by Juniper Hart
There was a slight pause, and then the blind was suddenly pulled from her eyes.
Poet blinked, her eyes tearing from the mace powder and the abrupt light. She looked around the sub-basement of the warehouse where she sat tied to a metal chair. It was nowhere she had been before, the room windowless and dark, two single bulbs dangling from electrical wires. Aside from a steel table alongside a far wall, there was nothing else in the place.
Some abandoned building on South Bank, no doubt, she thought.
Poet sighed, staring at the duo before her. “What the hell are you doing, Nick? Conspiring with Mya?”
To his credit, the gangly Cockney looked at his shoes in shame while Mya scowled.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean, huh? I’m not good enough to conspire with?”
“You are a waste of skin,” Poet shot back, “You’re not good enough to scrub the toilets in the tube.”
The punch came swiftly and without warning, although Poet had half anticipated it. Mya had always wanted to do that, probably, and now she had unbridled access to her.
“What are you doing, you dumb twat! If her father sees her bruised up, he won’t pay!” Nick yelled defiantly, his green eyes flashing with worry, but Poet suspected it had more to do with concern for her than her father’s money.
She remembered Nick had a crush on her, or he was in love with her, or something along those lines. She could work with that. She had to.
“He’ll pay,” Mya snarled back. “Or I’ll send him pieces of his princess in the post until he does.”
Poet’s heart began to beat again, and a strange warmth washed over her.
“What the hell are you smiling at?” Mya screeched.
Poet didn’t answer, her eyes dropping toward the cold, filthy floor. Her heart was filled with hope. It hadn’t been Max. Max hadn’t done this to her. She hadn’t been betrayed by the man she had fallen for so devastatingly.
And if Max isn’t the one keeping me here, he might just be the one to save me, Poet thought. It was a faint hope, but it was one that kept a serene smile on her face. Come and find me, Max, she begged silently. Come and take me home.
10
Night fell, and Maximus could feel the pressure in his skull rising. Like a tickle, he could almost hear Poet calling out to him, but not the same way he had in his hotel room.
Talk to me, he pleaded. Tell me where you are and who has you.
Nothing came through as clearly as it had before the King’s Guard had appeared on his doorstep.
Maximus stalked his way back toward Poet’s flat near the university. He had no starting point other than the flat, and while it was crawling with law enforcement, he knew he had to at least find out what he could.
Police cars flashed through the night, neighbors milling about as the uniformed constables took statements.
An officer Maximus didn’t even recognize yelled out at him, “Oy! You shouldn’t be here, Mr. Williams!”
“My girlfriend is missing,” he said, crossing his arms over his barrel chest. “I have every right to be out searching for her, just like everyone else.”
“Your girlfriend has been kidnapped,” the man retorted in a snarky tone. “She clearly is not here. Go back to your hotel room and wait for someone to contact you.” Maximus did not move. “I mean it, sir! Go back and stay out of the way!” the policeman barked.
Maximus glowered, but as the press circled in like vultures, he carefully ducked out the alleyway and made his way back to where his car was parked.
The one thing he knew for certain was that his father had had nothing to do with Poet being taken, which filled him with intense relief. If Rui had been the one to take her, or if he had sent one of his brothers after her, there would have been no ransom demand. Besides, his father wouldn’t be so careless with royalty.
Someone else was behind Poet’s disappearance, he was sure of it… but who? And how could he find out?
As he drove back toward his hotel, he thought about the people who would have such an opportunity. It had to be someone who knew where she lived and when she would be home alone—someone who had kept a decent eye on her or who knew her well enough to know where she would be and when. It couldn’t be a coincidence that she had been taken exactly when Maximus hadn’t been with her.
But who had taken her?
It was a game that was driving him crazy, and as he stormed into his room like a whirlwind, his phone began to ring. He answered it without looking at the number, assuming it was something to do with Poet.
“Yes?”
“Hello, Brother.”
“Titus,” Maximus sighed. “What is it?”
“You don’t sound happy to hear from me.”
“It is not a good time, Titus,” he replied between clenched teeth.
“Does it have anything to do with that princess who’s been kidnapped?”
Maximus froze.
“What do you know about that?” he asked tightly.
“I’m not the one without YouTube, buddy,” Titus teased. “I see shit in real time.”
“Seriously, Titus, this is a really bad time—”
“I spoke to Ansel,” his brother continued. “He told me you were off chasing this girl because she might know about us?”
“Is that a question?”
“Is she missing because of you?” Titus demanded. “Did you kidnap her for ransom?”
“Are you out of your goddamned mind?” Maximus cried. “Does that sound like something I would do?” There was a slight pause, and he stared at his phone in disbelief. “Seriously, Titus?”
“No, of course not,” his brother chirped quickly. “I just wanted to make sure. No, I get it, it was just one of those weird fluke things. Listen, I think you should get out of there before you get tied up in it any more than you already are.”
“Titus,” Maximus said, “I can’t just leave her at the mercy of the cops. Her life is in danger!”
As soon as the words left his lips, he realized he had made a mistake.
“Well, doesn’t that solve the problem for us, Max?” Titus asked, voicing the exact thoughts Maximus didn’t want him to. “Didn’t you go down to London to kill her in the first place?”
Maximus swallowed the lump in his gullet and inhaled sharply.
“Ansel told me that you might have developed some feelings for this girl,” Titus continued quietly. “I get it, bro, I really do. But this is our family at risk here now. You have to think with the right head, okay?”
Maximus still could not find his voice. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Do you hear me, Max? If the girl has been kidnapped, she will likely not be seen alive again. Your work there is done. Go home before Father gets impatient.”
“She doesn’t know anything about us,” Maximus blurted out. “Nothing. There’s no reason to kill her at all.”
“Well, that’s great news for you, Max,” said Titus. “You never really were a killer at heart. I mean, you’ve made some solid slaughters over the years, don’t get me wrong—”
“Titus, I have to find this girl,” Maximus interrupted. “I have to go.”
“No,” Titus interjected. “You need to go home. You’re not understanding what I’m saying to you, Max. Father is ordering you home. He is worried that your face is going to bring unnecessary heat to Misty Woods, and I can’t say I blame him. Just climb up to the roof, spread your wings, and get your ass home. You can be there by midnight if you leave now.”
Maximus’ jaw locked.
“No,” he declared. “I’m not going anywhere until I find that girl.”
There was another pause at the other end of the line. “You’re defying Father’s explicit instructions, Brother.”
“Father is batshit crazy, and you know it as well as I do,” Maximus retorted. “Goodbye, Titus.”
He disconnected the call and stared at the phone for a long time. How long had it been since he had defied an order from his father? He cou
ldn’t even remember a time when he had been tempted to.
But that was before I knew Poet, he thought. Right now, she needs me, and I can’t forsake her, no matter what Father thinks.
Maximus pulled open the door, and he was suddenly blinded by lights and blurry faces as a barrage of reporters flooded the doorway.
“Mr. Williams, do you know anything about Princess Poet’s whereabouts?”
“Mr. Williams, you seem to have just dropped out of the sky. What is your relationship with the princess?”
“Mr. Williams, there are rumors that you were hired by King Henry of Luxe to care for his daughter, but instead, she disappeared on your watch. Would you care to comment on that?”
Maximus slammed the door shut and fell against the entranceway.
Oh, I’m in deep shit now, he thought grimly. But the time for regrets was long past. All he could do now was find Poet and hope that nothing had happened to her.
Maximus pounded on the door, peering in through the windows, his headache accelerating. If the police found him doing his own investigation, there would be hell to pay. He could sense that time was not on his side, though, and if he didn’t act quickly, it might be too late to save Poet.
Does anyone ever actually return the victim in a kidnapping scenario? he wondered, his fist pounding on the stained glass again.
Suddenly, a light illuminated the top landing. An old, decrepit man slowly began inching his way down the stairs, holding a baseball bat in trembling hands.
“I haven’t got any money!” he croaked. “Go away before I call the coppers!”
“I’m not here to hurt you, Mr. Kincaid,” Maximus called out through the glass. “I’m looking for one of your students, Poet Mueller.”
Professor Kincaid eyed him with rheumy irises, as if carefully considering his words.
“She’s been kidnapped, sir,” Maximus continued, his patience running thin. “If you don’t believe me, turn on any television in the house. It’s headline news right now.”
The old man reluctantly unlocked the chain and peered out at Max.
“You’re the one who’s been making her smile like a bum on the piss these days, huh?” he commented, skeptically staring at him. “I can see why she finds you attractive.” He seemed ready to say something else, but he seemed to think better of it.
Maximus was not sure if it was a compliment or an insult. He didn’t care; Poet was the only thing on his mind.
“Mr. Kincaid, has anyone been paying special attention to her lately or following her around?”
“Just you that one day you snuck into my class at the beginning of the week,” the professor replied, and Maximus was taken aback by his recollection.
He’s sharper than he looks. I wonder what else he knows.
Maximus hoped he knew enough to help him find Poet.
“Anyone else? Any other friends who might know where she’s gone or—?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call her a friend,” Professor Kincaid said, “but Mya Christensen seems to get on her case an awful lot during my lectures. Oh, and that boy, Nick Taylor. He’s always checking out the princess’ arse.”
An unexpected flash of jealousy swept through Maximus, surprising and annoying him in unison. He had no time for such a reaction.
“Do you have their contact information?”
“Oh, I might,” the old man groaned. “Give me some time.”
“I don’t have time,” Maximus growled.
Professor Kincaid glanced over his shoulder.
“What do you want with her?” he asked suddenly.
Maximus blinked. “Pardon?”
“What do you want with her?” the professor repeated, his words more pronounced as he said them.
“She’s my girlfriend,” Maximus said.
“This has nothing to do with her thesis then?”
The pointed question caused goosebumps to explode over his body.
“I don’t understand,” he said quietly.
“I think you do,” the professor replied flatly. “But I also think you’re in love with her, despite the rules your kind has about that sort of thing. What are you going to do?”
“I am going to find Poet and bring her home safely,” Maximus hissed, “with your help, professor.”
The men stared at each other in silence until the professor nodded slightly.
“Then my help you shall have. Princess Poet is a gem in my class, you know,” Professor Kincaid explained as he ambled toward a closed study, with Maximus following him. “I bust her brass balls, but truth be told, she is the highlight of my day.”
“Mine too,” Maximus sighed. “Mine too.”
“It would be very easy for you to walk away from here if you have nothing to do with this kidnapping,” Kincaid told him, and Maximus felt his temper flare. Whatever this test the old man was putting him through was, it was wearing on his nerves. He was not going to leave Poet behind. No matter what.
“Do you have their contact information, Professor Kincaid?”
The old man pulled two Rolodex cards from an ancient filing system and handed them to Maximus, but he didn’t let them go until Maximus looked back up at him.
“Make sure you know what you’re doing,” the professor warned him, and Maximus could hear the underlying tension in the man’s words. “You might just get everyone killed in the end.”
Maximus forced a smile and snatched the cards from his hands.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, spinning to leave the brownstone.
“Don’t thank me!” Kincaid howled after him. “Just get her out of harm’s way—completely!”
His meaning was not lost on Maximus. He hoped he wasn’t in over his head.
11
Poet sat shivering, the cold reaching every area of her body, digging into her bones. She was certain she would never be warm again.
Mya and Nick had left her alone for hours, and between the hunger and thirst she experienced, she was losing the fire she had come with.
There was no doubt in her mind that they intended to kill her; they had said as much, but Poet reasoned that they would wait until after the drop. From what she had gathered, the following day was delivery day.
Don’t pay it, Papa! They are going to kill me anyway! Don’t let them get away with the money, too! Poet thought to herself.
A rat scurried by, pausing a few feet away from her to stare at her, as if questioning her presence.
“Make yourself useful,” Poet muttered to the critter. “Come and gnaw away my binds.”
The rat blinked once and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Poet alone again with her thoughts. She had never felt so alone, so scared, and so out of options.
There is always a solution, she thought, although the words… they weren’t hers. This thought wasn’t hers. Someone was speaking inside her head. You just have to find it.
Do you see a way out of this?
Poet wanted to scream at whoever was saying those words to her. She closed her eyes and willed herself to remain calm despite the mounting stress wracking her body. In her mind, she was back in her flat with Max, the two of them laying entwined in one another, a nude tangled pile of legs and arms.
Max looked at her, his bright eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay? You’re pale.”
Poet shook her head.
“I’m starving,” she confessed. “They haven’t given me anything to eat or drink since I arrived.”
Max’s face darkened. “Where are you?” he demanded. “Tell me where you are so I can come and get you.”
“I don’t know,” Poet sighed. “I think somewhere around South Bank, but it could be anywhere.” Max propped himself up on an arm and peered into her face.
“Your father is going to pay the ransom tomorrow at Waterloo Station,” he said. “It makes sense that you are there, then. I’m sure there will be a tracker in the money, and we will find you, Poet, I promise.”
“They will kill me before you find me
,” she replied dully. “Tracker or no tracker. Tell him not to pay. There is no point.”
“It’s Nick and Mya, isn’t it?”
Her head jerked up, and she stared at him in disbelief. “How did you know that?” she whispered. “Is this really happening?”
Max nodded slowly. “You came to me just after you were taken. You thought I was responsible.”
Poet shifted her eyes downward in shame.
“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” she mumbled.
“You must keep it together, Poet,” Max urged her. “I am working on finding you, but you need to focus on staying strong, do you understand?”
“I’ll try,” she whispered, her eyes meeting his. “Please, just hurry. I think they’re getting antsy.”
“I will find them,” Max assured her, kissing the top of her head. “Trust me. I am not going to let you go now that I’ve finally found you.”
Poet turned her eyes back toward him, laying her head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat.
He feels so real right now, she thought. I feel like I really am with him. I’m going crazy.
“Will you tell me everything about you if we meet again?” she murmured, her mind growing fuzzy. “Everything about you and your family?”
“You mean when we meet again,” Max said firmly. “And I will tell you everything.”
Poet heard the hesitation in his voice. “What is it?”
“Who are you talking to, Princess?” Mya chuckled, and Poet’s eyes flew open. “You chatting with your god?” She managed to blink the exhaustion away to see Mya sashaying toward her, a tin cup in her hand. “Thirsty?” Mya taunted, bringing the cup close to her lips.
Poet eagerly leaned forward, trying to take a long gulp, but Mya yanked it back before she could drink out of it. Poet gaped at her in disbelief.
“Why are you so cruel?” she asked. “You are getting everything you want. The money is coming.”
“You think this is cruel?” Mya growled, her face inches from Poet’s. “You don’t know cruel.”
Poet flinched, half-expecting a slap to her face. When none came, she stared defiantly at her captor.