by Kim Karr
The voice is not that of a man.
It’s a woman.
“Turn off the GPS tracker,” she orders Gabriel.
He starts to open the window. “I’ll just toss the phone out. That will turn it off.”
“No! We need him to use his own phone to contact the Palace, or they won’t answer.”
The gun is still pointed at me, and we’re still stopped at a light. Somehow he knows my passcode or he guesses it. GIGI. It isn’t hard.
Slowly, I ease forward. Trying to figure out if I can knock the gun from her hand and knock him out at the same time.
The woman notices my movement from the rearview and pushes the gun closer to me. “Don’t even think about it.”
After Gabriel disables the GPS tracker, he powers my phone off and then takes the gun from the woman, pointing the two pounds of steel at my chest. “Didn’t she tell you to sit back?”
Doing as instructed, I stare at him icily. “What the fuck is going on?”
The driver removes her sunglasses and hat. Kendra. It’s Kendra Walters. The blond girl I fired at the photo shoot the day I met Gigi. “Max, that’s no way to talk to us. You do want us to call you Max, right?” She leers with a smile.
I stare at her in shock.
“Answer her,” Gabriel shouts to me.
The light turns and the vehicle starts moving. I’m rational and logical, and not exactly prone to nerves, so when I say that the look on his face feels like he means business, I mean it. “Yes,” I answer.
“Very good,” he says.
I let my fingers wander to the door handle.
“Don’t bother. We’re not that stupid. The child lock device has been enabled. You can’t get out.”
And the blacked-out car with bulletproof windows means no one can see inside. “What do you want?” I repeat.
Gabriel smiles. “That easy. For your father to sign the gambling bill or lose his next Heir Apparent.”
I blink. Blink again. “Why?”
“Shut up!”
Then, before I can say another word, he’s coming at me with the butt of the pistol.
And then everything goes black.
NO DECISION
As soon as Ava walks into the hotel room with a bag in each hand, she drops them to the floor and pulls me into her arms.
Damn if I don’t start to get all weepy.
“What happened?” Ava asks as she rocks me back and forth. “I mean with Max in the car, not at the show.”
I sniff and wipe at my nose as she pulls away. “Right, that part you know because the videos have gone viral.”
Sighing, we both sit down on the bed, and I tell her everything.
N.D.A. be damned.
Besides, that doesn’t apply to my personal life, or I don’t think it does, anyway.
“I’m going back to the States tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
Raising my phone, I nod. “Yes, I am. I’m everywhere, and not in a good way.” I tap my phone. “Homewrecker, really? Whore. Slut.”
“Stop looking at those. You know the truth and that isn’t it.” She takes my phone from me and turns it off and then does the same with hers.
I flop back on the bed. “Do I, though? He couldn’t be with me, and he knew it.”
She falls back next to me and glances over. “No one did.”
I give her a look. “Not even your sister?”
“No, not even her. In fact, I think Max, Hunter, Beatrice, and the King might be the only ones who knew. I mean come on, the press didn’t even know until Beatrice got mad and flapped her mouth.”
“Beatrice,” I mutter.
“None of that matters. What matters is that Max wants to be with you, he really does. Hunter says he—”
“Oh, God, please don’t tell me that he loves me.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
For some reason, I find comfort in that. “How was the show?” I change the subject.
“You didn’t miss anything. We saw everything in the look-see.”
Pulling the knot on my robe tighter, I suddenly realize I’m still wearing my dress under the robe I wrapped around myself when I first walked in and kicked my shoes off.
“I should go take a shower,” I tell her. “Then I have to get my things from Max’s hotel.”
“I brought clothes,” she points to the bags. “And we don’t have to do anything right away. We have time. Didn’t you say your flight isn’t until tomorrow night?”
Sighing, I nod.
“Then tonight we’ll have a sleepover and watch bad eighties movies. In the morning, we’ll go back to the hotel and collect your things.”
I get to my feet. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. While you shower, I’ll order us a bunch of greasy foods and sodas,” Ava says, her face creasing with concern.
“That sounds great,” I tell her, a fake smile on my face. “Thanks, Ava. You’re the best,” and then I grab the bags and trudge to the bathroom to peel my clothes off.
The gown by Kate Snow that I love.
Now viral.
Good or bad.
Kate has gone viral.
Just like me.
CLARIFICATION
The Casanovia Conquest
Breaking News
THE WEDDING IS OFF, NO IT’s ON
By Ian Wesley
Just mere hours after the news broke of the royal engagement between Princess Beatrice and Prince Maximus, the Princess was seen out with her close friend, Prince Rainer Archibald Casire of Wimberly in a Paris club, and the two were looking rather intimate.
When asked about her upcoming arranged marriage to Prince Maximus of Casanovia, she simply said, “Nothing has changed.”
Hmmm…
I’m a bit confused.
You?
Tweet me. Let me know what you think?
TWEETS
The Casanovia Conquest
Tricia Yates-Orr @TricOrr
@Princess Beatrice isn’t the right choice. I am.
Elaine L @LaneGossip
Minor observation: @Princess Beatrice wasn’t wearing a ring.
Clara Rush @CRush
These two are no match made in heaven. I pray the rumors aren’t true. He needs a real woman by his side. Like Me.
THE NOISE
I awake with a thump against my side. I open my eyes in the blackness as questions break the surface of my mind.
Where am I?
Why the hell is Gabriel doing this?
Kendra? What?
And how am I going to get out of here?
I wrestle with the cloth draped over my head, and finally get my face free. It’s still dark.
Fuck.
My hands and feet are tied. And I’m in a cramped space. Another thump jolts me, and I know right away I’m in the fucking trunk.
“Hey!” I shout, but it goes nowhere, the sound muffled by the confined compartment and the vibration of the wheels on the road.
Doing the only thing I can, I twist my wrists against the knotted rope, but it doesn’t give.
Rolling onto my back, I tuck my knees to my chest.
Bam!
Bam!
Bam!
I kick upward at the metal of the trunk, but it doesn’t budge at all. Still, I do it again, and again, and again.
I continue this motion until pain shoots from the soles of my Italian leather shoes all the way up to my thighs.
Admitting I’m trapped kills me. I have to find a way out before the trunk opens. Hating that I allowed that piece of shit in my inner circle, I’m determined to keep trying to free myself.
Reaching around, I use my bound hands as a hook, feeling for a safety kit, a jack, a crowbar, anything.
There’s nothing.
“Let me out!” I yell. “Let me the fuck out.”
Kicking up at the trunk again, I bang and bang and bang and bang, and then I finally decide to stop the thrashing.
Facing the obvious, I have to access the fact tha
t I’m not dead and I’m not injured.
And that this is not a drill.
This is a real kidnapping.
GETTING SOME AIR
The Casanovia Conquest
Breaking News
WHERE IS THE PRINCE?
By Ian Wesley
Prince Maximus of Casanovia has been missing for the past five hours, so we have been unable to confirm if the engagement rumors are true.
It’s unclear whether he’s just stepped away to reflect upon his upcoming marriage to Princess Beatrice and the controversy surrounding his employee or if he’s spending time with the other woman.
If you see him, let us know with a tweet.
THEY ALL BOW DOWN
I served in the Army for six years, rose to the rank of Captain. I’m trained. Trained with skill and knowledge.
The car continues zooming down the road, and I start to pound on the trunk again, slower, more precisely. I have to get it open.
One.
I kick.
Two.
I kick.
Three.
This time, I feel something. Taking a deep breath, I calm my boiling anger and focus.
Focus harder.
Reaching up, I hook my fingertips over a bar that is smooth and round, and I pull on it. The lever moves—easily—too easily—but nothing happens.
I try again, and again, and again, and then I figure out that the release bar has been disabled.
Fuck. The cable that operates it was cut.
That’s my last chance because now I feel the terrain getting bumpier. The car slows.
We’re on grass.
We were heading East earlier, so we have to be in the French countryside. I try to see my watch, but I can’t pull my arm up far enough. What the hell time is it?
The car comes to a stop, and I prepare myself for what’s to come. I have no idea how much time passes when the trunk lid lifts.
Moonlight spills over my feet. I haul back my knees and kick up as hard as I can at Gabriel’s balls.
“Fuckkkkkkk,” he yells. “Mother fucker.”
From the other side of the car, a blanket is thrown over my head, then there’s a prick of a needle in my leg.
“I told you that you didn’t sedate him enough,” Kendra scowls.
My eyes start to roll back, and as the light from the moon above fades, all I can see is black.
MIA
The Casanovia Conquest
Breaking News
NO ONE KNOWS WHERE THE PRINCE IS
By Ian Wesley
Just confirmed—the Prince is still missing.
Not to worry though, if something bad has happened to him, he is a soldier and has been trained how to handle himself in a hostile situation. Yes, Royals are taught to form relationships with potential kidnappers, which is, apparently, better than trying to escape.
My fingers are crossed that he’s out for a pint and tying one on after a very stressful day.
Lord knows I would be.
PARIS IS BURNING
There’s a pounding on the door. I peer at the night side table and the red block numbers read, “6:01.”
“Ava, Gigi,” a deep male voice calls out, sounding shredded and tired. Like he hasn’t gone to bed yet.
“Hunter?” Ava responds in her own sleepy voice, shoving the covers back from the massive bed.
“Yeah, it’s me. Open up.”
Ava hops off the mattress and rushes over to the door, swinging it open without even checking the peephole. “What are you doing here?”
Sitting up, I click the light on and push my hair from my eyes. “Is everything okay?” I ask him.
Still dressed in his navy suit from yesterday, Hunter enters the hotel room like a storm on the cusp of striking. “Is Max here?”
His statement hovers in the open space. Seeping. Permeating into my just awoken consciousness.
HERE.
“No,” I tell him.
“Have you spoken to him?” he asks, looking at me with a worried expression on his face.
“No, not since he dropped me off. Why?”
“I think he’s missing.”
MISSING.
Realization settles slow. “What do you mean, missing?” I finally ask.
He sighs and runs his hands down his face. “He hasn’t returned to the hotel and his phone appears to be off. It goes directly to voicemail. I thought maybe he was out tying one on after the fiasco yesterday, but it’s not like him to go off the grid like this.”
All kinds of thoughts travel through my mind, but one is very clear, and it makes my stomach roll. He has a betrothed. “Have you checked with Beatrice?” I ask, the words stinging my mouth as I say them.
Hunter narrows his eyes at me. “He’s not with her. He LOVES YOU.”
LOVE.
Ava places a hand on his tense shoulder and clears her throat. “Are you certain he’s not at the hotel? Maybe he got a different room, so no one would bother him?”
Squeezing her hand, he looks down at her with great affection. “Yes, I’m sure. I contacted hotel security. He hasn’t been there since he left for the show with Gigi.”
“What about Gabriel? Did you phone him?” I ask.
Striding toward the bar, Hunter grabs a bottle. “He’s not answering either.”
As I watch Hunter down a shot of whiskey, I can’t stop the nervousness that makes my body tremble.
“Have you called the police?” Ava asks, sitting on the sofa beside the bar.
He looks at me, then her. “Yes. However, he’s not officially missing for forty-eight hours, so there’s nothing they can do.”
“What about the Palace?” I ask, honestly knowing nothing about the place other than what Max has described.
“I started with Queen Genevieve, since she’s in town.”
“And?” I hurry him along.
He sighs. “She doesn’t want the King troubled with this. She thinks Max is just on another wild adventure, and we’ll find out where when his picture ends up on the front page on the Casanovia Conquest.”
As a bad boy. Yes, the montage of photos I saw on the Internet of him from this past summer float through my mind, unbidden.
Shirtless.
Drunk.
With women.
Partying.
Although he explained to me that he regretted his wild behavior, it was something he had never done as a young man, and once the recklessness started, it spun out of control.
“But I know Max,” Hunter continues, “And this trip to Paris is for business. For the magazine. He would never be so cavalier about it as to disappear. I know him. It just isn’t in his hard-working nature.”
The ceiling fan above me whirls, the sound a low hum. Shaken, I pull the sheets aside, and in yoga pants and a t-shirt, I walk over to the desk where my phone is plugged in. “He told me to phone him anytime. He’d be waiting for my call.”
Hunter bobs his chin, indicating that I should call him right now.
Having no idea what to say if Max answers, I turn it on and tap his contact and listen for the call to connect. It goes straight to voicemail. As I quietly disconnect, I embrace the frigid chill that invades my limbs.
A mess of rioting emotions strikes me with guilt. I close my eyes and lower my head. “This is my fault.”
“No, it’s not,” Ava insists.
“He wanted to come up with me, and I said no. What if the paparazzi chased him down after he dropped me off and he’s in a ditch somewhere?”
Hunter strides toward me, pulling his phone out and tapping the screen before showing it to me. “Remember that app I put on his phone weeks ago?”
I nod.
“If his phone was turned on, I’d know his location.”
“So he turned it off?” Ava asks.
“Or someone did. I’ve known Max a long time, and never has he turned his phone off. He worries about his brother too much.”
Another sting of pain.
His
terminally ill brother, whose sickness I knew nothing about.
I feel so helpless and in the dark.
Hunter lifts my chin to get my attention. “Gigi, tell me everything from the moment you left the show to when you arrived here.”
That I can do.
After I tell him everything, he slides onto the sofa and puts his hands behind his head. “So it was just you, Gabriel, Max, and the driver?”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I nod.
“Was the driver the same one who drove you from the hotel to the show?” he asks.
I bite my lip in contemplation. I really hadn’t paid attention. “I don’t think so. The driver who drove us to the show was wearing a pinstripe suit. The one who dropped me off had on a plain navy jacket with gold buttons with oversized sunglasses.”
“But it was the same car, right?”
Was it?
Oh dear God, I’m going to be sick. I clamp a hand over my mouth and suck in mouthfuls of air in a desperate effort not to heave up the contents of my stomach because I should have paid more attention. I was too caught up in my own drama, though. “I don’t know. Honestly, I wasn’t focusing on any of that. The press was everywhere and I was just in a hurry to get away from them.”
“I’ll phone the hotel and inquire,” he says.
Getting to my feet, I glance at Ava, who is chewing her nail. “I’m going to the restroom, I’ll be back.”
“Are you okay?”
I nod because it’s the only thing I can do.
When I come back out, Hunter looks even more worried. “Try him again,” he tells me.
“Why? What did the hotel say?”
“That the driver returned without him.”
“I don’t understand?”
“Neither do I,” Hunter says. “Just phone him again.”
I do, but Max’s phone still goes straight to voicemail. Looking up, I shake my head and say, “No answer,” my voice muffled by the hand I’m holding tightly over my mouth.
