Sentencing Sapphire (Sapphire Dubois: Book 3)

Chapter 22

Sapphire rolled down the window to let the hot wind pull her hair and blow at her sunglasses as she sped down the Pacific Coast Highway. She watched the sparkling water slam into the taupe mountain below. She'd miss seeing the California coastline, the dry hills, even the congested roads.

It had been four days since her father died at the abandoned church, and four days since Aston walked away from her. She'd called him, but he never picked up. The message was clear. He wanted nothing to do her. No wonder.

There hadn't been a peep from the jury yet—an unusually long deliberation, Mr. Goldstein said—but when it did come in, she was certain they'd lock her up. Then her bank app beeped: the funds had transferred. Aston's rejection and the incoming money were signs, she'd thought.

It was time to get the hell out of L.A.

Sapphire began her search for a pilot to take her to South America. There, she'd make sure she never stayed anywhere long enough to leave a trail. This would be the free and wonderful life she'd gotten a taste of in Paris.

But when Sapphire started packing, a life without constraints and obligations didn't feel like freedom anymore. It felt like she was about to enter eternal solitude. Total seclusion was the wish of someone from a long time ago, a different Sapphire. But what choice did she have now?

She'd been in the middle of writing farewell letters when the BHPD car pulled up outside of the mansion. She'd rushed for the door, foolishly believing it was Aston. Of course it wasn't; Aston was a detective and didn't drive a cop car.

"Here." Barry had handed her a wallet. "Aston thought you should have this."

The cop left and Sapphire opened the wallet. It belonged to her father and was filled with fake IDs. She'd walked back upstairs as she flipped through every fake name, every state. New York, Illinois, Florida, Massachusetts.

She'd stopped at the entrance of her room and looked at her suitcase filled to the brim. That's when she realized the life on the run ahead of her in South America, was the life of her father. She had to make a choice. Run to stay out of prison. Or stay, and deal with the consequences of her actions.

Sapphire took one last look at the ocean before she pulled off the PCH and into the heart of Malibu. She knew she'd made the right choice. If Sapphire wanted to be the opposite of her father, she had to act the opposite of him.

She stepped out and took in the beauty of the lush landscape while she could. She would miss it all when she went to prison.

Sapphire walked up to the compound, a mansion surrounded by tiny guest houses, and rang the doorbell. She spotted her mother and the other women at the pool behind a gate.

Vivienne pushed her sunglasses to the tip of her nose. "Sapphire?"

Bianca opened the door and Sapphire pushed herself into the massive mansion filled with exorbitant furniture, no doubt paid for by all of Søren's women.

A moan escaped from a door to her left. Sapphire pushed it open and took in a scene that could only be described in one word: Yucky.

The woman, who was on top—figures—screamed and rolled off Søren.

"Hello, Søren."

"Michelle, why don't you give us a moment?" Søren kept his eyes on Sapphire as Michelle scrambled for her clothes and hurried out the door.

Søren grabbed a robe, then placed his arms behind his head with confidence. "Have you come to join the Camaraderie of Light?"

"Please," Sapphire sneered and waved the envelope. "Here's the five hundred grand you asked for. Will you tell my mother she can go home now?"