Page 45 of Wicked Princess (Knight's Ridge Empire 2)

But time was up. I couldn’t wait any longer.

After shelling out more than I was expecting for the last seat on the next flight—which was still hours away from departure—I find myself resting back on a sofa in the lounge.

I’m the youngest person in here by at least fifteen years, something that most people around me have clocked onto. Well, it’s either that or the state of my hands. They don’t exactly scream wealth and first class. But fuck them all. I paid good money for this. I’ve worked my arse off for years for the money I’ve got.

Images of the things I’ve done since I was just shy of fourteen to pay my way flicker through my mind.

Demi hated what I was doing. Sophia and Zoe, too. But they were both old enough to understand, to know that me working for the Family was inevitable. Even more so with the situation we were in. We needed money, we needed to keep a roof over our heads, and while Sophia and Zoe did what they could, I knew that to really help, I needed to step up. And I did. I gave up my childhood and became a man that first day Damien handed me my father’s old gun and switchblade and pointed me in the right direction.

My cell vibrating in my pocket drags me from my thoughts. I already know who it’s going to be, and all I do is smirk when I pull it out and find that I’m right.

I could ignore him, but there’s no point.

Swiping the screen, I lift it to my ear.

“Taking my advice at last then,” Theo mutters.

“I’m doing what needs to be done.”

“Too fucking right it does. Have you figured out how you’re gonna make her talk to you yet?”

“Nope. Not a fucking clue.”

“Good luck with that, bro.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, tipping the beer that was resting on the table beside me to my lips.

“What time’s your flight?”

“Couple hours. It’ll get me in first thing in the morning.”

“She’s gonna be thrilled to see you, man,” he jokes.

“If I don’t make it back, can you ensure everything I have gets put into a trust fund for Phoebe?”

“Sure thing,” he laughs.

“Was Coach pissed?”

“Pissed doesn’t even cover it. His face was damn near purple when he realised you’d fucked off. He’s going to lose his mind when he discovers you’re not even in the country.”

“I might be back by Monday.”

“You’re more likely to be dead by Monday, mate.”

“Fair point.”

“I gotta go. We’re heading to Nico’s to celebrate our win.”

Guilt swamps me that I didn’t even ask how the rest of the match went, although I did tell them they didn’t need me.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Let me know you’re still breathing when you find her, yeah?”

“You got it. Bye.”

I hang up but don’t immediately put my phone away. Instead, I take a risk and send a message to someone who might just be on my side when I get to the other side of the pond.

I need a plan. A really fucking good one.