17. Rip
Rip
Aralynn takes a big, dramatic sniff, then exhales. “Oh, wow! I forgot how much I love the smell of piss.”
Shawn grimaces. “I forgot about this part.”
Thomas wrinkles his nose. “Is it supposed to smell like the inside of a urinal?”
Shawn slaps Tommy on the back, jolting him forward. “Buck up. It’s part of the experience.”
Me, Thomas, Kingsley, Shawn, and Aralynn stroll down the New Orleans streets.
We’ve been here since the crack of dawn, and so far we’ve gone down the French market, ridden on a horse carriage, listened to live music—all the touristy things.
Now we are on our way to find a good restaurant, but this particular street we’re on is riddled with a slight stench, and I’m starting to believe the mysterious puddles are exactly what people say—piss.
I yawn. “The day has been too fascinating for a little urine to ruin anyone’s day.”
Thomas and I are toting around a camera, but not the usual big and bulky ones. We’re technically on duty, but we only whip out the camera for brief moments, so we get some sort of footage. Most of our day has been spent enjoying the scenery alongside Kingsley and friends.
Our group’s walking comes to a halt when three girls and a guy appear before us, grins wide and phones in hand.
“Kingsley and Aralynn Beaumont?” one girl asks.
With hands on her hips, a huge grin, and sparkling eyes, Aralynn turns on her public-facing charm. “That’s us.”
The entire group squeals, the collective sound like knives stabbing my ears. The one guy in the group raises his phone. “Can we get a picture?”
Kingsley and his sister exchange a knowing glance, like "here we go again.
" It was fast and barely noticeable, and I think I’m the only one who caught it.
Shawn, Thomas, and I hang back, letting the crowd mob the Beaumonts, and one of them gives Thomas their phone to take the photo.
They huddle into a tight formation for the picture, with one girl draping her arms over Kingsley as if she knows him personally. I roll my eyes.
This is the fourth time this has happened today, and each occasion wears my already small patience thinner. It’s ridiculous how many people want pictures with Aralynn and Kingsley, and for what? Because they’re rich and pretty?
“Thank you!” the shorter woman chirps. “Can I have one with just you, Kingsley?”
Just him? Was the one with her all over him not enough?
I glance at my nonexistent watch. “We’re kind of in a time crunch.”
They're all looking at me like I'm the bad guy for suggesting we don't keep stopping for every random fan who wants a picture. I know everyone is thinking the same as me; they're just too buttoned-up to say it out loud.
After a pause and a pointed glance, Kingsley clears his throat. “Last one.”
The others step away and give their friend the solo picture with Kingsley.
What was supposed to be a one-and-done drags out to a minute of different poses, using Kingsley like a prop as she gets every angle.
Shawn, Aralynn, and Thomas watch with clenched jaws and soft huffs, but don’t move to stop it. Me? I’ve had enough.
As the heat beats down on my face, I shove Kingsley away from the fan's tight grip. Neither of them expects it when I grasp their shoulders and separate them with a firm grip, making sure I’m not too rough but still clear in my intention.
I let go of the lady, but my fingers still pry into Kingsley's shoulder. “I’m sure the pictures you got are lovely. No need for any more, yeah?”
She glances at her phone, pouting slightly. “Yeah, I guess.”
Uncomfortable silence lingers between us, but I revel in it. I don’t mind being the bad guy if it gets me what I want. I rest my hand on my hip, waiting for someone to break the quiet.
“Well… thanks.” Another girl waves, prompting the group to leave. “Nice meeting you.”
As the group disappears into the distance, we turn and walk the other way. Finally, we can get back to getting the food I’ve been dying to try since I woke up this morning. I fear if we run into any more picture-wanting fans, I won’t be as kind to them as I was to the last group.
Shawn and Kingsley fall into a steady conversation ahead of us, leading the way, and Thomas joins in on it like he’s part of the pack. At least he’s making the most of our time here.
Aralynn and I are lingering behind them. She’s fumbling with the clasp of her gold necklace, her eyes darting between the lock and the path ahead to avoid bumping into a pole as she walks beside me. She must notice me staring because she looks up with a warm smile.
“I’m not sure we’ve officially met. I’m Aralynn, the best of Beaumonts.” She extends her hand to me.
“Rip.” I give her hand a firm shake, then point to the necklace. “Want me to take a look at it?”
Aralynn hands it to me. “Thanks. I can't believe this broke so soon, considering how much I spent on it. Maybe your hands are better at fixing than mine.”
I inspect the jewelry. Looks like it wasn't the company's fault; instead, someone may have stepped on it or dropped something, which bent the clasp. Either way, she needs someone to force it back into place.
“So, I’ve got to ask, how did you get my brother to come out here?”
I steal a look at her. “What do you mean?”
“Kingsley’s been impossible to get out and about these days. Even my bribery doesn’t work on him, yet here he is walking the streets like everything’s okay. All for you.” Her arm brushes mine as she tries to watch me fix her necklace while we're walking. “So what kind of voodoo did you use on him?”
Voodoo? Kingsley being out here with us is as surprising to me as it is to her, but I bet he felt it was time to get out again. He's his own man, a mafia prince who's always called his own shots. I’ve no influence on him.
I shrug. “I told him all the touristy stuff I wanted to do, like any other tourist would. It’s a bit of a stretch to think I’m the reason he’s out here.”
Aralynn's earrings swing in the wind as she stares at the cloudy sky, thinking. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I know King. He often does what he’s told, but if he doesn’t want to, he won’t.
Some things he's really set in his ways about; others not so much. Like with Sylvie, she was pushy, and you could tell when he was over it, but since she was his girl, he went along with a lot,” she explains.
“That didn’t work for Sylvie every time, though.
If he seriously had no interest, she would get a hard no, like Odie and I do.
Because again, he’s not into doing things he doesn't want to do.”
That much I know. Even though it pisses me off when he gives me short answers, he still does it.
If it wasn’t for his father making him work with Tommy and me, he’d still be off doing whatever it was he did before meeting us.
The only thing that gets him out of bed in the morning is a little bit of wanting to.
“Since you’ve shown up, he’s been different. Not hugely, he’s still Kingsley, but…” Aralynn trails off. She bites down on her lip, as if she was about to blurt out something she shouldn't, but stopped herself. “I think you have some sort of influence on my brother.”
I think he has some sort of influence on me.
The necklace bends back into place, and I show her. “If you say so.”
“You fixed it!” she gasps. As we move ahead, I drape the necklace around her neck and snap it in place. “Thank you, Rip. And for your sake and mine, don’t tell Kingsley what I said. I'm speculating, but he'd freak if he knew I even thought that.”
I make a zipper motion over my mouth. “My lips are sealed.”
Aralynn moves ahead of me, up with Shawn and Thomas, and I walk beside Kingsley. He is walking oddly slow, like he was waiting for me, and he has this strange smirk going on.
But he won’t tell unless I ask. Clearly he wants me to. “What?”
His head snaps my way. “What?”
“Why do you look like that?”
Kingsley shrugs. “I’m thinking about earlier. You know, how you were rude to that woman like you had a personal grudge against her.”
“I don’t, but it’s the fourth time I’ve had to watch someone rub their hands all over you today. If she hadn’t taken so long, I could be stuffing my face with food right now,” I fuss.
King’s arm brushes against mine, sending a shiver of electricity through me. “I told you it’d be like this. I’m just glad it’s only the excited fans and not the rude ones.”
People know him for his money, not because he's an actor in a hated role or some controversial celebrity. How can he have rude fans? They’re probably jealous fucks who have nowhere else to take out their anger.
“I don’t think you would like the way I would’ve dealt with the rude ones.”
He stuffs his hands in his pockets, smiling smugly. “What would you do?”
I’d probably end up with blood on my knuckles before the night is over, and we’d maybe even end up with another Victor Plaster situation. I can’t even explain why.
“You’d be surprised at how quickly people change their attitude when you scare them a little.”
Kingsley presses his palm to his chest, feigning awe. “All for me?”
“More so we can move shit along,” I tell him. “I’m tired of stopping every five steps. And if no one else is willing to deal with dimwit fans, I’m not afraid to.”
He nods. “Ah, alright.”
If I’m not mistaken, there's a hint of disappointment in his tone. Was he hoping I was behaving this way because of him?
Why am I thinking so hard about this? I don’t care what Kingsley wants.
Still…
“And I couldn’t stand watching her all over you,” I quickly state, keeping my gaze ahead of me. “Don’t ask me why.”
I’m shocked by my own words. That wasn’t a lie—I’ve been irritated all day by all the people amazed to see Kingsley—but I didn’t think my brain even knew how to vocalize it. Damn.
A sudden, firm squeeze on my arse cheek makes me gasp in surprise.
It was so swift nobody would catch on unless they were already watching, and even then, we could lie our way out of it.
My eyes went wide when I met the prince's gaze, but he looked at me with a neutral stare, as if he had done nothing.
“We should catch up with the others, shouldn’t we?” he asks casually. He’s catching up with the others before I can formulate a response.
What the hell am I doing?