Rip #2
The first one is a selfie of two girls, one of whom I recognize as Odette, and the other must be his other sister I’ve never met.
They’ve got their arms around Kingsley, grinning at the camera while he smirks in the center.
Wow, we weren’t lying to Mya when we said they all get their looks from her.
The other one, though, makes me pause. Kingsley and Sylvie are at the beach in this photo, and Kingsley has his arm around her as the sun brings out the shine in his skin. I only recognize Sylvie from my research. With her hip popped and lips pursed, her brown hair is blowing in the wind.
The girl is happy as can be. Her fiancé? Not so much.
He’s smiling, yes, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
The prince is clutching the overflowing beach bag, flip-flops, sunglasses, and other unnecessary items on the verge of spilling, and his eyes look like they want to be anywhere but where he is now.
It’s like how drained he shows now, only nowhere near as far gone.
Hmm. Weird.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I pull it out, there’s a message.
Unknown number
Are you cold?
Who is texting me? Normally, I’d block the number, but this time I’m tempted to text back.
Rip
Who is this?
Unknown number
The only person who would ask you if it’s cold
Kingsley. Who the hell gave him my number? He has Thomas’ for a reason.
Rip
Don’t bring up the wine cellar anymore
Why are you texting me?
Kingsley
Why can’t we talk about the wine cellar?
Why would he want to talk about the wine cellar? Nothing good went on in there. We got at each other’s throats, we almost froze to death, and I had to use every ounce of restraint to stop myself from kissing him. Yeah, nothing good.
That was my hypothermic brain making me do shit I would never even think of otherwise. Kingsley Beaumont is a pest who gets under my skin, whom I have to suck it up and get close to—not someone to kiss. I don’t even kiss girls; why would I kiss guys?
Rip
I like women.
Kingsley
Ah.
Ah? What the hell does that mean?
Rip
I’m serious
Let’s forget about the cellar, yeah?
Kingsley
You’re the one who brought it up, but okay
Of course, I brought it up. It’s pretty obvious he was talking about that, and he was so keen to bring it up that he got my number and texted me.
I’m about to tell him exactly that when the door swings open. I spin around, gritting my teeth and eyes wide, fully expecting Kingsley to be right there. Instead, an unsuspecting guard is in the doorway, staring at me. I’ve seen him before, but what’s he doing on this floor?
He gawks at me like he’s seen a ghost. “What are you doing?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is what I get for entertaining Kingsley.
“King sent me up here,” I lie. “We’re working on some confidential things I can’t share, but I’m supposed to be here.”
For a fleeting moment, I think my lie may have been convincing enough for him to believe it. He scratches his head as he turns around. “I’m going to let the Beaumonts know to make sure. I don’t want—”
Why couldn’t he just cooperate?
Before he can finish his sentence, I lunge toward him. The next thing he knows, my arm is around his throat, crushing him to me as his airway closes. He’s desperately clawing at my arm, trying to push me away, but I’m way bigger than him, so it’s no use.
His only shot is to grab his gun, and he knows it. He bends his knees, reaching for it, but he’s slow, and I’ve already got the advantage. My knee jabs into his lower back as I tighten my hold, squeezing until he finally goes slack.
He’s dead weight in my arms. I let him drop to the ground with a thud, and I put my hands on my head, staring at the new mess I’ve created.
Now I’ve got an unconscious body in the bedroom of the man I’m investigating, with a few dozen potential witnesses below us. Not only that, but I’ve also got another message from said man.
Kingsley
My mom told us you and Thomas want to talk, but because my dad’s schedule is so busy, you can talk to me instead. I set up a dinner reservation at Lynn’s tomorrow. Be there for 6, and bring all your camera shit to film.
Oh, obviously. Kingsley wouldn’t text me for the hell of it; he did it because of my brother and my little chat with his mom earlier. I stare at the message, my grip around my phone tightening. Why would I think it was for that reason?
“You told me not to get caught.” Thomas closes the door as he yells in a whisper, making a vein pop out on his forehead, “You tell me not to fuck this up, and what do you do? You kill a man in the middle of a bedroom.”
“I didn’t kill him. He’s unconscious.” At least, he should be. I bend down, touch his neck with two fingers, and check for a pulse. “Yeah, he’s good.”
“Bloody lovely. Now, what are we going to do with him?”
I could take him out now and figure out what to do with the body, maybe dump it in the river. Letting him go isn’t an option since he’d rat us out as soon as he’s awake. Even if we told him not to, it’s too risky.
But I don’t think killing the poor bastard is the best decision, especially when we still have no clue the true goal of our mission. That leaves only one other option.
“I think we’ve got ourselves a hostage.”