Page 9 of A Princess, Stolen (A Kiss of Revenge, Blood, and Love #1)

“ W ho’s speaking, please?” My question was a reflex, I hadn’t thought about what I was going to say.

On the other end of the line, I could hear the man breathing, maybe blowing out cigarette smoke. “Listen carefully; there’s a gun pointed at your father right now. If you don’t do what I say, the shooter will pull the trigger. And he always scores.”

“You won’t do anything to draw his attention.

One wrong reaction and his brain will be all over good old Mr. Strickland like pudding.

Do you understand?” For a split second, I wondered if Penelope was playing a horrible joke that would end with a surprise cake and a stripper, but the man sounded too hostile for that, besides, even Penelope wouldn’t go that far.

“I asked if you understood that?” he repeated when I didn’t reply.

“Yes,” I whispered, my heart pounding in my throat.

“That’s good, little lady. Do you see Delilah Jordan?”

“Yes.”

“Smile at her!” His voice was as sharp as a razor. But what was worse was that he seemed to be looking through my eyes, at least he knew who Dad was talking to and he could definitely see me. Maybe he was in the Grand Ballroom? Maybe the shooter was here too!

I forced the corners of my mouth upward. I didn’t know how I managed it since my mind was completely blank, but I automatically reacted.

Delilah, who was still staring at me, suddenly nodded mechanically, and then she suddenly turned to my bodyguards Sander and Navid without letting go of the phone that was still against her ear.

This isn’t really happening! This can’t be! I felt as if reality was dissolving into an infinite number of colors.

“You’re going to take the hall’s side exit and go to the restrooms by the champagne bar right next to the foyer. You’re not going to speak to anyone but me, is that clear?”

I scanned the area but didn’t spot any guests on the phone since there were too many. I couldn’t tell if the man on the other end of the line was here, but one thing was clear: it wasn’t a joke.

“Okay.” As if in a trance, I hurried through the dancers, a whirlwind of flying ball gowns and silver light. When I reached the end, Penelope approached.

“Willa, hey, ‘Belle de Jour,’ where are you going?” she called out loudly over the music.

Paralyzed, I blinked at her and saw nothing other than her seaweed hair and face, which seemed like an empty oval.

“Who is that?” The man heard her too, of course.

“Pe-Penelope,” I stammered, trying to make it sound like I was speaking to her. “I’ll be right back. I…I just need to powder my nose.”

“Oh, I’ll come with you. I need to tell you what Lawrence…”

I shook my head frantically. “No, that’s not possible…I have to…I have to make a private call.” I demonstratively wiggled the cell phone near my ear.

She grinned knowingly. “Sweetheart, is that Mr. Lover-Lover?”

I could have formed a silent Help! with my lips, but Penelope was Penelope. She would only give an uncomprehending Huh? and Dad would probably be dead. So, I just looked at her reproachfully as if I was annoyed about Mr. Lover-Lover.

Her grin became indecent. “You make the call, sweetheart. I’ll get myself a martini in the meantime and then we’ll talk.” With those words, she made her way across the dance floor and was immediately swallowed up by the heated bodies.

As if on autopilot, I ran to the side entrance. My heart was pounding so hard, I was afraid I was going to faint.

“Is she gone?”

I didn’t know how I had managed to react so quickly. “Yes,” I said breathlessly.

“What about Sander and Navid?”

He knows the names of my bodyguards! I glanced over my shoulder in horror. Delilah was talking to both of them, gesturing wildly, and it occurred to me that she was supposed to distract Sander and Navid. This was all a setup. “Talking to Delilah.”

“Good, little lady. Very good. Go on and make sure no one follows you.”

“Okay.”

My head was still filled with a white fog. I ran down a baroque corridor and passed a woman in a red evening gown, obviously a hotel guest. I didn’t dare give her a sign. “I’m in the foyer now,” I said as I entered the reception hall.

“Well done, little lady. You’ll be there soon. Avoid reception.”

I made a wide arc through the posh reception area and reached the restrooms that belonged to the exclusive champagne bar.

“Go into the second stall, get the cell phone, the screwdriver, and the bag from the trash can.”

The demands came too fast. I had no time to think about how I could ask someone for help. I hastily locked the door behind me, knelt on the floor, and dug everything out of the trash.

“Dial the number I dictate to you, but don’t hang up your phone yet, understand?”

I did what he said. I heard a phone ringing on the line. “Hey, little lady.” Now I heard him twice and it seemed as if his voice was forcibly entering my brain. Feverishly, I began to think. Maybe I could leave a message with the eyeliner in my handbag; I could write on the mirror.

“Turn off your phone.”

“But…”

“Turn. Your. Phone. Off.”

His choppy words made my pulse race even faster. I obeyed.

“Now take the screwdriver and destroy it, then take a photo, and send it to the only contact you have saved.”

“What?”

“You heard what I said, didn’t you?” There was something in his voice I couldn’t quite interpret. I sensed not only the concrete threat behind his words but also something personal, something deeper. It sounded like he knew me.

Panicked, I thought about what I should do. If I destroyed my iPhone, no one would be able to locate me.

“What are you waiting for? The shooter has a twitchy finger and we’re on a tight schedule.”

“Okay. Okay, wait…please.” I frantically clutched the screwdriver and put my phone in front of me.

I had never broken anything intentionally before, brute force of any kind was beyond my nature.

I squeezed my eyes shut and struck. The ugly crack sounded like an egg breaking.

I opened my eyes and saw the tool whose tip had penetrated the screen into the casing.

The sight of the shattered glass chilled me to the core; I wasn’t concerned about the phone but the destruction.

The smashed device seemed, for a moment, like a symbol of my life.

With trembling fingers, I took the photo and sent it to the contact I found. Isaac .

Definitely not his real name. There was a buzz on the other side. “You did well, little lady.” I heard the subtle smile in his voice and a fear-filled shiver ran down my spine.

He knows me. He definitely knows me!

“Now, open the bag and put on the clothes!”

Again, everything happened too quickly. I couldn’t think; I could only do what he said.

Maybe Sander and Navid were already searching for me.

Maybe I would get help soon. With that thought in my mind, I dug a black raincoat made of thin fabric out of the plastic bag as well as a long blonde wig and sunglasses.

Completely beside myself, I slipped into the coat and put on the wig while stuffing my pigtails under it like sausages before donning the sunglasses.

It was clear to me that I was to leave the hotel in these clothes so that I wouldn’t be recognized. It was also clear to me that it was me they wanted, not Dad, but I didn’t have time to think about anything any longer.

“Done.” My hands were sweating so much that the stranger’s cell phone almost slipped out of my hand.

“Put the screwdriver and the broken phone in your handbag. We’ll check it later.”

“Okay.” Of course I did.

“Now check in the mirror outside if everything is in place.”

I left the stall and stared numbly at the stranger in the shiny mirror.

No one would recognize me like that and I didn’t know if that was good or bad.

Good for Dad, of course, but bad for me.

Tears were building in my throat, but full of adrenaline, my fear was far too great to cry.

And I was already receiving the next instructions.

“Now exit the hotel through the main entrance, walk toward Trump Tower, and hail a cab.”

“Okay,” I whispered. I was so scared. Once I left the hotel, there would be no way to get help.

Nevertheless, I let a man in a suit hold the door open for me.

From outside, I glanced into the foyer once more, praying to see someone familiar: Sander, Navid, Penelope, or Dad, but I only saw strangers.

My throat constricted. I wanted to sit, think, and find a solution, but I didn’t dare in case someone was actually targeting me, maybe even the man on the phone.

Cars honked as I walked down the street. A siren sounded somewhere followed by the horn of an ambulance. Sensory input flew past me, fragmented and out of context. The coolness of the night on my skin, the smell of exhaust fumes, fast food, and perfume. Well-dressed people hurrying past me.

“I can hear the city, so, you’re outside.” Again the voice on the phone pulled me out of the fog and into reality. “When you’re far enough away from the hotel, hail a cab.”

“I’ve never done that,” I stammered, staring at the street where hundreds of cars were rushing by.

“Stand on the side of the road and wave. It’s not that hard, little lady.” He even laughed.

“Okay.” I stepped to the curb and waved my arm wildly in the air.

Not only had I never hailed a cab, I had never ridden in one.

As tears welled up in my eyes, I shouted, “Taxi!” because I knew that from the movies.

Who would guarantee me that they wouldn’t shoot Dad anyway even if I did what they wanted?

On the other hand, if they wanted me, they still needed Dad.

He had to pay, so they were unlikely to kill him.

A yellow car pulled up next to me. “The taxi…I have one,” I blurted out.

“See, it was easy. Get in and let him drive you to Brielle Avenue, at the corner of Babe Ruth Stadium. Staten Island.”