Page 90 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
I blow out a shaky breath, pulling my foot off the accelerator.
“Just some asshole speeding down the highway,” I say. There’s a sign in French indicating the small airport is only a few kilometers away, so I blow out another breath, placing one hand on my racing heart.
“Everything’s fine,” I say, but then red and blue lights blind me from the rear.
Shit.
“Why amIgetting pulled over when ol’ dude is driving like we’re on the Autobahn?” I shout, hitting the steering wheel. Frustration and anxiety are potent drugs in my system, and I want to rage against the world.
All I want is to get to the airport, board King’s plane, and go off into the sunset with my kids.
I don’t even know where we’ll go or what the hell I’ll do about work. We just need to get away.
For the first time, I seriously think about leaving Orisun for good—just walking away, letting Zane do what he wants with it, and living off the money I’ve already earned. I have enough for me and the twins to live quite well and finance the future.
Maybe Mama was right. I don’tneedto be a billionaire. So why the fuck am I chasing this? All that matters is my babies.
Sucking in a deep breath and holding it until my diaphragm burns, I blow it out in a steady stream and make my way to the shoulder.
Shit, what the fuck am I even supposed to do when pulled over by the French police?
After pulling my passport and American driver’s license from my wallet on the passenger seat, I flick my eyes to the rearview mirror, spotting the silhouette of an officer moving in front of the blinding lights.
I have no clue why I’m being pulled over. I wasn’t speeding, the car is registered appropriately….
It hits me like a lightning bolt that the traffic stop could be Storm’s doing. Did he find out we left and send the police to detain me? What did he tell them—that I’m trying to kidnap our children across international waters?
Fuck! My gut clenches, and I’m unsure if I’m going to throw up or pass out.
“Shit,” I mutter, my hands shaking.
Air. I need air.
While I roll down all the windows, I tell Yenn, “Hang on the line and don’t say anything.” The line goes silent, but the dash still shows the call is still connected.
A tall Frenchman appears at my window, POLICE NATIONALE emblazoned in bulky letters across his thick vest.
I smile at him, trying to be charming, but the olive-toned officer doesn’t even crack a smile.
“Bonjour, Monsieur. Quel est le problème?” I ask, trying to force my facial muscles into a smile, but I’m shaking so hard, I know I must look deranged.
Which most certainly doesn’t help things.
“Pouvez-vous éteindre le moteur,” he demands, his voice hard. I turn off the engine as instructed with a muted, “Bien sûr.”
The officer pulls out his flashlight and steps back, shining the beam into the vehicle. I cover my eyes reflexively, feeling my irritation turn to outright hostility as he blinds me.
“Ai-je fait quelque chose de mal, officer?” I question, a slight edge to my voice.DidI do something wrong? I don’t think so, and yet here I am on the side of the road.
Do not buck on this police officer. You will end up in jail.
I try to smile again and hope it doesn’t look like I’m baring my teeth.
After a beat where he continues to examine the vehicle, he says, “Vos papiers, s’il vous plaît.”
Papers. This is fine. I hand over my license, passport, and the insurance document I printed from the rental company.
“Mettez vos mains sur le volant,” he commands, and I freeze.
