His Stolen Princess - MINK Page 0,8

I won’t allow them to taint him. To ruin his innocence. He won’t end up like his father. I need to be smart.

I limp toward the bathroom and turn on the water to the shower before stripping myself and getting under the warm spray. I let my head drop and I cry. I let go. I cry for my parents, for my brother, and for the situation both my nephew and I are in. I have to get this poison out of me with hard-wrung tears. So I do. I cry until the need subsides and all that’s left is a dull, aching void.

“You’re done,” I tell myself and reach for a washcloth and some soap. I ignore the burn of the soap on my feet as I try to wash away some of the pain and the failure from earlier.

I’m not a failure. I step out of the shower and stare at my own image in the bathroom mirror. I’m the ghost of my mother, what’s left of her now that her soul is gone. But there’s more to me, too. There’s anger, vengeance, and determination. Cato should have left me in that church. If he wanted little Carter so badly, he should have never let me know he existed. It will be his biggest mistake. I’m sure a man like Cato doesn't think he makes them, but we all do. I plan on taking advantage of that mistake.

I limp back into the bedroom in search of something to wear. I’m not putting that dress back on. When I went to the closet I saw clothes. There are pretty dresses and blouses. All hanging with tags. Equally pretty shoes to go with them. My fingers brush the soft material before I find my small bag I’d packed before I left for the funeral.

I open it and pull out a pair of yoga pants, then slip them up my legs before grabbing a bra and shirt. I snag my socks and sneakers, then head back to the bathroom. I drop them on the counter as I sit to look at my left foot. There are a few small scratches that are closing, but one isn't letting up. I open the drawer and search in it until I find a kit to tape up the wound before I put my socks and shoes on. I sit for a minute trying to figure out what to do next.

Get your bearings. What’s around you? What can you use? Think, Apollonia, my brother whispers.

Carter’s words play in my head. He taught me to be aware of my surroundings. Everything was always a game. But in reality, it wasn’t. He pretended we were playing, but he had been teaching me. It wasn't until I was older that I realized what he was doing. He was giving me the skills I needed to survive.

He knew if I thought he was teaching me the ways of his world, I’d never really play. It was one of the reasons I’d left. I didn't want to live like this. Violence, death, and sorrow around every corner. One wrong move, and it’s all over. Oddly enough, some of the games Carter would play with me I’d actually used out in the real world on my own. So far from his. That might have been his plan all along.

He taught me to read people, to think ahead, and to always have a plan. He taught me how to survive even when the odds are against me. I slip off the counter and start going through everything. There are your typical things you expect to find in a bathroom. I pause when I find an old school razor kit--the type my grandpa would have used to shave. I open it. It isn’t a knife, but it’s something. I’ll take it. It may not be much, but it gives me a small sense of security. This is exactly what I needed. A little win today after so many losses.

I brush my hair and braid it quickly before I leave the bedroom. There isn’t a soul in sight as I walk down the long hallway. This place is breathtaking. Blood money buys you the nicest things. After all, my parents had a beautiful house. I wonder if their blood still stains the grout.

I descend the stairs. Again, men block the two giant doors that I know go out to the front. They’re not the same guys from earlier. They watch me closely but don’t