by Angel Payne
“Fine, fine.” The leader thumbed the lever into place. “Christ. I let you get away with so much cheek.”
“Yeah, yeah. Flattery still won’t get me to suck face with you.”
“Bite me.”
“No, thank you. Not into mini sausage.”
Zoe couldn’t decide which ordeal was worse, their bro-flirt banter or the sudden explosion that interrupted it. The blast, visible through the windows on the plane’s left side, rocked the whole aircraft. When another followed, closer and to the right, the airliner listed to the left.
Zoe burrowed into Brynn. They didn’t let go of each other even after “Kamikaze” realigned the plane. Shrieks, profanities, and horrified bellows punched the air.
Mierda. Her friend was right last night. Irony was a douche. She and Brynn had originally bonded because they were adrenaline junkies, joining Jacy and Holli for a four-girl ride on Insanity at The Stratosphere on their first girls’ night out. There was a big damn difference between roller coaster terror and real terror. She’d endure the pretend Insanity every day over this ordeal.
Everyone’s attention swung toward the front of the plane again. Zoe could only discern that someone from the airline’s crew had attempted to tangle with one of the hijackers. Stripes on the man’s uniform confirmed that the brave soul was one of the pilots, obviously not as disabled as the hijackers preferred. Zoe was joined by many others in wincing as the man was subdued by the bad guy, who fought like Bruce Lee incarnate.
As the ninja tore out a coffee maker cord and hogtied the pilot with it, another hijacker burst from the cockpit and raced down the aisle toward the leader. “We’re through the magic mirror, boss. Officially in A-51 airspace.”
“Really?” Growl Man’s rejoinder dripped with sarcasm. “Thanks for the update. And here we were, thinking we’d simply crossed paths with a psychotic skeet shooter.”
“Hey.” His leader glared. “Play nice, assface.” He cocked his head. “That’s normally not a problem for you. What the fuck has crawled up your backside?”
“Other than knowing that those two shots were purposeful misses? And that the next one won’t be?”
For some strange reason, the guy finished by sweeping another glance down at her and Brynn. For an even stranger reason, Zoe wished he’d do it again. Despite his gentle-as-a-porcupine manner, there was a protectiveness in him, a ferocity that made her feel he’d leap in front of bullets for her, if this nightmare came to that.
Caramba. This was crazy. A textbook case of captive falling for predator to lessen the terror of the trauma. She needed to get real again. The leader of these lunatics had just shot a man’s kneecap off for tossing a little lip. The ninja up front had taken out both pilots, the air marshal, and a flight attendant in about two dozen punches. All these men were one mental snap away from actually exacting lives for their cause.
It was clear. She couldn’t afford the luxury of trusting in silly romance anymore. Fate had given her some incredible hours with Shane, but that kind of lightning didn’t strike twice. If she wanted the memories of him to live on, she had to live—and stop imprinting his qualities onto this coldhearted criminal.
The engines changed speed again, coinciding with a shift in altitude. They were already descending. The comprehension hit her with hope and dread in the same heartbeat. Boss Man didn’t aid her conflict by hauling her back to her feet and then pulling Brynn up after her. “They’re not going to fire again,” he said to his skeptical minion, “and our sweet dancerina dolls are going to help seal that deal.”
Zoe kept her fingers twisted into Brynn’s. She nodded back to the man who held the bloody mess that had once been his knee. “What about wrapping him?”
“Changed my mind,” the man drawled. “You can fix him up when we’re safely on the ground—which now makes him a good incentive for helping us out. Right, honey?”
Her nerves screeched like a fork on glass. It was the second time the man used the endearment on her. Two times too many. Growl Man seemed to agree. His tall frame tensed and he stepped closer, once more giving off an aura of protectiveness she couldn’t ignore—but had to resist. Those two factors, as well as the situation they came wrapped in, contributed to her own snarl of a response.
“Fine. Let’s get this the hell over with.”
* * *
If this experience was nerve-wracking from the cabin, it was a composure killer from the copilot’s seat in the cockpit.
Zoe bit her lip as she looked out the windows, across the desert and its palette of tan, sage, and copper. The Sheep Mountains glowed in the morning sun up ahead, flanked by the Spring Mountains to the west and the Muddy Mountains in the east. The valley they formed was filled with the sprawling checkerboard of the Las Vegas metropolis.
Weirdly, she remembered the first time she’d seen this landscape, from the passenger’s window of Ry’s Acura as they’d approached down Highway 15. To a born-and-raised Tacoma girl, the vistas around Vegas had been an alien world, stark and unforgiving, but the last three and a half years had taught her differently. The desert was now full of many textures, moods, and colors—and it was home.
No. It was only the start of what she knew as home.
Home was also the couch back in Tacoma, where she’d cried so many times on Papi’s strong shoulders over blown auditions or asshole boyfriends. Home was happy hour at Commonwealth with Ry, clinking dirty martinis and making up naughty labels for every hunk who walked in the door. Home was going to be the altar at the winery in Sonoma, when she watched her little sister walk down the aisle to begin her new life as Mrs. Ethan Archer.
She had to get home.
She couldn’t die today. She wouldn’t die today.
The affirmation gave her the strength to raise her head. And push words out of her lips.
“Okay. I’m ready.”
Boss Man’s lips lifted the inner edges of his ski mask. “Good girl.”
Zoe glared. “Let’s not go there again, pendejo. Just tell me what the hell to say so we’re not blown out of the sky.”
His mouth sobered, but his eyes retained the gleam, still going for the tease. Zoe barely refrained from shuddering, but was glad she did when another hijacker leaned in, punching a button on the console that made her dizzy from its levers, switches, and lights. Two fingers of his other hand tapped his thigh, confirming he was the status messenger they’d seen before.
“Hello? Hello? Sunset flight four-oh-three, do you copy?” came a frantic baritone from the cockpit speakers. “Sunset four-oh-three, be advised that this will be our final attempt to communicate with your aircraft. We’ve intercepted passenger cell transmissions from your plane, and we know what’s going on. We’re willing to discuss demands, but if you don’t alter course out of this airspace now, you’ll be blasted out of the—”
“No!” Zoe screamed it. “Don’t shoot! You’ll be killing hundreds of innocent civilians!” They’d never coached her what to say, but it felt logical. And terrifyingly truthful.
“Errr, to whom am I speaking?” Now the baritone almost sounded like a different person. Zoe was grateful for the guy’s gentler side. Adrenaline and stress still techno-stomped her nerve endings. “Hello?” the man prompted again. “Identify yourself at once, ma’am. To make this perfectly clear, we’re not fucking around anymore.”
“Neither are these guys,” Zoe snapped. “The air marshal’s unconscious. They used some kind of Jedi-ninja chokehold on him. His gun’s been used to shoot another man. The guy’s not dead but bleeding a lot, and they won’t allow him medical attention until we land. There are more bullets in the gun, and I’m certain this man will use them if provoked.”
Boss Man let out a satisfied whoosh. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. Thank you, honey.”
“Fuck off,” she retorted.
A harrumph rustled the connection. “Sounds like you’re doing your best to keep those scumsuckers in line, young lady.”
Zoe tried to smile, appr
eciating the man’s attempt at comfort. “I’m not sure that’s what I’d call it, sir. Sometimes you just have to put one foot in front of the other.”
“Spoken like some of my best soldiers.”
“Or some of my best dancers.”
“What’s your name, firecracker?”
“Zoe Chestain. I live in Vegas.”
“Zoe, I’m General Kirk Newport. I’m going to do my best to get you get home safely.”
Any thread of ease she’d allowed herself was canceled by the pistol’s barrel, pressed to her temple with ruthless force. “Social hour’s over,” the leader barked. “Stay on task, dancerina.”
Zoe dipped a tense nod. “General, this man is serious.” Panic started to win over composure. Her chin trembled. Her words wobbled. “Please, please let him land the damn plane.”
Boss Man ground the pistol tighter against her head. “Beautifully spoken, Miss Chestain, but I believe General Newport already knows how serious I am. Don’t you, Kirk baby?”
Curiosity snuck in around her fear. Kirk baby?
“Cameron. It’s been too long. Wish I could say it’s a pleasure to have found the rock you crawled back out from, but you know the adage. Honesty’s the cornerstone of a great relationship.”
Okay, there was history between these two. Would that bode well or worse for a safe landing once they got done with their pissing match?
“Honesty.” The man behind her sounded like he’d just chomped a cyanide pill. “Have you ever known a day of the shit in your life, Kirk?”
“And do you really want to dredge up the past now?”
“‘The past.’ That’s what you’re calling it now?”
The general let a low snarl reverberate through the line. “I’m two minutes away from giving those F-18s permission to fly back in and blow your ass out of the sky.”
“But you won’t.”
“That so, dickwad? Then you’re crazier than I thought, Cam.”
“I prefer calculated risk taker, but you call it like you see it. We’ll see what the world says, after those jets blow a packed commercial airliner to shreds.”
Brynn, pinned against the cockpit’s entry threshold by the ninja who’d taken down the flight crew, let out a sharp whimper. Zoe twisted her hands together in her lap until they burned.
“Was that really your plan, Cam? You think the upper muck gives a shit about the PR fallout of this? You remember everything that’s at stake here, don’t you?”
Slowly, the pistol barrel slid away from her face. Zoe still didn’t let herself breathe, unsure whether to exhale in relief or start confessing her sins before death. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I used a lot of bad words yesterday. Then there’s the issue of the man who gave me two orgasms that I’ll confess, but only if you let me remember…
Her captor spoke again. His determined tone revealed nothing about whether to finish her supplication.
“I remember everything, my friend,” he stated. “And that’s why I’ve left a memory stick of very interesting information with…let’s say a dear friend. If I don’t leave the base within twenty-four hours with this plane full of our valuable new guests, my friend will know to take that information to the nearest news outlet.”
A long pause preceded the general’s response. Zoe glanced at Brynn, whose thin lips confirmed her suspicions. The man was taking a moment to seethe.
“You wouldn’t fucking dare.”
“Kirk.” The word was a tease in its condescension. “You know, for better or worse, I’m a man of my word.”
The general was noisier about his fury now. There was a loud thump, several seconds of static, and then a harsh grate. “And if I do give you clearance, you jizz-slurping shit?”
“My friend feeds the stick to his pet crocodile.” The guy actually laughed. “It’ll go well with the clock, right?”
Newport’s reaction, once more sucking up an interminable pause, gave her lots of time to stare at her hands, still torture-twisting in her lap. She listened to Brynn make an attempt for normal breathing. In the meantime, the pilot took the aircraft lower, aiming for a set of domed buildings that appeared like a collection of buttons on the desert floor.
Newport finally clicked back on. “Sunset four-oh-three, you have clearance to land at KXTA,” he bit out. “Groom Lake Tower will guide you in, but you must patch to them on secured radio frequency. Dial in your radio accordingly.”
“Thank God.” Brynn’s whisper was thick and tearful. Zoe longed to echo her friend’s outlook but was stopped by a volition from deep inside, an instinct she couldn’t explain. The tension in Newport’s voice was only her first trigger. The weird energy flowing off Cam the Boss Man was the second. His anticipation bordered on violence, creeping her out even more.
“General Newport,” he drawled with scary serenity. “Thank you for your time. A pleasure, as always.”
“Fuck you, Stock.”
The hijacker next to her cut off the line with a low laugh. His boss joined him. Brynn fell silent again. Zoe just gulped, battling the chaos of her mind, now revving toward a dreadful conclusion.
“Ay Dios mio,” she stammered.
One trigger. Two triggers. And now the third, slamming into her with the force of a Mack truck.
Fuck you, Stock.
The lead hijacker’s name was Stock. Cameron Stock.
She knew that name. With horrific clarity.
As the director of Dress Blues, the TV show Ava had worked on as a stylist, the man had once been her sister’s well-liked boss—until he’d colluded with the terrorist who’d almost killed Ava and Ethan. That radical, Ephraim Lor, had been shot and killed in their failed plot to launch nuclear warheads at all the western states, but Stock had escaped and been a ghost ever since.
Not anymore.
Not here, where he shared a fist bump with his minion as his pilot guided the plane lower. Not now, a moment in which he indulged in a victory that had come from the fear and pain of others.
No. He wasn’t invisible anymore.
Which meant Zoe no longer had to guess where to aim her fury, frustration, and hatred.
She whirled and sprang to her feet. As she’d hoped, the move landed her in front of Stock. Fear almost slammed her back down, but desperation and exhaustion—likely mixed with stupidity—rejuiced her bravery, firing up her arm. In one whisk, she ripped Stock’s cap off his head. The stunned expression on his square quarterback face was practically worth the risk by itself—but she wanted more out of the bastard than his shock.
Preferably his blood.
“Percanta,” she spat. “You’re dirty and disgusting, and so are all your trained monkeys.”
The weasel lunged at her, but Stock shoved the guy back, not wavering his insolent grin. “But I like monkeys. Don’t you…Miss Chestain? Hmmm. I knew another Chestain once. Well, I didn’t know her, if you follow me. Not that I didn’t want to. Seemed like she’d be a good fuck, but just never—”
Zoe punched the man as hard as she could.
It felt great.
She wanted more.
Growl Man’s entrance into the cockpit only spiked her rage higher, especially at herself. She’d practically had gooey panties over the cabrón. Had let herself tremble from the timbre of his voice and practically thanked him for yanking her away from Stock’s flirtation. But he wasn’t some noble antihero. Putting Stock’s face to this crime had crystallized the realization. Whatever had motivated each of these men to this act, which remained a mystery, they were still criminals, crawling in the sludge just shy of terrorism.
As Ryder would say, damn straight. Not a drop more of her misplaced hormones would be wasted on the creep. Unmasking him would help her accomplish that better than anything else.
“What the hell’s going on?” His growl was back in place, just as daunting and riveting as ever, but Zoe only smiled at it now. She was immune to it now. Empowered. In control.
She stomped toward the guy. Growl Man coun
tered by shuffling backward.
Which wasn’t supposed to happen. Nor was it supposed to make the hairs on the back of her neck turn to spikes. What the hell?
“Boss,” he leveled, “why the fuck are you letting her—”
“Everyone calm down,” Stock ordered. “Just calm the hell down and—”
“Have you flipped?” Growl Man snapped. “Put your lid back on.”
“Okay, listen. Your cheek isn’t cute anymore. You want to help? Restrain your little gal-pal, dickwad. We’re landing this bird in twenty minutes, damn it, and—”
Zoe cut Stock off. By shrieking.
It was the closest description of the sound her throat made after she reached, uncapping Growl Man—who shocked her by not letting out a single growl.
And stunned her even more by looking just like—
“No.”
He didn’t just look like Shane. He was Shane.
“No.”
It all made such sense now. Horrible, hideous sense. His strange behavior last night after she’d told him her flight information. The way her body reacted to the vibrations beneath his careful growls just minutes ago. But she’d refused to believe it. Had denied the horror of it.
The most magical lover of her life was a criminal. Had helped to take hundreds of people hostage at thirty thousand feet. Had assisted in nearly getting them all shot out of the sky.
This isn’t happening. This is your sleep-deprived mind manifesting a disgusting nightmare. Just keep standing. Reality will kick back in soon.
She continued to blink, certain it would happen. Positive he’d become someone different. An outlaw with bad breath and a broken nose. Someone without that pleasure-giving mouth. That alluring, dominant jaw. Those thick, dark waves that felt so good between her fingers…and her thighs.
“Zoe.” He turned her name into a ragged prayer. “Zoe—”
“Don’t,” she gritted. “He’s a monster, and so are you!”
He grabbed her by both elbows. She wrenched and shoved. Run! Run! But where? She didn’t care. Anywhere, even a few feet away, would be better than what she did now, curling trembling fingers into his black shirt. What the hell was she doing? Even her damn hands betrayed her, reaching for the flawless muscles beneath his clothes, seeking the sweet pleasure they’d given her last night, instead of this awful nightmare.