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How do you know Mr. Torian?
How often does he fly with you?
The security officer answers her with subtle a
Or so he says.
We’re almost on our way, about to reach the glass sliding doors leading to the tarmac, when she stops and turns back toward the room.
“Is everything okay?” I lean close, whispering the question near her ear. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
“I passed second thoughts a long time ago. This goes well beyond that.”
“Is there anything I can do to reassure you?” It’s surprising how easy the offer to comfort her flows from my lips. This act is so enjoyable, I guess it has become engrained.
“No.” She eyes everyone in sight, as if instructing them to remember what she looks like.
It’s disappointing.
She should know by now that I could cover up our time together if I wanted. There’s rarely anything money can’t buy, and with the help of the police in my pocket, I’m almost untouchable.
It also makes life easier when the staff here know and trust me. This company is mine, after all. My name might not be on the documentation, but I sure as hell own it.
I have legitimate businesses everywhere. Gas stations. Freight carriers. Pharmacies. All of which remain under the radar from law enforcement.
There’s minimal association between me and the people at the helm of these companies to maintain my anonymity. They give me their assurance they will work honestly, while they trust me to commit to my vow that they will never see the bright light of day again if they even think to fuck me over.
Profit for conformity.
That’s all it is. I help them work toward a comfortable future, and they allow me to gain necessary information and untraceable supplies.
The authorities have no clue of the hold I have on this city. Not the slightest glimpse.
My influence is woven through every brick, along every street and sidewalk.
I am this city, despite my current need to get away.
“Why don’t you make that call? It might settle your nerves.” I place my hand at the low of her back and watch her stiffen further.
“I’m not nervous.” She swings around and steps out of reach in her approach to the door. “And I don’t need to make a call. I’m already covered.”
I strongly disagree.
I found Benji’s car edging its way into the private airport parking lot as we walked into the building, but I didn’t see any other vehicle. Either the Feds are better at hiding than my own men, or she isn’t covered as well as she thinks.
“Let’s do this.” She leads the way toward the jet, not stopping until she reaches the staircase.
“After you.” I wave a hand, indicating for her to proceed. “Go speak to the pilot. Inspect the cabin. Do whatever’s necessary to make yourself feel comfortable before we take flight.”
“I will.” She narrows her eyes. “Just remember, climbing onboard doesn’t mean I’ve agreed to go with you.”
“I’m well aware.”
She takes the first step, her hips holding a gentle sway as she ascends before me.
I don’t follow for a few minutes, giving her space to talk privately with the flight team before I make my way to the liquor cabinet in the main cabin.
I don’t use the opened bottles. I reach for the Macallan in the back and pour myself a generous glass of fifty-five-year-old scotch.
I’m seated in one of the cream leather chairs when she walks toward me, then directly past to disappear into the bathroom. She bangs and clatters around in there, making me smirk as she no doubt searches for another reason not to trust me.
She won’t find anything in there, and I’m pretty sure she already knows it.
The dramatic display is her not-so-subtle way of showing me I’ll have to work hard if I expect her to believe a word I say. From the looks of the co-pilot retrieving the staircase and locking us in, it seems she’s already given the all-clear for take-off.
I continue drinking, paying her no attention when she returns like a whirlwind, skittering her way around the cabin to lift seat cushions and look behind the television.
“What are you searching for exactly?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She doesn’t stop her inspection.
“Then why don’t you join me for a drink?” I raise my glass in toast. “There’s a fully stocked bar. Help yourself.”
She pivots toward me, her arms crossed over her chest, plumping her breasts beneath the sheer blouse. I don’t pretend not to notice. In fact, I make it known those tits of hers are fucking mesmerizing for so long she rolls her eyes and slaps her arms back down to her sides.
“For once, I think you’re right. I doubt I’m capable of getting through a conversation with you without the help of a slight buzz.” She makes for the liquor, retrieves a glass, and pours herself at least a double from an opened vodka bottle sitting in the display. “Cheers.” She tilts the glass as if toasting the cabinet itself, then throws back a gulp.
Yet again, this woman surprises me.
“Top up your glass before you take a seat. It won’t be long before we’re in the air.”
The cabin jolts on cue, the aircraft slowly moving forward.
“Great.” She throws back another gulp, pours more liquor, then approaches to take the seat opposite me, the toes of our shoes barely inches apart.
“Your phone?” I ask. “I’d like to put it in the cockpit.”
“I already gave it to the pilot.” She holds my stare, taunting me to call her bluff.
I don’t bother. Telling her I needed the cell stowed was more of a strategy to forewarn her I would be in control in this environment. And she agreed regardless.
The device itself was never an issue.
“I also told him our flight plans.” She places her glass in the cup holder and clasps her belt. “He didn’t seem to think doing circle work around the Portland area would be an issue.”
“Efficient.” I give her a slow grin. “I like it.”
She ignores my subtle flirtation, choosing to stare out the window.
She isn’t unaffected though. I’m wearing her down—slowly digging my claws beneath her smooth skin.
“Good evening, folks,” the pilot a
I follow orders and hide my a
“Do you enjoy flying?” I watch the tarmac roll, the daylight completely faded to night.
“Usually, yes. But I have a feeling the private jet experience will be slightly different.”
This one definitely will be.
I have no idea when we’ll land, and the thought of returning to Portland isn’t something worthy of inspiring excitement. This place doesn’t feel like home anymore. Instead, it resembles a war zone.
Keira keeps riding my ass. Layla continues to fight with her husband. Stella doesn’t understand why she can’t speak to her grandfather.
Our family is in turmoil, and I’d like nothing more than to be a thousand miles away.
The tether tying us together has vanished. We’re separate entities instead of one unit, and I’m the poor sucker who needs to pull everyone back into place.
Me, and the woman seated directly in front of me.
Her left hand grips the armrest as the aircraft accelerates, the entire cabin shaking. She doesn’t look scared. But she’s not comfortable either.
“Is the vodka to your approval?”