by Angel Payne
Shay managed a smile while grinding his fist into his opposite hand. But turning his hands into a furious mortar-and-pestle was preferable to the alternative—smashing in Bash’s jaw before ordering him to stay the fuck away from Zoe and her friends.
Cameron put a decisive end to his dilemma—though, at the same time, stirred a new one. The man unbuckled and stood, dipping nods to everyone on the team, signaling them to be ready. Shay’s gut wrenched as he watched everyone straightening, watching, readying. Wyst eyed the air marshal, whom he’d ID’d by hacking the FAMS rosters a few hours ago, with a wicked glint in his eyes and a fist wrapped in spiked foil—not that the bruiser needed the shit. Ross would go first toward the cockpit, with Nori and Kaziro on his heels, while Shay and Bash pulled wingman duty for Stock.
That was the plan. Easy. Elegant. Evil.
And there was still time to stop it. Still time for him to stop it.
But at what cost?
Bash had just confirmed Stock’s gelatin of a mental state. The man had become a demon about accomplishing this mission and the lives he’d take to accomplish it. If Shay shattered his own cover and called Cam out, it would just feed the man’s hunger for history book glory. All too clearly, he could see Stock ordering Nori to power the plane into a nosedive. And Nori, a kamikaze born eighty years too late, would be his willing bitch. They’d all be dinner for the Mojave Desert coyotes inside an hour.
Shay grimaced as bile seared his throat. He sent a mental broadcast to whatever higher power was in the mood to listen, asking them to expedite the encrypted message he’d sent to Colton from his phone after leaving Zoe’s room. The move had been a huge risk, one he hadn’t chosen earlier for purely selfish reasons. If joining Cameron in hijacking a flight got him closer to Mom, he reconciled that as the price to be paid for the cause.
But learning Zoe would be on that flight?
It shouldn’t have changed a fucking thing. But it did.
It changed everything.
Somehow, in the space of less than three hours, she’d changed everything.
Damn it.
The anger ricocheted through his head, along with nausea and dread, as he realized this was really going to happen. He had no choice. Switching out the black hat for white at this point wouldn’t just be futile but stupid. Black kept him on Stock’s inside track, which meant he still had a fighting chance to rescue Mom and get out of this alive.
Just as importantly, he had a chance to keep Zoe alive.
Holy fuck. If anything happened to her during this damn stunt…
“Gentlemen.” The flight attendant’s snippy tone zeroed his senses in on the moment. She directed the charge at Ross, Nori, and Kaziro as they moved into the aisle. “You must stay seated. The captain hasn’t indicated it’s safe to—”
Kaz rendered her unconscious with an expert blow to the side of her neck. As she crumpled, he caught her and then effortlessly dragged her to the galley. When he came back, he pulled his ski mask down in time to confront the air marshal, a guy in bad-fitting khakis who charged forward with a growl. Kaz, who took his ninja calling as seriously as Nori did the kamikaze, dropped the officer with a series of efficient punches and kicks. Wyst cursed, his fun taken away.
Just as a woman screamed. Joined in an instant by Mr. Three-Piece Suit. Then half the other passengers.
Shay muttered the F-word while yanking down his mask and bolting into the aisle behind Bash.
It was showtime.
Chapter Eight
“Mmmpph.” Zoe followed the grunt with an irritated moan. With a soft piano tune layered over the sound of ocean waves in her ear buds, along with the lulling motion of the plane, she was almost asleep. Every mile they flew closer to home meant another mile farther from Shane Burnett. Thank every saint there was.
She wasn’t so grateful for Brynn’s urgent grabs at her elbow. Or the rapid-fire shoulder whacks that followed.
What the hell?
She yanked her buds out and cracked one eye open in a glare. “Corazón, please; can you ogle the guys by yourself? I had a crap night’s sleep, and— Brynn?”
Her friend’s face wasn’t fixed in the rapture of spotting new man candy. It was frozen in what looked like pure fear. “Zo.” Her lips trembled. “Oh, my God.”
She opened her other eye. Silently followed Brynn’s stare toward the front of the plane. From that same direction, a woman shrieked. The sound was a detonation switch on the air, arcing fear through the cabin. Then terror.
Zoe sat up, now awake. Her heartbeat hammered as she gaped at the scene ahead. Seven men in ski masks. Unconscious flight attendants. Dios. It seemed surreal. Too far away. This couldn’t really be happening. Not to her life.
Wasn’t that the familiar refrain by now? Last night, she’d wondered if her time with Shane had been a movie happening to someone else, but it had all been so warm and wonderfully real. Now, she clung to that reality instead of this one. Reaching out to Shane and his strength and rewarded by practically feeling his power on the air again. If she breathed deeply enough, she even caught hints of his woodsy scent…
Brynn cried out, along with half the women on board, as one of the men knocked another unconscious. The guy on the floor must’ve been the air marshal, because his aggressor pulled a gun from the middle of the man’s back before turning it over, barrel side up, to a person she assumed was the gang’s leader. Her estimation was validated when three of the men followed that guy to the middle of the plane. Two of them moved around him to march deeper into the cabin while he grabbed the intercom handset and clicked it on.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. As you’ve likely discerned, our flight plan for the day has been altered.” The man spread his arms with the gun still in his hand, making the passengers at the barrel’s end cringe. “There is no need for alarm. We’re not here to hurt anyone, merely to borrow you all as insurance for arrival at our final destination. Please sit back, relax, and enjoy the journey.”
As he said that, a small flash erupted at the front of the plane, as if explosives had been set off. A bunch of men joined bellows with the women’s screams but Zoe frowned, confused. There had been no sound from the blast; there was still no smell.
“You’re cracked wider than a cheap rubber, asshole.” The eruption came from a man seated a couple of rows back. Zoe closed her eyes, asking her favorite saints to lend the guy some good sense, but the idioto wasn’t listening to anything but his own fear, manifesting itself as bravado. “No need for alarm, yeah? Forgive me if we don’t buy a line of your bullshit.”
The “asshole” narrowed his eyes. Fury flashed so brightly in them, Zoe could see his aggravation even from where she sat. But when the man spoke, his voice was all talk-show congeniality. “We only want the jet, my friend. All of you are simply our insurance of getting it to our desired location. As far as trust? I cannot force you to give me that, buddy—but I guarantee that your day will proceed better if you simply hand it over.”
Shouts and exclamations filtered out from the cockpit. The pseudo-explosion had been a tricky device intended to blow the door, and it was successful.
The outlaws now had access to the plane’s controls.
Zoe wasn’t the only one to reach that horrifying conclusion. More women screamed. Some, like Brynn, broke into sobs.
The dimwit from two rows back erupted with a new string of profanity, all involving their hijackers with goats, dildos, and their mothers. Zoe silently prayed for him again, but the moron was intractable. “What’s your name, asshole?”
The man cocked his head. “Does it matter? You’re doing such a good job on all those inflections of asshole. Maybe we should leave it at that.” He followed it up by strolling farther back in the cabin, motioning a pair of minions to follow him—though the term “minions” was up for interpretation. Both men were the size of small houses. Zoe supposed that helped when a guy was tasked with hijacking a plane without any weapons, though their teammate, leaner than both b
y at least fifty pounds, had just knocked out a flight attendant and the air marshal with his bare hands.
“You coming back to intimidate me, asshole?” the idiot sneered. “Because you don’t.”
The leader sighed. “Sit down, my friend.”
“No.”
“Sit down.” The goon who’d stopped in front of Zoe and Brynn unfurled it in a low, threatening growl—immediately causing trembles down Zoe’s arms and legs. Quivers that unexpectedly turned hot…and sensual.
What the hell?
She scrubbed her palms against the tops of her thighs. She had to be in some kind of crisis shock. Feeling like this was loco, plain and simple. The fact that she’d just had the best sex of her life, with a man possessing the same dark panther quality to his voice, didn’t help the cause. And yeah, there was that little burr in her brain, too—the continuing memories of him with all his clothes on. The recall of what they’d shared when they weren’t blowing up the hotel room with their passion. The longing that made her practically feel him in the air, so close and big and powerful, all over again…
Are you actually fighting wet panties at thirty thousand feet, because of a hijacking cabrón who happens to have a voice with a little resonance to it?
Crap.
He also happened to have long, strong fingers. And a high, defined chest. And a proud, firm stance that practically bellowed a dominant nature…
“You’re a bunch of goddamn bullies.” The obstinate ass was at it again. “And I like to eat bullies for breakfast. Come on, everybody. Let’s take down these bastards!”
The guard next to them growled lower than before. His leader told the man, “Effective takedowns rely on a little something called surprise. And a bigger element called a brain. Since you clearly have neither, shut the fuck up and sit down.”
“Listen to him, gumby,” said the goon in front of them. That voice again. Zoe dug her knuckles into her thighs and fought back a moan. You are being ridiculous. And completely pathetic.
“You want me to sit down? Make me, dickhole.”
The next sound out of the man was his tormented wail—a second after the single pow of the fired pistol.
Zoe surged to her feet alongside Brynn. The guard with the growl shoved them back down, but not before they saw the man who’d dared the rebellion against their captors. His right knee was nothing but a bloom of blood.
“Shit!” Brynn dissolved into tears. Zoe pulled her friend close, acknowledging her own need for comfort in the gesture. She shook worse than a krump dancer on three energy drinks, though was pretty certain Brynn would never notice.
“Y-You—” the idioto stammered. “My knee! I’m— I’m—”
“Damn lucky I’m in a cheerful mood.” The man with the gun sounded like he’d just snacked on the remaining bullets in the pistol. If they only got so lucky. Zoe was pretty sure the air marshal wouldn’t have boarded with a less-than-prepared weapon. Her suspicion was confirmed when the man lifted the gun, ensuring everyone took note of the barrel. “Anyone else in the mood to play cowboy? Come on up; I’ll slide on my spurs.”
Other than the soft sobs weighing the air, everyone fell into silence.
“He’s bleeding badly.” The interjection came from Harmony, the member of their cast who matched her name the most perfectly. The woman was a peace accord on two legs. “Mister, I can see you’re devoted to your plan, but do you really want a man to bleed to death for it?”
The minions shifted uncomfortably. The guard toward the back of the plane, with a chest that needed its own zip code, muttered, “Can’t hurt to ask if there’s a doctor or nurse on board.”
Zoe swallowed hard, pulled free of Brynn, and raised her hand. “I can do it.”
“No, you can’t.” Brynn yanked her back.
“No, you can’t.” Mr. Growl’s concurrence, with an ample infusion of dungeon-worthy command, rose her hackles. It wasn’t just his arrogance. It was the way his presence wouldn’t leave her libido the hell alone.
“Yes,” she snapped, “I can.” She swung her sights to his boss. Though the guy was significantly shorter than Growl Man, he emanated vibes that freaked her the hell out. Nevertheless, she jerked up her chin and stated, “I’m the captain for our troupe. I can wrap any part of the body. It’ll at least stop the blood until we land…wherever we’re landing.”
The man rolled his head again, considering her offer. It gave her arrogant guard an opportunity to pin her with a tight, unreadable stare—well, as much as he’d let her see. The guy wore his mask differently than the others, yanking it into slits around his eyes and tucking the fabric around his lips, making his mouth indistinct, as well. He was so strange. And unrelenting. And infuriating.
“The authorities will be kinder about your sentencing if you don’t allow him to bleed out,” Harmony interjected.
Zoe caught her friend’s eye through the gap in the seats. “Corazón, he’s hijacked a jet with hundreds of people on board. I’m not sure how kind anyone’s inclined to be right now. On the other hand, murder in the first never made anyone’s life less complicated.”
The man laughed. “Aren’t you two a lovely surprise?” He nodded. “Fine. Tell my boys what you need and then wrap the jerkass up. After that, I’m taking a couple of you lovely ladies to the cockpit to help your new pilot on the radio.”
Brynn gasped. Zoe barely heard the sound. She breathed deeply, trying to summon a shred of warmth to the ice in her chest. “Wh-Why? We’re dancers, not air-traffic specialists.”
The man slid her a patronizing smile. “Thanks, honey. I’m aware of that already. But you’re also one thing my boy Kamikaze can’t be.”
“Oh?” She managed it past gritted teeth. Damn. The man and his boys were sharp, using radio call signs instead of proper names with each other. It meant she’d have to work at paying attention to other details about them—a skill that, ironically, Bryce had helped her hone.
“Women,” the man supplied to her query.
“Excuse me?” she returned.
“I need a woman’s voice,” the man explained while helping her into the aisle. But once she stood next to him, he didn’t let go of her hand. She shivered as he raised his grip to her nape. His ice-blue eyes glittered from behind his mask. “The boys running the show at military command are going to be more patient with their guns if a woman is pleading for the souls on board.”
“Their…guns?” she managed to get out. “Isn’t that an extreme assumption to make?”
“Not when one wants to land an airliner at Area 51.”
“Area 51?” She plummeted her jaw. While she was no expert on all the urban legends and speculation about the base, she was more than aware of its main fact. Nobody entered without the most high-level security clearance. And no commercial aircraft dared a flight plan into its airspace, let alone a full landing. “Have you lost your damn mind?”
His loose chuckle defied his iron grip as she tried to wrench away. “Oh, you are a delight. So much spirit and passion. We’re going to have fun together, aren’t we, mi chiquilina?”
“I’m not your chiquilina. I’m not your anything. Let go.” She swallowed, glancing to the pistol in his other hand. “Please.”
To her dread, he raised the gun’s barrel and slid it along her cheek. “I like the way you say that word. Do it again.”
Her breath, what she dared to take of it, left her in uneven spurts. The weapon was a cold taunt on her flesh.
Until it was suddenly shoved away.
She gaped as Growl Man’s fingers twisted around his boss’s wrist. In seconds, the man was forced to drop the weapon. Before she could regain the composure to step back, her savior clamped a steely arm around her middle, swept her behind him, and didn’t let go until she fell back into Brynn’s lap. He followed her down, low enough to lean over both of them—ensuring she should just write off breathing for the foreseeable future. His proximity gave her a close-up of the brilliant gold shards in the depths of his gaze.
Gold?
His eyes were…gold?
But unlike the gaze of her dream Dom from last night, cutting into her with slices of molten seduction, this bastard’s eyes wielded nothing but callous daggers. He jabbed several of those blades into her before uttering one word.
“Stay.”
Zoe was stunned to feel herself nodding instead of flinging back her own metaphorical daggers. What the hell was wrong with her? Midair crisis or not, she didn’t take orders like a dog, especially from a hijacking mercenary who sounded like he’d morphed with a Doberman himself. She forced her teeth into her tongue, congratulating herself for the wisdom of the move when she watched him square off against his boss.
Vaya. Separately, the men were intimidating. Nose-to-nose, they were terrifying. Two sets of broad shoulders, every bulging muscle defined by skintight black. Two unwavering glares. One loaded gun, now recovered from the floor. One human weapon who’d already proved that really didn’t matter.
And breathing? Still impossible. Zoe didn’t know if she needed to faint or crawl out of her skin.
“You want to tell me what the fuck that was all about?” the leader challenged.
Growl Man grunted. “First off, you want to change the world or chase pussy? Decide now, man. I’m sure we’d all be happy to have ’Kaze turn this bird around for a landing in the middle of Mexico instead of the suicide zone we’re about to enter.”
His boss huffed. Zoe watched him assess the other man, perhaps questioning the guy’s motives. She admitted her own curiosity about what he’d find. Why had the guy whisked her away from him like that? Something wasn’t adding up.
“Is that it?” the leader finally charged. “Or is there a ‘second off’?”
Her savior nodded at the gun. “Yeah. How about locking down the safety on that heat?”
Boss Man rolled his eyes. “Jesus. When did you become Safe Side Superchick?”
“When I boarded a flying can full of pressurized air with you. But hey, if you want to blow an accidental hole in the hull and render this bucket un-flyable—”