Page 15 of Broken Prince

I walked in and stopped as soon as I closed the door behind me. The atmosphere in the room was heavy; my stomach filled with lead… I was not alone.

“I don’t accept thieves in my house.”

I gasped, turning toward the deep gravelly voice. I could barely make him out from the shadows between the fireplace and the bookshelves, but he was tall and wide, wearing a black hoodie, with the hood up, making him part of the shadows.

I took an instinctive step forward.

“Stay where you are!” he ordered coldly, making my heart thunder in my chest with fear and apprehension. I couldn’t afford to run away and yet, the need to run was almost overwhelming.

I took a small step back.

“Give back what you stole.”

I shook my head. “I-I didn’t steal anything.”

“The books,” he continued, his tone even and yet so cold it cut me like a knife.

“What books?” I was so anxious now I could barely think. I felt cold sweat forming at the back of my neck and running down my spine. It was a level of anxiety I had not felt since that day with the FBI.

“Today, you left with three books. Where are they?”

“I was told I could use this library as I saw fit.” I turned toward the table and the copy ofThe Kite Runnerwas gone.

“Use doesn’t mean steal, sell, or… I’m going to have to let you go.”

Despite the fear I felt now facing this terrifying shadow, it was nothing compared to the despair I felt at the idea of losing this job. It was not an option; it was my only rapid solution to get Jude back.

“No, please, sir. I need this job.” I hated how my voice cracked as my eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t steal those books; I borrowed them. You see, my little brother is with social services and he loves to read. He’s obsessed with words and these books were in old English. I’m getting them back next Thursday, and I won’t bring any to him anymore.” I let out a sob and Lord, was it embarrassing. “I’m not a thief.”

“It runs in your blood.”

Ah, he knew who I was, and he was a giant asshole.

His mean comment somehow switched my fear to anger. That was a petty low blow.

“Am I fired then?” I asked, crossing my arms on my chest.

He remained silent for a while, just being a ghostly shadow in the corner.

“Stop breaking the rules.”

“Even messaging you?” I tried.

“Especially messaging me. I thought my lack of reply would show my lack of interest.” He turned around to leave.

“Wait, can I have the book back?”

He stopped, keeping his back to me. “No, this book is mine.”

It was a well-read copy ofThe Kite Runner; it was a mainstream book. Nothing special about it.

“But I was—”

“I said no,” he replied before exiting the room.

Prick!

But now I knew that the owner was neither old nor frail. I couldn’t see much of him, but he looked tall and wide even in the darkness and his deep, gravelly voice was the same I heard on the first day and that was a really attractive voice.

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