Fuck, we need to get out of here. Not only off this boat, but we need to get the fuck out of Paris. I’m pissed that these assholes have ruined all our Christmas plans, but particularly the one where we were going to take Vani to see Moulin Rouge tomorrow night. She’d been so looking forward to it.
You have to call your father, I sign to Lex.
“What?” Saint says. “No. No way. He’s going to go fucking crazy. He doesn’t even know we’re here.”
Deal with it. I sign angrily.Get us home. We need Vani safe.
Fuck it, if he can’t do it, I will.
“I’ll call,” Lex says.
“No.” Saint sighs. “This trip was my idea. I’ll do it.”
We stand and help Vani up. We need to get back to the house, get cleaned up, and collect our belongings, and then get the hell out of Paris.
CHAPTER 13
Saint
We washedas much blood from ourselves as we could on the boat and made sure every fucker on there was dead.
Lex found a storage closet with waiting staff uniforms, so we stole the clothes to cover our soiled garments. Vani looked so comical in a pair of the waiter’s pants that I’d almost laughed, but one glance at her ashen face dampened my humor.
The captain had moored the boat on a small slipway before all the chaos kicked off, so we got the fuck off there and hailed a cab. Now, we’re back at the fancy apartment, and we’re packing. Or rather, the other three are, and I’m about to call my father.
We’d taken care of Lex first. He didn’t have any bullet wounds, just a graze, but it will leave him with a scar. His arms were worse, and Vani carefully wiped them clean with alcohol wipes and applied gauze.
I’m worried sick about Vani. She’s had two blows to the head, but she insists she is fine. She says she’s not woozy or sick and doesn’t want to go to the hospital. After weighing the pros and cons of getting her medical care here, or getting her out of the country, we all decided the latter was the smarter move. Unless someone is losing consciousness, has a violent headache, beingsick, or is confused or dizzy, there’s no need to seek emergency care.
So here I am. About to call Daddy Dearest.
He’s going to fucking kill me. He’d told me and Lex not to return to Paris, and while I knew he had a long-standing war with another organized crime faction, I honestly thought most of it was so we’d be out of his hair, leaving him to play house with his latest fucking floozy.
I hope Vani is okay emotionally. She was a shaking mess when we got back here. She told us what that fucker did to her in the bathroom, but also what she did to him. My God, she’s a fucking tough cookie. She didn’t fall far from the apple tree, or whatever the saying is.
Pride lights me up inside.My little psycho. She understands me the way no one else does, except for my twin, and I think it’s because part of her is as insane as I am. She just hides it way better.
I grab the glass of vodka I’d poured earlier, take a big swig, the alcohol burning a path down my throat, and swipe the phone screen. I can’t put this off any longer. Who knows who might be after us, and when the police find that crime scene, our prints will be all over it. We need our father to cover that up for us, too. And we need a private plane, likeright now.
“Oui, Saint?”
His tone is disapproving before I’ve even begun to speak. Fuck it. I just need to tell him the unvarnished truth. If he refuses to help, we can afford to hire a private jet, I’d just rather use the family one. Fewer questions asked that way.
In French, I explain what has just happened.
“Wait, you’re in Paris?”
“Yes.”
“What the fuck?” he roars. “I told you not to come here. Why would you do something so dumb? Do you have security?”
I start to feel really stupid and ashamed. My father has a way of doing that to me. “No. I didn’t think anyone would know.”
Howdidthey know?
“You didn’t take the private jet.” It’s not a question.
“No. We flew first class. I wanted to do this without telling you.”
