Thousands (Dollar 4)

I was done feeling guilty for everything that I was.

I was through giving myself excuses.

I couldn’t pretend anymore.

I couldn’t do it.

Any of it.

Unless I have her.

Squeezing the phone, I marched into my room. “Our fight has been postponed.”

“Oh?” Selix grumbled. “Why exactly?”

Shrugging out of the clothing I hadn’t changed since leaving Monaco, I grabbed a handful of fresh items and stormed to the bathroom. “Because I said so.”

“That’s some reason, Prest. Never took you for a cryptic son of a bitch.”

Wrenching on the shower, I ignored him and said the words I’d been desperate to say ever since I made the worst mistake of my life. “Ready the helicopter. I’m going back to Monaco. Immediately.”

Chapter Six

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Pimlico

I’D NEVER BEEN so nervous in my life.

Sure, I’d been in situations that made me scared, petrified, and wishing for death. But I’d never been in one where I jittered with nerves rather than outright terror.

I knew the police wouldn’t physically abuse me—or at least, I hope. They weren’t criminals—or at least, not all of them. I would be safe here as long as I cooperated—or at least, until I’m sentenced.

Fear came on the back of that thought, becoming equal hitchhikers on my spine.

Get it together. Stop thinking. Just stay quiet and get through this.

Taking my own advice, I kept my chin high as the police car pulled to a stop and I was helped from the vehicle. I didn’t look at Harold who cursed and kept commanding them to release him. I remained docile as they escorted us into a large building full of bustling officers, the sounds of printers and phones, and the rich scent of metal handcuffs and pungent coffee.

The policemen who’d arrested us waved over two fellow crime fighters from their current tasks. They nodded and came to collect us.

The rapid-fire questions and answers were delivered in French. I’d become used to the sounds of French accents while exploring Monaco with Elder, but this was the first time I wished I spoke the language so I knew what I was about to face.

I stood silently as Harold entered into his own tirade, forcing another officer to come over and try to keep the peace.

As quickly as the conversation began, it was over.

Hands from a new male officer took my elbow and nodded at his colleague while another took Harold.

With a livid expression at me, Harold growled. “This isn’t over, cow. When my father hears about this—”

The officer holding him jerked him into silence. He was carted off while I did my best to ignore his threat and was guided to a different area of the station to be processed.

No one spoke to me as I was shuffled through a barricade only opened by a swipe of my escort’s badge and keypad press. I tripped as my one sandal stuck to the scuffed linoleum, and the officer’s grip tightened to help me balance, activating a new bruise I’d forgotten about.

My vision only half worked—thanks to Harold giving me a black eye, and in some morbid way, I was glad I’d endured pain worse than this because it allowed me to forget about the hot swelling in my joints and thundering discomfort in my muscles.

All I wanted to focus on was this corridor and this moment, so I could understand better just how much trouble I was in.

Turning left at the bottom of the hallway, my uniformed guide opened another door and pushed me through. Marching me to a high-top desk where a female officer stood shuffling paperwork, he muttered in French then pushed me forward.

She nodded but didn’t come to grab me. Instead, I was left standing alone with my wrists cuffed, waiting until she’d finished her task while the man who brought me here disappeared out the door.

Finally, she looked up, scanned me from head to toe, and motioned me to follow her into yet another room. This was one smaller but very bright and clean.

She was younger than the rest of the officers—no doubt fairly new to this career and not yet jaded by thugs and thieves.

She didn’t bother asking any questions, just nodded kindly and pointed at the wall where a height graph had been painted. “Please stand there. Don’t smile.”

I did as I was told and blinked as the flash from a camera blinded the rest of my wonky vision.

“Great. Now come here, please.”

Blinking a few times, I moved toward a computer station with a multitude of wires and equipment linked to it. She pushed a chair toward me.

For the next few minutes, I sat still and didn’t make a sound as she took my hands and pressed each finger against a pad that somehow scanned my prints and appeared instantly on the screen.

Tapping away on the keyboard, she entered my height and whatever other information had come to her about my circumstances, slowly taking me from unknown citizen to catalogued felon.