Danger Zone (The Elite Book 1)

by Brooke Blaine

  “Will you kiss me and make it better?” When Panther’s eyes widened, I chuckled. “You know, to ease the disappointment.”

  Panther shook his head. “You know, I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  Panther’s lips twitched, and I couldn’t help but remember how good they’d felt against mine, how delicious they’d tasted…

  “Solo?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I asked if you’re always like this.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “You’ll have to be more specific. Am I always this persistent? This kickass as a pilot? So good at kissing I make every man who kisses me forget anyone who came before me?” I paused and winked at Panther. “And yes, I mean that in a figurative and literal sense.”

  “See, that’s what I mean. You just blurt out whatever’s on your mind no matter who’s around.”

  “Well, yeah, why shouldn’t I?”

  Panther arched an eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t know, professionalism, discretion, privacy? Should I go on?”

  I shrugged and leaned over to bump shoulders with him. “How’s all that working out for you?” Panther opened his mouth, but when nothing came out, I flashed a crooked grin. “I used to be like you. All buttoned up and shit.”

  Panther scoffed. “Is that how you see me? All buttoned up?”

  “It’s the only way you’ve let me see you so far. Unless we count this afternoon. The chains unraveled a little then.”

  Clearly choosing to ignore that, Panther said, “What changed?”

  “I got tired.”

  “Tired?”

  “Mhmm. It’s fucking exhausting trying to be perfect all the time. Don’t you think? Plus, it gets boring after a while. I mean, you can’t tell me limp dick from the bar that night got you as hot and bothered as I did back on base today.”

  Panther’s eyes lowered to my mouth, and nothing in the world could’ve stopped me from running my tongue along my lower lip. The memory of him grinding against me, his body hard and unyielding, his hand tight on my thigh, was something I would never forget. It was also something I would be remembering in great detail…later.

  “No, I can’t.”

  I shifted on the merry-go-round, my dick hardening under his intense perusal. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I didn’t hear you.”

  Panther raised his eyes, and nothing could’ve prepared me for the desire I saw swirling there. It was the same expression I’d seen when he finally let go and took what he wanted from me. “You make a mess of me, you know that? My composure, my concentration—you make me forget myself, and that’s…dangerous.”

  I wanted to tell him it was all in his head, that the job he did every day, strapping himself into a fighter jet and tearing up the sky, was more dangerous than I could ever be. But I could see the conflict now replacing the desire in his eyes and knew that Panther’s fears, his concerns, were very real. As real as the passion I’d felt back in that room.

  The real question here was which one of those two emotions would Panther let win out, and from everything I knew of him, I didn’t really like my odds. Not that that had ever stopped me before.

  When a few silent minutes passed, Panther sighed and pushed up to his feet. “I better get back,” he said, gesturing with his thumb to his bike. “I want to go over the brief for tomorrow’s hop.”

  I nodded and got to my feet as well. “Yeah, of course, I do too.”

  Panther frowned. “Are you really going to go over the brief?”

  I chuckled. “Okay, no, I’m gonna go eat with Gooch, but I’ll look over it before bed.”

  As Panther turned on his heel and headed for our bikes, I followed.

  “You could always come over when I get back and go over it with me?” I didn’t even need to see Panther’s face to know the answer to that would be hell no. But as I unclipped my helmet and straightened, I saw Panther sitting astride his bike with his helmet in his hands.

  His eyes were locked on me, and as he brought his helmet up, he said, “See? Dangerous…” Then he put his helmet on and, without another word, gunned his engine and rode away.

  I’d let him run for now, I thought, as I pulled my helmet on and climbed on my bike. But he knew, just as I did, we were not done here. Not by a long shot.

  22 Panther

  THE LAST TWENTY-FOUR hours had been one head spin after another. My father showing up at NAFTA. Solo kissing me. Me kissing him back. Being followed and letting down some of my walls long enough for Solo to get a peek inside, something I never did.

  And now it turned out Solo and I would be competing against each other directly in the hop today, something that was sure to turn any warm feelings from the day before into cold, hard rivalry. Neither of us liked to lose, but we couldn’t both win, so once I took Solo down, I could only imagine the disgruntled remarks he’d shoot my way.

  Maybe it would make him back off me a little. But was that what I really wanted?

  The logical side of my brain said yes, but I couldn’t deny the lust that shot through me when I remembered the way Solo had ground against me as he kissed every thought out of my head. He was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.

  But…

  But.

  “Oh shit, this should be good,” Houdini said over my shoulder as we studied the whiteboard where our pairings and objectives were clearly marked. “So. You think Solo’ll cry when you win, or just nosedive straight into those cliffs?”

  “Mighty presumptuous to assume I’d let Panther win,” Solo said, strolling into the room. He dropped into a chair beside us and kicked his feet up onto the desk. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about Gucci tagging you out in five seconds flat.”

  Houdini smirked. “More likely to puke in his cockpit, from what I hear.”

  “Oh hell naw.” Gucci shot daggers at Houdini as he walked in. “I’d never lose my lunch in the pit. Do I really have to give everyone the damn play-by-play? It was a handbag.”

  “He’s just trying to rile you up, Gooch,” Solo said, and then he gave Houdini a wry grin. “Keep that shit up. It’ll only fuel the fire.”

  “Maybe you should focus on your own match today. My boy’s gonna have you chasin’ his ass all over the sky.”

  Solo’s eyes practically sparkled as he looked my way. “Sounds like a good time to me.”

  The innuendo made my stomach flip, but I couldn’t let myself get distracted right now. More than any other day, I needed to keep a clear head and focus on the hop, which was sure to be the toughest one yet. Solo wouldn’t be going easy on me, and I didn’t want him to.

  As I shoved down everything that had happened yesterday, Houdini turned his back toward Solo and kept his voice low. “The guy gets off on a challenge. Be careful up there.”

  “I’m not worried.” Then I glanced over my shoulder and indicated Gucci. “You got this.”

  Houdini grinned. “Damn right I do.”

  After we went through the briefing with our instructors, we received our lineup order and then headed to the bay to gear up. Solo and I were last on the list, so we’d join the others in watching each pair battle it out.

  “Saving the best for last,” Solo said, his voice a purr in my ear where he stood behind me. “Looks like today’s my lucky day.”

  I didn’t turn around, because the last thing I needed was to have him in my head when I’d already worked hard to get him out.

  I finished snapping my gear into place, checking and double-checking that everything was as it should be, and then I headed out of the bay to watch the first match of the day—Houdini and Gucci.

  “Ahh. Ignoring me, then. And I thought we’d finally gotten to a good place yesterday.”

  I kept a fast pace, but he caught up to me anyway. “Not now, Solo.”

  “Aw, don’t be nervous. I’ll go easy on you.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I won’t. I was just trying to m
ake you feel better.”

  “I feel fine. I’m not scared of you, and I don’t need you trying to fuck with my head.”

  “So I can fuck with other parts of you?”

  Jesus Christ. “Go away.”

  “I would, but it looks like we’re heading to the same place.”

  Rolling my eyes, I pulled open the door to the viewing area we’d be watching from and headed inside, Solo at my heels. The guy was so damn persistent, going from annoying to charming and then back to annoying in a matter of seconds. It was hard to reconcile the competitive Solo with the Mateo who’d opened up and showed a different side. The Solo I was seeing today didn’t have an ounce of vulnerability anywhere.

  Luckily, the first match-up between Houdini and Gucci caught his interest enough that the only smartass comments he made were directed at their flying and not at fucking with me.

  It was a close call throughout, and just as I thought Houdini was about to lose it, he came back from behind to lock in on Gucci.

  Solo chuckled. “Should’ve placed a bet on that one, Panther. At least you would’ve won once today.”

  I could feel the eyes on us, the tension in the air, and I was more determined now than ever to shut him the hell up.

  For the rest of the hops, I put in my earbuds and blocked out the rest of the world, training my eyes on the sky and watching each match, filing away each pilot’s go-to maneuvers for future competitions.

  Finally, it was go time, and I followed Solo down to the hangar, adrenaline starting to take over. It wasn’t nerves, it was excitement, the thrill of a challenge, of doing something dangerous and coming out on top.

  And, of course, beating my rival.

  As I stopped in front of my plane, Solo winked and said, “Looking forward to chasing your ass.”

  “Looking forward to kicking yours.”

  I went through the preflight checks then put on my helmet, and as I climbed into the cockpit and buckled in, it never failed to hit me that this was my job. That I literally strapped a plane to myself each and every time I clocked in for work. There were connections of all kinds linking me to the jet, from oxygen to the seat parachute. It was as if you were becoming one with the powerful piece of machinery. It was the body and you were the brain.

  I shifted in the seat, mentally ticking off my checklist. There was no getting comfortable; that wasn’t what this was about. This was about survival, making sure everything was as it should be before I got up in the air and it was too late.

  The seat was firm under me, not a lot of cushion, due to the fact I was basically sitting on two rockets and an ejector seat, but once I was happy that everything was good, I gave the thumbs-up and prepared for takeoff.

  I taxied out to the runway, and as I maneuvered my plane into position and waited for the go-ahead, I sent up a prayer that we came home safely. I might’ve also made sure to add, Please help guide me to fly clean and smart, and kick Solo’s ass.

  As the all-clear signal was given, I throttled up and punched the engines. Seconds later, I was tearing down the runway, my body pushed back into my seat from the pressure of the acceleration, and as I hit the end and got the gears and flaps up, I was pushing well over two hundred miles per hour.

  The sensation of speed was exhilarating, a total rush, and as the plane lifted and I headed straight up, pulling some hard Gs, I let the euphoria engulf me.

  I was born to do this, raised here in the halls of this very academy, and as I leveled out and waited for Solo to join me, I was more determined than ever to prove I was here for a reason—and that was to win.

  23 Solo

  ITCHING TO GET up in the air and go head to head with the only person I really considered my competition around here, I was all but vibrating with pent-up adrenaline as I was given the all-clear and took position.

  I knew it was going to take some clever flying to beat Panther up in the air today, and as I was given the go-ahead and thundered down the runway at breakneck speed, I was focused on one thing only—winning.

  I was off the ground in seconds, and as I shot into the sky like a cannonball, my fingers tightened around the controls. These planes didn’t enter the sky all smooth like a commercial plane. Oh no, where they were designed for stability and comfort, fighters were the complete opposite.

  Designed to be unstable for maneuverability, the wings on this bad boy were more rigid, and any bumps and dips from turbulence you felt in the pit of your gut. Something the average Joe usually tossed his cookies over, but not me. I lived for this shit. Hell, I often thought my lungs ran better on jet fuel than oxygen, I’d been around it for so long.

  But as quickly as that thought entered my mind it left, because just as I hit the correct altitude given in the brief today, Panther—somehow or other—had come up on my left and was moving in at a fast clip, catching me off guard and getting me on the defensive.

  “Shit. Where’d you come from?” I muttered to myself.

  My pulse began to race and all my senses went on high alert, as my brain fired off all my options at a hellacious pace. As it assessed and dismissed different case scenarios and threw out all losing options, I was reminded that making life-and-death decisions in seconds really wasn’t the most normal job in the world. But as Panther’s plane closed in on me, I was also reminded it was the best, because just when he would’ve locked on to me and I’d be done, I break-turned and reversed, causing him to overshoot or hit me.

  As Panther tore right by me, I knew I was committed now to the decision I had made. I angled the plane upward and climbed further into the sky, preparing to execute my first roll and lead the two of us into a fighting maneuver known as the rolling scissors, or “rollers.”

  I hated this move—it was never easy to pull off and put both the attacker and defender in a shitty position. But hey, I’d been sent up here with the same instructions he had—to not lose.

  Pulling my nose through the top of the turn, I made sure my lift vector was correct and lined up with Panther, then I dove ahead of him in a barrel roll. Knowing it was hella important to get my nose down before he got his up, I kicked it up a notch, and as we began to barrel-roll over one another up there in the big blue, my heart began to pound so hard that a normal person might’ve stroked out.

  As I came up a second time, I used gravity assist to help increase the sharpness of my turn, and as I rolled over to come back down, I relaxed up on the Gs to keep control of my vertical moves.

  Panther was making me work for it. Shit. It was hard as hell to determine any kind of accurate position while doing these maneuvers, and it was even harder to lock in on the one pursuing you. He had me on the run, in the defensive position, and knew it, but as I made the third high nose turn and dove toward him, everything changed. My turns were faster than his by mere seconds, and what had started as a one circle fight soon turned to a two, giving me the advantage and forcing Panther into my 3/9 line.

  Now in a full-on tail chase, the two of us continued to try to outfox the other with a series of barrel rolls, but nothing was shaking me now. Panther had one of two choices: he could either wave the white flag and disengage or—

  “Motherfucker.”

  —he could do this the hard way.

  Oh well, he hadn’t left me much choice, and with each roll we made, we got closer and closer to the ground until we were precariously close to the danger zone. But I wasn’t backing down. I wasn’t about to lose this.

  “Come on, Panther. Disengage, you stubborn fucker.” But as we hurtled toward the earth, our altitude seriously dropping, the barrel rolls became unachievable and it was time for that final decision. I either disengaged and lost by default, or I forced him closer to the ground, to where he’d have to transition into the flat scissors and level out—or smash his jet face-first into the desert, which I was gambling he wouldn’t do.

  Decision made, I went in for the kill—well, the mock kill—and as Panther seemed to realize this was all over for him and I wasn’t about to
let up until he did, he flattened out and pulled off to the right at the very last second, surrendering and handing me this one.

  As I shot off over the top of him, I knew Panther would be fuming at the way things had gone down—namely him.

  He’d come at me hard, and I’d retaliated. Maybe I should’ve let it go when it was clear I had a lock on him, but when he’d decided to keep on instead of surrendering, my competitive side had come out to play.

  Plus, no one had gotten hurt, and in the end I’d completed the hop. If Panther was pissed, I’d deal with it, but for now I wasn’t about to let that get me down. I’d just beaten the golden boy of NAFTA, and hell if that didn’t feel damn good.

  Panther was out of his plane the second he parked beside me, ripping his helmet off, that gorgeous face of his red and furious.

  As I stepped out of the plane, I shot him a grin. “Gotcha.”

  “Are you fucking out of your mind? Were you trying to get us killed?”

  “That would hardly be fun. No chance for a rematch.” I climbed down the stairs, helmet in hand, and had barely stepped onto the pavement when Panther stabbed his finger into my chest.

  “That was stupid and dangerous. We’re not up there to play chicken, you dipshit, not in a seventy-million dollar fucking plane.”

  “Calm down. It’s not coming out of your pocket.”

  “That’s what you heard from what I just said? You almost got us killed with those final rolls—”

  “That you didn’t have to engage in,” I said, brushing by him, not at all bothered by the fact that he was pissed as hell. The high of winning felt gooood.

  Panther grabbed my arm, jerked me around, and then gave me a hard shove. “You know what your problem is? You think you’re the only one up there. That your life is the only one that matters.”

  “Is that my problem? What about your problem?” I said, moving forward so we were toe to toe. I wasn’t about to back down, not in the air and certainly not on the ground. “You’re just mad you lost. I get it. It sucks. Get the hell over it.”