Chapter 19
NINETEEN
SHAE
“ S hae, you’re the most logical person I know, but right now?
You’re crashing out.” Yennifer delivers the statement over the Bluetooth with a level of calm that feels contrary to my surroundings—speeding down the dark, tree-lined highway cutting through the outskirts of Versailles as if the devil were chasing after me.
I don’t like driving in America in the first damn place, so driving in an unfamiliar country is a lesson in anxiety.
It’s five a.m., I haven’t slept, and I’m rushing to get the fuck out of here in a pay-by-the-hour car rental before Storm realizes I’ve taken off with the kids.
His kids. Our kids.
This is the last night I spend away from my kids.
How else am I supposed to interpret those words besides as a threat to take them away from me? Me, their mother. The one who nurtured them in my womb, birthed them, and raised them all on my own.
He says I owe him…but there are some prices I’m unwilling to pay.
I blink away the tears welling in my eyes, thinking of my babies’ tired faces as I distracted the guards for Yennifer to get them out of the hotel hours earlier.
My heart has been in my throat since midnight when I snuck them out, counting down the hours until I could slip out myself without being detected.
Their lives are not up for barter or trade, so I don’t feel at all bad that I drugged the two guards who sat outside my door with tea laced with three doses of Benadryl each.
Now, we’re half an hour away from being reunited where they wait for me on King’s plane, and at least I’ll be able to remove one thing from the list of shit that’s giving me heart palpitations.
“I’m doing what I need to do, Yenn,” I bite out. I don’t need her pushing back on this. “Can you double-check that the plane is ready to take off as soon as I get there?”
I can practically feel the eyeroll I know she’s giving me.
“Yes, the plane is set, and the pilots are ready. Can you help me understand why you and Storm can’t talk about things as adults?”
Because we tried talking, and I ended up sobbing and coming on his dick instead.
I shake my head.
“There’s no talking with him,” I grind out, squinting at the navigation pane on the infotainment system, trying to see when I need to exit the highway.
“Okay,” Yennifer says with an edge of irritation in her tone. “Maybe with a mediator, then. I’m happy to facilitate.”
Irritation amplifies the headache I’ve nursed since leaving Storm’s room.
“Yennifer, why don’t you trust me to know what to do here?”
“Because you’re not thinking with your brain, you’re thinking with your damaged heart.”
The silence in the car is deafening after that statement. She’s right, and I hate that.
So damn much.
“Listen, I tried. He’s too angry, too…hurt.” The raw words we exchanged play on a loop in my brain; each barb we spat at each other sticks into my gray matter like a dart. “When we try to talk, we both get too emotional.”
Yennifer goes quiet over the line, then hums in a way that lets me know she’s on to me.
“You fucked him, didn’t you?” She lowers her voice as if she’s scandalized and trying not to be overheard.
“Yennifer,” I grind out. “Please stop.”
“Oh, my God, you totally fucked. Good for you. Was it still good?” I want to hide or close my eyes, stick my fingers in my ears, and go la-la-la-la-laaaaa to avoid having this conversation.
But Yennifer will harass me all the way across the world, so I need to fess up.
“Yes,” I say calmly, even though my body feels like I just played hopscotch with a live wire. “It wasn’t a smart move and was a purely emotional decision. It won’t happen again.”
“Mmhmm.” The sound she makes is so disbelieving, I thunk my head against the headrest.
“It won’t happen again because you don’t hold sexual feelings for Storm or because you are consciously deciding not to complicate things with sex or…because you’re running away?”
My ears begin to ring at her question, and I’m not sure this isn’t an early sign of stroke.
“I’m just doing what’s best for the kids.”
More humming from her end of the line.
“I see.” She pauses, but then in a gentler voice says, “Babes…don’t you think running off will make things worse?”
Sweat rolls down my back despite the AC, and I grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles ache.
Will this make things worse with Storm? Possibly. Probably. But if I wait around for Storm to decide what happens next…I won’t be able to forgive myself if I don’t try to protect my kids.
Storm doesn’t know them. I do. The kids will be terrified if he were to rip them away from me. Because that’s what it’d be. He wouldn’t share custody or try to work out a visitation schedule. He’ll just take them to spite me.
Now? Now Storm Sandoval hates me, and I don’t think I can survive his loathing.
“I don’t know what Storm will do, and that’s the problem, Yennifer. Their safety comes first,” I say.
After a long moment, she says, “Okay, Shae. You know best.”
No, I don’t, but I’m trying like hell to make the right decision.
A car speeds past me, going at least 110 miles per hour. They cut so close to me that I involuntarily jerk the wheel to the right before fixing it.
“Fuck! It’s too early for this shit!” I shout, and Yennifer squeaks over the line.
“What’s happening?” she shouts, sounding edgy.
I blow out a shaky breath, pulling my foot off the accelerator.
“Just some asshole speeding down the highway,” I say. There’s a sign in French indicating the small airport is only a few kilometers away, so I blow out another breath, placing one hand on my racing heart.
“Everything’s fine,” I say, but then red and blue lights blind me from the rear.
Shit.
“Why am I getting pulled over when ol’ dude is driving like we’re on the Autobahn?” I shout, hitting the steering wheel. Frustration and anxiety are potent drugs in my system, and I want to rage against the world.
All I want is to get to the airport, board King’s plane, and go off into the sunset with my kids.
I don’t even know where we’ll go or what the hell I’ll do about work. We just need to get away.
For the first time, I seriously think about leaving Orisun for good—just walking away, letting Zane do what he wants with it, and living off the money I’ve already earned. I have enough for me and the twins to live quite well and finance the future.
Maybe Mama was right. I don’t need to be a billionaire. So why the fuck am I chasing this? All that matters is my babies.
Sucking in a deep breath and holding it until my diaphragm burns, I blow it out in a steady stream and make my way to the shoulder.
Shit, what the fuck am I even supposed to do when pulled over by the French police?
After pulling my passport and American driver’s license from my wallet on the passenger seat, I flick my eyes to the rearview mirror, spotting the silhouette of an officer moving in front of the blinding lights.
I have no clue why I’m being pulled over. I wasn’t speeding, the car is registered appropriately….
It hits me like a lightning bolt that the traffic stop could be Storm’s doing. Did he find out we left and send the police to detain me? What did he tell them—that I’m trying to kidnap our children across international waters?
Fuck! My gut clenches, and I’m unsure if I’m going to throw up or pass out.
“Shit,” I mutter, my hands shaking.
Air. I need air.
While I roll down all the windows, I tell Yenn, “Hang on the line and don’t say anything.” The line goes silent, but the dash still shows the call is still connected.
A tall Frenchman appears at my window, POLICE NATIONALE emblazoned in bulky letters across his thick vest.
I smile at him, trying to be charming, but the olive-toned officer doesn’t even crack a smile.
“Bonjour, Monsieur. Quel est le problème?” I ask, trying to force my facial muscles into a smile, but I’m shaking so hard, I know I must look deranged.
Which most certainly doesn’t help things.
“Pouvez-vous éteindre le moteur,” he demands, his voice hard. I turn off the engine as instructed with a muted, “Bien s?r.”
The officer pulls out his flashlight and steps back, shining the beam into the vehicle. I cover my eyes reflexively, feeling my irritation turn to outright hostility as he blinds me.
“Ai-je fait quelque chose de mal, officer?” I question, a slight edge to my voice. Did I do something wrong? I don’t think so, and yet here I am on the side of the road.
Do not buck on this police officer. You will end up in jail.
I try to smile again and hope it doesn’t look like I’m baring my teeth.
After a beat where he continues to examine the vehicle, he says, “Vos papiers, s’il vous pla?t.”
Papers. This is fine. I hand over my license, passport, and the insurance document I printed from the rental company.
“Mettez vos mains sur le volant,” he commands, and I freeze.
“Pourquoi?” The question bursts from my lips. I don’t know if it’s because I’m already paranoid or because this is the strangest traffic stop I’ve been in, but the office has me on edge.
Or maybe it’s because you’re running away from your children’s father like you’re in the movie Enough , in a foreign country, in the dark at the ass-crack of dawn.
“Porquoi? Parce que je l'ai dit,” he snaps, his voice like frost. Because I said so.
Well, hell.
I put my hands on the steering wheel like he initially instructed, and after staring at me hard for a long moment, he walks back toward his car.
Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.
“Yenn?” I whisper, hoping she caught the conversation and wishing she were sitting right next to me. At least I’d have a physical witness.
“This ain’t right,” Yennifer murmurs, confirming my paranoia.
“I know,” I mutter. “Do you think it’s Storm? Do you think he sent them to—” I suck in a breath when tears and nausea war in my chest, both clogging my throat.
“I don’t know,” Yennifer says, her voice hard. Just then, a black SUV with dark windows drives past slowly.
Much more slowly than is called for to respect the traffic stop.