Page 18 of Bitter Prince
The nickname suited her. I grabbed her by the elbow and she winced again.
“When you get back into your dorm, take a hot shower, though a bath would be better if possible.” We walked side by side, her steps slow but steady. “Do you have any cuts?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Just knocked the wind out of me when that idiot slammed me against the ground.”
I gritted my teeth, the image making me see red.
“They won’t bother you anymore.”
She flicked me a hesitant look. “Because you’ll be working for him?”
I avoided answering, but she’d heard the whole conversation. “Because I won’t let him.”
She let out a sigh. “I don’t know much, Amon, but I don’t think that guy is good news.”
We got to the gap in the fence and I made a mental note to hire a repairman. Reina’s snacks were not worth her life. Nobody would be going in and out this way anymore.
“You’re right. He’s not. That saying ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’ applies here. That’s what I’m doing.”
She didn’t say anything. Once we arrived in front of her dorm, I could hear music and laughter behind closed doors.
Reina gulped, the delicate veins in her throat bobbing as she watched me. “Thank you again.”
Her whole face shone with innocence, and deep down, I knew I’d be the one to destroy it one day. I mourned it already.
11
REINA, 17 YEARS OLD
Nothing ever came without hard work and sacrifice.
Those were my grandma’s words. Mamma used to say the same thing. That little fact had been cemented into my heart and soul. It was what made me who I was today: a stressed mess.
Nonetheless, it was how I managed to skip two grades to ensure I graduated right alongside my sister. It was persistence, hard work, and a constant stream of anxiety. It was on me to protect her and ensure all her dreams came true. The extra friendships made along the way with Isla, Athena, and Raven were a bonus and made it all the better.
It had been a year and a half since we’d moved to Paris to attend The Royal College of Arts and Music. Papà was against it from the beginning, but Grandma Diana came through—again—reminding him that Mamma wanted a normal life for us.
I appreciated the power she had over these decisions, over my dad, even though I still didn’t understand them. And I wholeheartedly agreed. Going away to college was part of growing up. Part of normalcy.
Pushing through the door of the pedestrian entrance, I arrived at the parking garage of the modern building on the outskirts of Paris. I preferred the old Paris, but the yoga studio here was the one I loved most. The only downfall was that you had to enter the building through the dank and creepy garage.
My earbuds in, Carrie Underwood’s song “Church Bells” blasted my eardrums as I hummed along. It was true what they said: you could take the girl out of America, but you couldn’t take America out of the girl. Heading through the dimly lit parking garage, I caught sight of a sleek car from the corner of my eye, tires squealing as it sped toward me.
My feet stopped and I stared across the almost empty space, eyes straining. I was assured when I joined the studio that security was a priority, especially with how many young women attended the evening classes. CCTV cameras lining the property were my proof, yet for some reason, dread pooled in the pit of my stomach.
I hid behind a nearby car as the flashy red Ferrari stopped in my direct line of view. Its tires left angry black marks behind it, and my heart thumped wilder than the music’s beat still shrieking in my ears.
I released a shaky breath, thinking myself safe from my crouched position. I knew there was no way they’d seen me since they entered the garage from the opposite entrance, but something kept me from bolting out the doors. It was fifteen feet away, and though there was no way they could catch up to me in time, I stayed glued to my spot.
The car didn’t move. Didn’t park. It was almost as if he or she were waiting for something or someone. A second later, another car—a black Mercedes Benz S-class—appeared out of nowhere and stopped beside the Ferrari. Nobody got out, and I watched in horror as the window of the Mercedes lowered and the barrel of a gun appeared.
As if on cue, Carrie’s song came to an end. Loud gunshots filled the air, echoing through the empty garage, the noise causing my head to whip back from the force of it. I watched in horror as the other car’s window lowered and he returned fire, bullets flying.
My hands flew up, covering my ears. It reminded me of the crescendo of a dramatic song, the pitch picking up speed. Then suddenly… silence.
Eerie. Deafening.
I waited; for what, I wasn’t sure. But after the silence stretched, I made a move that would change the course of my life. I peered over the hood of the beat-up Fiat I was perched behind just as the red Ferrari’s doors opened.
