Rhea groaned and pressed her palm to her forehead.
“Sorry, Jace,” Bailey said in a very un-Bailey-like manner. “Just trying to wind Rhea up. Nothing personal.”
“Give me some credit. I’m not that sensitive.” He perched down on the flat end of Rhea’s bed before offering her a subtle wink put out there to deliver a million different messages. From the way she tried to hold back her smile, I’d say a few of them hit their mark.
“See, Bails,” Rhea said, clearing her throat. “Not everyone is sensitive like you.”
“That’s my cue,” I said, pushing up from my lounger and feeling a wave of dizziness taking over when the head rush hit, but I managed to stand firm. “Before you two can start arguing, I’m going to find a bottle of water for this pounding head of mine.”
“Just head to the pool bar,” Rhea said, scowling at me in confusion.
“When I said I needed water, I meant I needed a walk… away from you two old women.”
“Hey!” they both cried in unison.
“There’s that small mini market just next door,” Jace told me. “We went in there yesterday. It’s pretty good.”
“Thanks, Jace. Anyone want anything while I’m gone?”
Of course, they did. I wasn’t getting out of it that easily, and so I picked up my beach bag, slipped on my favourite pair of cut off shorts, and headed to the mini market with their orders, keeping my sunglasses firmly in place over my hungover eyes.
I’d never been a good hungover person. I rarely drank as heavily back home. But we weren’t home now, and I’d sworn to myself to live a lot more and worry a lot less while here, so if I woke up with a hangover every morning for the next two weeks, so be it. I’d just have to find a way to make them less painful along the way.
It was nothing an ice-cold bottle of Fanta couldn’t fix.
A few minutes later, I found the mini market Jace mentioned and stepped inside, looking around like I’d never seen food on shelves or bottled water before. I wandered down the aisles, collecting the Lays crisps and European chocolate snacks the girls had asked for, placing them in my basket. I made my way to the fridge to stare at all the cold bottles of lemon Fanta that looked like actual heaven dripping with condensation. Lemon Fanta on holiday had always been my weakness, so I reached in to grab two bottles… when I felt something tugging manically at the beach bag on my shoulder.
Confused, I turned to see a teenage boy of no more than thirteen looking at me with bright, wide eyes, his fingers wrapped around my purse, now in his hands rather than inside my bag where I’d left it. Both of us stood frozen in shock, when suddenly, he turned and ran as though the Devil himself was hot on his heels.
It took a moment for it to dawn on me…
Was I being… mugged?
On holiday…
While wearingflip flops!
“Hey, woah! Stop!” I yelled, dropping my basket with an almighty clang before chasing after him in my ridiculous choice of footwear that offered me no traction whatsoever. “Get back here, you little shit. That’s my money!”
I ran as fast as I possibly could, my beach bag bashing against my side as I held onto it for dear life, knowing the odds weren’t in my favour at catching up to this bastard rug rat. Before long, the boy flew out of the store, really taking off, his speed ridiculous compared to mine, probably thanks to his long, gangly legs and well-worn trainers. I had no chance of catching him, and my heart sank. I kept running, but the distance between us grew, and my heart plummeted into the depths of my stomach as all hopes of a good vacation disappeared up that hill in that little thief’s hand.
My strides slowed, and I opened my mouth to give him one last plea to return my belongings, when I heard a deep, agitated, grunted, “Fuck” from somewhere close by that definitely didn’t come from me.
A grunted “Fuck” I instantly recognised belonged tohim.
Henry.
It all happened in a flash. I caught sight of him for only a split second before his lithe body charged past me in nothing but his black swim shorts, heading straight for the young kid who had my purse clutched in his hand. Henry ran like he’d been built for speed, gaining on the thief as though it was of little effort to him.
I came to a slow stop and watched as Henry swung his arm around the kid’s neck, bringing him down into a headlock with an ease that didn’t seem natural. The kid tried to scuffle out of Henry’s hold, but if anything, he only seemed to trap himself into a tighter embrace every time he twisted or turned in the wrong direction.
Henry looked ready to slaughter a minor, and my heart raced with a fear that didn’t entirely belong to me or my concern for my own wellbeing.
Without thought, I began to jog over to them, struggling to catch my breath as they sawed in and out of me as a reminder that cardio and I had been estranged a few months too many.
Henry had the kid’s sweat-soaked T-shirt fisted in his hand, and he pulled him closer as he glared down at him with a look that spoke of nothing but murder.
“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the boy stuttered in his local accent.
