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“Be safe, promise me!” he growls, pressing a quick, harsh kiss against my lips before releasing me.
“I…”
Camden shoves him aside.
“Get out of the car, Asia,” he says, his fear a hot poker against my skin.
“I can’t do that,” I respond quietly, shaking my head.
“God-fucking-damn-it, Asia!” he snarls, but he doesn’t try to fight Ford off when he gently urges him to one side.
Ford stares at me for a moment then swallows hard. He places his fingers over the edge of the window frame. “Don’t be rash. Think with your head and not with your heart. Above all else, come back to us.”
“I’ll try not to mess this up,” I respond, my stomach turning over.
Fifteen minutes later, the car is pulling up outside the main entrance to the pier. If I wasn’t so preoccupied with thoughts of murder, I might’ve appreciated the twinkling lights and the delicious smell of candy floss and grilled burgers.
“That’ll be eight pounds,” the cabbie says, looking at me in the rear view mirror.
“Here,” I say, handing over a ten-pound note.
“Let me get your change.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks, love. Enjoy your night.”
I don’t respond. How can I? I feel sick. Sick to my stomach that tonight I’ll be meeting my father for the first and last time. You see, Cal’s plan might be to gather information, but my plan is to kill the King. In my rucksack is a knife and I intend on driving it into his heart.
Taking a deep breath, I pull my beanie hat low over my head and walk towards the entrance to the pier. The place is busy, loud. A cacophony of noise. Kids run around screeching with delight, dragging their parents from one stall to another. Teenagers hang out in groups smoking cigarettes and drinking from cans. I’m pretty sure I recognise a few of them from the Tower. Couples walk hand in hand, laughing and muttering sweet nothings to each other.
Everyone seems happy and completely oblivious to my hammering heart and the sweat that slides in a river down my back.
The sound of a balloon popping has me swearing and stumbling into a couple of teenagers who look at me like I’m about to mug them for money. Their fear and judgement have me sneering at them.
“Boo!”
They run off screaming, then burst into laughter when they realise I’m not following them. Ugh, I hate people.
Pressed up against the side of a candy floss stall I force myself to look around, to take notice of my surroundings and the revellers milling about. I’m struck by a father with his child, a little girl no older than seven or eight. She’s holding onto his hand and peering up at him adoringly, so utterly in love. When he looks down at her she beams at him, and his smile reflects her own.
Sighing, I push off against the stall and wander away from the crowd towards the end of the pier. The message never said where exactly to meet, so I end up at the furthest point on the pier figuring that if I’m going to commit murder, I’m going to have to do it someplace that’s away from the main crowd. I don’t make eye-contact with anyone. I don’t even try to see which of the couples on the pier might be Doug and Jan. What’s the point? My plan doesn’t include them anyway.
The further I walk away from the main thoroughfare the darker it gets, and apart from some teenagers snogging in a secluded corner, completely oblivious to the world around them, there’s no one about but me.
Good. I don’t need any witnesses to see what I’m about to do.
When I reach the end of the pier, the noise of the revellers is blotted out by the high wind, crashing waves and the rapid beat of my heart. Dipping my hand into my rucksack, I feel for the smooth handle of the knife I stole from the kitchen earlier this morning. My fingers curl around the cold metal as I tuck it up the sleeve of my coat.
I’m shivering with a mixture of cold and deep-rooted fear.
I will myself to calm down, to breathe.
I can do this.
I have to.
Pressing my eyes shut, I give myself a moment to centre myself and empty my head of all the swimming thoughts that could so easily drown me as much as the frothing, angry sea below.
