The Prince and the Player

“Don’t you do that.” She grabs my arm in a surprisingly strong grip. Our eyes meet, blue on green, and I see the fierce protectiveness burning in hers. “You saved me. You got us away from those abusive assholes. Don’t you ever think Momma would doubt you. I never will.”

We stare at each other, and as much as I don’t want it, my mind goes tripping back to that last night in foster care. To the sweaty, meaty hands running up my little sister’s smooth legs, higher… to the hem of her gown as she lay still as a statue shivering and praying. I saw the fear in her eyes, and I snapped.

Bile rises in my throat, and I remember taking the lamp and smashing it over his head moments before we ran. “I didn’t have a plan,” I confess. “I just couldn’t let him touch you like that.”

“You kept me from being hurt. I’ll never be able to repay you for that.”

I exhale, straightening my legs and looking down at my drink. “I’m your sister. You don’t have to repay me.”

I’m back in that concrete culvert holding her small body as she cries. I’m vowing to do whatever it takes to keep us on the road, free, even though I have no idea how the hell I’ll do it.

I’m lost in thought as a blast of noise cuts through our tranquility. The loud buzz of a speedboat races toward our vessel.

“What the—” Ava’s voice trails off as she reaches for her cover-up, and I turn in time to see a gleaming wood, clearly expensive cruiser glide up beside us.

The captain reaches for the side of the catamaran and throws a rope across just as my eyes register his passenger. It’s the Frenchman from last night! Mr. Thousand-dollar Chip!

“Miguel,” I scream. I scream until my voice cracks, but it’s no good. He’s asleep in the back, and the noise of the boat drowns me out.

The speedboat captain puts one foot across to our boat, and before I can protest, he grips my arm roughly, jerking me off the catamaran and into the bed of his cruiser.

“You too, Miss!” he yells at Ava, whose eyes are round saucers.

Uncertainty ripples through her limbs, and I see her trying to decide whether to follow me, or run and try to wake Miguel.

“Stay where you are, Ava!” I shout. “I’ll be okay.”

“Zee?” That tremor of fear I haven’t heard since the night we ran is in her voice.

The Frenchman steps up on the side of the cruiser and holds out his hand. “Please come with us, Mademoiselle.” His voice is low and smooth. “I won’t hurt you. We have business to discuss.”

Her brow lines, and her eyes flicker to mine. She’s like a sparrow caught in a trap. I turn my attention to the well-dressed man speaking to my sister. Living on the street has taught me to read people, and one thing I’ve learned is when someone intends to hurt you, they don’t typically mention business. They don’t make requests. They push you down or pull out a weapon.

Ava doesn’t move, waiting for my direction. With a fortifying breath, I nod. Her posture is defensive, but she scoops up my bathing suit cover before placing her small hand in his and climbing slowly across to the speedboat.

Once she’s in, the man turns to me. “Sir Reginald Winchester.” He extends a hand, but I’m trying to figure him out.

Today he’s dapper in khaki slacks and a white polo shirt with a navy blazer on top. His dark hair is streaked with grey, and that moniker sounds like royalty.

“Zelda Wilder,” I say, not shaking his hand. “How did you find us out here?”

“There’s very little money won’t buy, Miss Wilder, including the whereabouts of an attractive, street-smart blonde with a brunette who could pass for a model.”

Chewing my lips, I silently acknowledge what Seth has been saying all along. It’s hard to fly under the radar with Ava.

“Zee! Zee!” I look over my shoulder to see Miguel is up and waving frantically at us from the catamaran. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

“Tell him you’re fine,” Sir Reginald Winchester says to me in a low voice.

I survey the plush speedboat we’re in and the relaxed captain waiting for further instruction.

“Will it be a lie?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.

“Of course not. As I told your sister, I have no intention of hurting you.”

A few moments pass, and I study his steel grey eyes. I see something in them, something I recognize—and it’s not deception.

Stepping to the side, I call back to our friend. “If we’re not back in an hour, call the police.”