Chapter 18 – Ferrin
FERRIN
Fuck! God-motherfucking-dammit! I slam the butt of my hand onto the steering wheel at least a dozen times. It’s not enough. I want to slam my fist through the glass to feel it break. To have it hurt.
I need to let her go. I need to put this car in drive and get the fuck away from her. I have the necklace. I don’t need anything else. Like to get killed. Because that’s what I’m playing with if I stay with her. Sven and Lars and this A woman are all coming after me.
Let her go!
So what if she’s hurt? She’ll get over it. I don’t need the tiara. I sure as shit don’t need the girl or the hassle.
I grip the steering wheel and drop the side of my face against my knuckles as I watch her walk away without so much as a backward glance. Her blonde hair kicks up in the wind, revealing hints of her small waist and perfect ass.
Teach me how to kiss.
Jesus. I’m sweating just thinking of her asking me that. She didn’t kiss like a virgin. She kissed like sin personified. Hot and wet and so goddamn sweet, as I knew she’d be.
Then the cop came, and it rattled me. How could it not?
I kissed her when I swore I wouldn’t touch her, and then the cop wasn’t taking my bullshit for an answer.
All I could think about was that I fucked up.
That kissing her was a mistake. That I was about to go to jail and everything I’ve fought through my entire life, all the things I’ve built for myself, were about to disappear because I got reckless and did the one thing I wanted but knew I shouldn’t.
If I handed him the ID I have linked to this car, and he ran it through any real database, it would come up as bogus.
My heart was hammering so hard in my chest, and the sense of irony that I was finally going down, but not in the midst of a heist, but at the hands of my pretty girl, felt like the ultimate fuck you after the last few days.
So yeah, I reacted. I said things. I yelled.
I was Ferrin and not Rhys, and I was that scared boy, lost and out of control and angry at everything.
I would have cooled down. I was cooling.
I didn’t want her to go. Even after all of that, I didn’t want her to go.
I wanted the sea. I wanted the festival. I wanted more of her fucking kisses.
More of her. There. I admit it. I wanted more of her.
But it doesn’t matter.
She’s right. I have what I want. I pick up the necklace from the cupholder. It’s exquisite. It truly is. But the luster isn’t the same, and I can’t figure out why. I’m free. This is it. My ticket to retirement.
I look back out the window in time to see her turn a corner and disappear from sight.
Alarm skitters over me, and my hand flies to the door handle, only to stop myself from chasing after her.
She’s not my girl. There is no next level with this—other than getting killed. I can disappear and never look back.
“Fuck!” I yell and bang my fist. “Why do I fucking care? I shouldn’t fucking care!”
I press my foot on the brake, throw the shifter into drive, and peel out, my tires screeching, disturbing the perfect calm of the quaint suburb.
I turn on the music to full blast until my ears feel like they’re about to bleed.
But no matter how fast I drive or how loud the music is, I can’t get that last view of her out of my head.
Or the one before it, where she was hurt and trying to hide it.
Or the way she tasted and sounded and how her skin smelled or how she gripped my hair and held onto me for dear life.
What if she is Princess Desta?
That’s all the more reason to let her go. The bounty on her is greater than anything around. Her mother will kill everyone in her path to keep that secret, and she already knows about me. Plus, there’s Sven and Lars. There’s no way I’m coming out of this alive.
But…
What if she doesn’t either? What if someone tries to hurt her again or her mother decides she’s done trying to keep her locked away or Sven and Lars find her?
“Fuck! I shouldn’t fucking care!”
I beat my fist on the wheel, yelling over the music.
“Goddamn that woman!” I twist the wheel and spin the car back onto the other side of the road, narrowly missing an oncoming car. I’ll drive back in and find her and make sure she’s okay. That’s all I’ll do. Once I know she’s fine on her own, I’ll leave, and my conscience will be clear.
She’ll be fine. She’s a tough girl, as she said. Hell, she got assaulted and then kicked the shit out of the guy. She can do this. She can do anything.
I laugh mirthlessly to myself. I haven’t felt an ounce of guilt about anything since I was a kid. Three days with her and look at me. Twisted up over some girl I hardly know.
This isn’t who I am.
I don’t care about anyone.
Then again, I’ve never encountered anyone like her before, have I?
I race through town and find a parking spot near where I left her.
The car door shuts behind me, and I admire the upscale town, so unlike the one we left this morning.
It’s a busy day, and I take the same track she did, the necklace tucked in my knapsack beside the gun and the knife bouncing against my back.
I stop when I reach a clearing and scan from person to person until I spot her.
It’s not tough with all that shiny, golden hair, and I breathe out a fucking sigh of relief like no other.
I’m winded, and it’s not from running.
I hang back, slowly creeping into the space, but I take a seat on the grass about five meters back, tucked by a tree.
She’s watching the children play on the playground, and my insides twist. I didn’t have that growing up, and I know she didn’t either.
I had no easy friendships. No light moments of play.
No childhood friends. No adventure or innocent mischief.
I had a drunk father who liked to use his fists and a depressed mother who didn’t know how to be one. I had poverty and shame. Genevieve might have had it worse, whether she’s the princess or not.
As if pushing my thoughts further, two texts come through. One from her mother, the other from Lars.
A: Where are you on getting the tiara from my sister? I want my daughter back.
Lars: Meet me in Montobello, outside the wine bar in town at eight.
Montobello is the town we’re in. I saw it on my drive here. So clearly he knows where we are, and I wonder if there’s tracking on Genevieve’s phone. There must be. So the woman is going to have Lars kill me and take Genevieve back. Then something else hits me.
I dig through my knapsack. Every item in it, but I don’t find anything. I dump everything out anyway, feeling each piece of clothing. Still nothing. That is until I feel the lining of the bag and find the small round disc.
A smile hits my lips. I should have known. I fish around until I find the small hole along the seam line and feed the tracker through it. I hold it in my hand before I let it fall into the grass. Then I load everything back into my bag and pick up my phone.
Me: Tough luck. I’m nowhere near there.
That’s to Lars, and I want him to know I’m lying. I also know he’s in town, and I’ll watch her like a hawk.
Me: I’m making progress. I’m close to tracking her down. I’m having my associate handle it. If she has the tiara, we have a deal. If she doesn’t, the girl is dead.
I let Genevieve be. I don’t disturb her. But I do look up a local hotel and make a call.
“Hello. My wife is traveling to the festival and had her wallet stolen. Can I make a reservation in her name? She obviously has no ID or credit card right now.”
“Sure, sir. As long as we have a credit card on file, that should be fine.”
“Great. Thank you.”
I set everything up, then once that’s done, I go online and make a new reservation for myself with an alias. Once the reservation comes through, I text her the address and details.
I watch as she picks up her phone and reads the text.
She falls back onto her elbows in the grass after she’s done.
She doesn’t look around to see if I’m here, and for some reason, that stings a bit.
I don’t like that she thinks so little of me, even though I’ve given her no reason to think otherwise.
Still, I’ll let her think she’s on her own. It’s best for both of us. But in looking at her now, I already know I’m not going anywhere. I’ll get her to the festival, even if she doesn’t know I’m doing it.
Or watching her the entire time.