls his eyes.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Mia.”
“Hi Mia, I’m Rob and this is Hannah. We’re your friendly neighborhood EMTs today.”
“Hi,” I say weakly.
“Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”
“My leg—I think it’s broken.”
He moves to the same position Alfie had a few minutes ago. “Well, we’ll be getting that checked out, but I’d hazard a guess that you’re correct on that count. Are you having any back or neck pain?”
I shake my head.
“Try not to move for me, Mia.”
“Sorry, no pain. I just threw up, and it didn’t hurt.”
“Lucky you. But not lucky for that guy.”
“He deserved it,” Alfie mutters.
Carter stirs beside me, groaning into consciousness as his hand grapples for my thigh.
“Get her out, NOW,” Alfie bellows.
I try to shift so I’m out of reach, but he opens his eyes, blinking rapidly until the realization of our situation clicks in his mind. He pulls me over the bench, sliding me across, and I scream, my leg dragging across the cab floor. His fingers plunge into my ribs and the soft flesh of my arm.
The EMT screams for backup, and Alfie sprints around the back of the truck, but someone reaches him before.
Jonesy rips off the driver-side door. Unclicking Carter’s seatbelt and hauling him out of the cab.
I fall back onto the driver-side seat, and as Jonesy drags him away, Alfie lifts himself into the chair, lifting my upper body up and leaning it against him.
He smells so good. His woodsy scent envelops me until the pain barely registers.
I hear them asking me to stay awake, but why would I want to when sleep beckons me so wantonly?
Right now, I’m on a beach, and I don’t even like beaches.
But this is a magic beach. One where sand doesn’t end up in crevices you didn’t know you had and no one is yelling death to all seagulls.
The soothing lapping of the waves caresses the shoreline, tickling my toes.
Alfie lets me lean against him. I feel the warmth of his chest feeding the coolness of my back.
But the clouds are rolling in, and it’s time to leave.
Alfie is frowning, desperately holding my hand and pulling me back to shore as the waves reach out, gripping my thighs and dragging me under the water.
I can hear him yelling. I can hear him calling my name, but I can’t see him anymore.
The water fills my ears, seeps into my lungs, the light disappearing the deeper I sink.
For the second time in twenty-four hours, it all goes black.