The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet, #1)

The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet, #1)

Pepper Winters



BLURB


“What do you do when you meet your soul mate? No wait…that’s too easy. What do you do when you meet your soul mate and have to spend a lifetime loving him in secret?

I’ll tell you what you do.

You lie.”



REN



Ren was eight when he learned that love doesn’t exist—that the one person who was supposed to adore him only cared how much he was worth.

His mother sold him and for two years, he lived in terror.

But then…he ran.

He thought he’d run on his own. Turned out, he took something of theirs by accident and it became the one thing he never wanted and the only thing he ever needed.



DELLA



I was young when I fell in love with him, when he switched from my world to my everything.

My parents bought him for cheap labour, just like they had with many other kids, and he had the scars to prove it.

At the start, he hated me, and I could understand why.

For years he was my worst enemy, fiercest protector, and dearest friend.

But by the end…he loved me.

The only problem was, he loved me in an entirely different way to the way I loved him.

And slowly, my secret drove us apart.





CHAPTER ONE


REN



2000




“STOP! WILLEM, SHOOT him. Don’t let him get away!”

Bolting from the farmhouse with its broken paint-chipped shutters and rotten veranda, I swung the large backpack straps higher on my shoulders and leapt the small distance from hell to earth.

The weight on my back wasn’t balanced, sending me tripping forward.

I stumbled; my ankle threatened to roll. My useless ten-year-old legs already screamed it wasn’t possible to outrun a bullet from the wife of a killer and slaver, especially with such a cumbersome burden.

Even if it wasn’t possible, I had to try.

“Come back here, boy, and I won’t cut off another finger!” Mr. Mclary’s boom cut through the humidity of the night, chasing me with snapping teeth as I darted into the thicket of leaves and stalks, weaving like a worm around maize twice as tall as me.

My tiny fists clenched at the thought of living through that pain again.

His threat only gave me more incentive to escape—regardless if a bullet lodged in my spine and I died in the middle of their cornfield. At least this excruciating nightmare would be over.

“Kill him, Willem!” Mrs Mclary’s voice screeched like the crows she liked to shoot with her dirty rifle from the kitchen window. “Who knows what he’s got pilfered in that bag of his!”

A noise sounded behind me; a sudden cry jerked into silence.

An animal perhaps?

A cat?

I didn’t care.

I ran faster, putting my head down and using every remaining drop of energy, pain, and hope in my wasted, skinny body. The bulky backpack dragged me down. The weight far heavier than I remembered when I’d slung it over my shoulders during a test attempt two nights ago.

I’d planned this for weeks. I’d scratched my escape route into the dusty floorboards beneath my cot and memorised the location of canned beans and farmhouse churned cheese so I could grab it in the dark.

I’d been so careful. I’d believed I could vanish from this rank place I’d been sold to.

But I wasn’t careful enough, and I hadn’t vanished.

Bang.

Corn stalks shivered in front of me, cracking in place where a bullet wedged at head height. The cry came again, short and sharp and close.

Gulping air, I leaned into the soupy skies and kicked my burning legs into a sprint. The backpack bounced and dug into my shoulders, whispering that I should just drop my supplies and run.

But unless I didn’t want to survive past a day or two of freedom, I needed it.

I had nowhere to go. No one to help me. No money. No direction. I needed the food and scant water I’d stolen so I didn’t perish a few measly miles away from the very farmhouse I’d flown from.

Bang.

An ear of corn exploded in front of my face. Mr. Mclary’s voice warbled words with out-of-breath growls, giving chase in his precious field. My ears rang, blocking out another cry, amplifying my rapid heartbeat.

Just a little farther and I’d pop out on the road.

I’d find quicker escape on the sealed surface and hopefully flag down aid from some oblivious passer-by.

Perhaps one of the same people who drove past daily and smiled at the quaint rustic farmhouse and cooed at the diligent hardworking children would finally open their eyes to the rotten slave trade occurring in their very midst.

Bang!

I ducked and fell to my knees.

The backpack crushed me to the earth with sharp edges and sloshing belongings, yet another noise chasing me. I was strong for my age, so why did I find such a thing exhausting to carry?

Shoving away such delays, I sprang up again, wheezing as my stupid little lungs failed to grant enough oxygen. My limbs burned and seized. My hope quickly dwindled. But I’d become well acquainted with pain and threw myself head first into it.

This was my one chance.

It was life or death.

And I chose life.

*