Chapter 13 Amber
Amber
I’m pretty sure my heart hasn’t stopped racing since Dad’s call. Even here, on this little barge in the middle of a silent Amsterdam canal, my chest feels tight, like danger could slip in through the cracks. Every groan of the wooden hull, every whisper of water against metal makes my nerves jolt.
But then there’s Bastiaan.
I’m curled into his side on the worn leather sofa, and his arm is heavy and warm around me. His hoodie still smells like him—sandalwood, soap, and something that makes my throat ache when I breathe it in.
I shouldn’t be here, not like this. Not sinking into the comfort of someone who’s already lost too much.
He doesn’t need my chaos. My father. The shadows I can’t shake.
And yet… I don’t move.
Because for one quiet moment, it’s just us. No threats. No past. Just the weight of his arm around me and the steady rise of his chest under my cheek.
I want him. God, I want him.
But wanting something doesn’t mean you should reach for it. Wanting means risk.
And I’m not sure I could live with myself if the person I love ends up bleeding because of me.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, voice low and deep against my hair, interrupting my thoughts.
“Adrenaline,” I whisper. “And… everything.”
His arm tightens slightly, like he wants to hold all my pieces together. “You want to call him? Your dad?”
I nod, because the need to hear Dad’s voice outweighs the fear that my call might light me up on someone’s radar. Bas leans forward and hands me my phone from my bag, his fingers brushing mine for a second longer than necessary.
My hands tremble as I dial. Please let him answer, please let him be okay. The line rings once, twice—each beep loud in the tiny cabin. On the third, Dad answers, his voice a harsh whisper.
“Amber?”
“Dad,” I breathe. “We’re okay. I just… I needed to hear you.”
There’s a pause, then the faint shuffle of movement and a door closing somewhere on his end. His voice drops even lower. “Are you somewhere safe?”
“I… yes. I think so.” I glance at Bas, who’s watching me with that quiet, steady focus that makes my chest ache. “No one saw us.”
“Good,” he says. Then, sharper: “Amber, listen to me. That phone you’re holding? Destroy it. Now. Pull the SIM and either smash it or drown it in water.”
My stomach flips. “What? But—”
“No buts. They can track it. I gave you a bag of burner phones for a reason, never hoped you’d need them like this though. Use a new one for a few days. No one else can reach you on it.”
I swallow hard and glance at Bas again. His brows lift, but he doesn’t say a word. He looks… uncertain, maybe even a little out of his depth. He’s strong and solid, but this isn’t his world.
“O-okay,” I whisper. “I’ll do it.”
“And Amber,” Dad says, voice rough, “I don’t know this guy you’re with. Just… keep your heads down and stay put. Do not come home until I tell you.”
The words sink in heavy and cold. “I hate this,” I whisper, voice cracking. “I hate hiding and waiting.”
“I know, babygirl.” For a second, his voice softens, and I picture him pinching the bridge of his nose the way he does when he’s trying not to yell.
“But it’s the only way. You’re the only thing that matters right now.
Text me from the next phone so I have the number. I’ll call when I have more news.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “I love you.”
“Love you too. Now get rid of that fuckin’ phone. Right now, Amber.”
The call clicks dead.
For a second, I just sit there staring at the darkened screen, listening to the creak of the barge and the gentle slap of water against the hull. My hands feel like ice.
Bas breaks the silence. “We have to throw it in the canal.”
“Yeah.” My voice wobbles. “He said destroy it now.”
He nods slowly, then stands and takes the phone from my hand. “I’ll do it.”
I blink at him. “You don’t have to—”
“Amber.” He offers a faint, reassuring smile. “I’ve never done anything like this before. But I can throw a phone in a canal.”
The weak laugh that escapes me is mostly nerves, but it’s something. He disappears outside for a moment, and I hear a quiet splash. When he comes back, his hair is ruffled from the night air, and his smile is small but real.
“Gone,” he says, holding up empty hands. “No one can find us tonight.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing, but I can see in his eyes that it isn’t. He’s out of his depth, and yet he’s here. For me.
I sink back against the sofa, and he joins me, wrapping his arm around me again. I curl into him, letting his warmth replace the cold coil of fear in my stomach.
“You really think we’re safe?” I ask softly.
His jaw works. He doesn’t give the easy, confident answer I was expecting. Instead, he says quietly, “I don’t know. But I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Something in my chest twists. He isn’t pretending to be a hero. He’s just… him—steady, warm, and mine, at least for this moment.
I let my fingers brush against his hoodie. The tiniest spark leaps between us. His gaze drops to my hand, then to my lips.
“Bas…” I whisper, my voice trembling for an entirely different reason now.
He hesitates only a second before cupping my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin. His breath warms my face as he leans in, and when his lips meet mine, the world outside ceases to exist.
There’s no danger. No running. No tracking phones or rival MCs. Just his warmth, his mouth on mine, the soft scrape of stubble against my skin. My fingers fist in his hoodie again as a broken whimper escapes me.
“Liefje…” he whispers against my lips. “You undo me.”
The sound of his voice, rough and low, unravels me completely.
My hands slide up into his hair, threading through the soft strands, and I pull him closer, kissing him like I’ve been starving for it.
He answers with a groan that vibrates against my mouth, his hands sliding down to my waist, tugging me flush against him.
I can feel the solid heat of his body against mine, and my pulse skitters wildly. His tongue brushes mine, slow and teasing, and I shiver, my whole body sparking under his touch.
When his hands roam up my back and down again, I arch into his touch, desperate to be closer, to feel more.
He trails kisses along my jaw and down my neck, his lips warm and soft, his breath tickling my skin.
A helpless moan slips from my throat, and he answers with a soft groan that makes my stomach clench.
Every brush of his hands is reverent, like he’s memorising me. My fingertips trace the line of his jaw, the scar on his neck, the hard muscle of his shoulders beneath his clothes. He smells like clean soap and the faintest hint of sandalwood, a scent that is already entirely Bas.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. But right now, on this barge, in his arms, I don’t care. All I want is him—this heat, this closeness, this slow-burning ache that feels terrifying and perfect all at once.