by Nicole Snow
“Yeah, Grant, families. Plural. You think you're not included?” Hayds tips his glass in a small salute. Like I could forget. “Sure, I'll put my woman and little Abby first, second, and third. But you can stop right there, and think long and hard if you don't think I won't put it all on the line for my brother. You did the same for both of us, and you'd have never walked if Luke or I asked. If this Ethan you're looking for isn't down there, we're taking a trip to Europe. We'll crawl through every damned castle and catacomb if that's what it takes to find them.”
Well, shit. Deep down, maybe I'm a little touched. What more can I say?
“Don't know what the hell I'd do without you guys.” My confession sticks in my throat, but I force it.
Across from me, Hayden smiles, knocking back his shot.
It's enough. Don't need him to throw his arms around me and start with that touchy-feely crap. Sometimes, silence says enough, and the bond between us three musketeers is too strong for words.
Our contact at the airport didn't lie.
The plane is still on the runway when we roll to a stop. Ivory white, gold trim along the sides, bigger than ours. The Fabius corporate logo painted across it in a purple and gold French script. All I ever need to see to know I'm dealing with an entitled psychopath who thinks he can take what's mine, without paying heavy in hell.
Corbin went down without a serious fight. With Ethan, I doubt I'll get lucky twice, and I regret throwing this together without packing a bigger gun in my pocket.
“Ten minutes according to our man,” Luke says, turning the lock to undo his door as the service crew connects the stairs to his jet.”That's about how long we've got before security rolls up to deal with the commotion, or the asshole makes a break for France and has the US Air Force hot on his tail. Ten minutes, and that's being generous.”
“I hear you,” I say, preparing to take the steps two at a time.
Speed and clarity, don't fail me now. I'll need them to make a clean run for the French jet as soon I'm on the ground.
“We'll be right behind you,” Hayds says, backhanding my shoulder with a brotherly slap. “Wish we'd come better prepared.”
“No time. Our guys are trained, at least, and we've got guns.” Six of them, between the handguns we're holding, plus the heat being carried by our three security agents. “We've got plenty. This nut can't have a whole army hidden in his jet.”
Honestly, there's no telling what Ethan has in store for us. We have next to no intel on his plane. The investigators I hired to tail him, making sure he kept away from Bekah, never saw it once. They just mentioned a small crew for concierge and personal protection, like most men in his class.
Of course, if the fuck planned to kidnap my girl for awhile, then he's probably brought backup.
Too bad. I can't get bogged down in hypotheticals. I have to move.
I'm risking at least ten ways this could go bad with a quick strike, charging the eye of the storm, but there's no other choice. If the lunatic has his guards waiting to gun me down, or he sees us and tells his pilot to floor it, we'll all be in a world of hurt anyway.
This is our only chance. It's dangerous, it's improvised, and it's risky as hell, but all my chips have been in since the second we left NYC. Hell, screw poker chips, I'm talking about the other half of my soul, as long as he's holding Bekah.
I take a quick look through my binoculars. No signs of activity across the runway. Ethan's lights are on, and it takes me a few seconds to spy three figures through the circular windows. They move like small, dark insects in the distance, one of them throwing his arms around angrily.
I don't need a face to recognize his mannerisms. It's Monsieur Fuckface himself.
“I'm off on three,” I say, closing my eyes. “One...”
Will two seconds give me time to say a silent prayer? I can't do it with words, obviously, so instead I just picture her. I think in pictures.
See my girl as I remember her almost a year ago. Bekah, with her soft green eyes, honey skin, and moscato lips.
“Two...”
Bekah, with her voice like an angel. Every moan, every curse, every word of love as loud and true as it was the night I first carried her to bed. True as the last night we shared in my condo, when we lit a fire in the sheets I won't forget in this, or a hundred lifetimes.
Bekah alone. In pain. Not even calling out to me for help because her rat bastard father fed her too many lies. I can't fucking stand it.
“Three!”
My shoes hit the steel steps, clamoring like bullets. I fly down it, thankful for the storm brewing overhead. The rain beating down my face and shoulders in thick rivulets helps obscure our approach.
The killer angel wings and the axe tattooed to my chest have never burned this hard, or meant so much.
I've said my prayers, but I need to move, move, move to get her back.
The only way I'll have those delectable lips on mine again is if I'm able to hold her, set her mind straight, and convince her I'd never, ever betray her.
Not for a trillion dollars.
Not to heal the deep, ugly bruises on my ego.
Not even to see her wearing the ring burning a hole in my pocket even now. Not unless she's serious, wearing a smile on her face, showing me the love in her eyes that used to say forever.
“Just a little while longer, moscato,” I whisper to myself, crossing the long expanse between the two runways, moving at a speed sending equal fire to my lungs and knees. I don't slow down to check who's behind me, or how close. I'm too frantic. “Hold on, love. Forever's coming.”
14
Knife to a Gunfight (Bekah)
There's at least a hundred feet between us and the maniac at the front of the plane, but I hear him losing it just the same.
The cabin explodes in loud, rapid fire French for the thousandth time since he shuttled me into this jet, cuffed me to the bed behind the curtain, and left me alone with my baby boy and the panicked doctor.
I raise my head, and instantly regret it. Morphine shouldn't wear off this fast.
The doctor sitting on the stool across the small space from me looks up from his phone. He's a thin, young, disgruntled man, possibly Algerian by the thick French accent and olive skin. “Don't fret, madam. Please. We'll be calmer as soon as we're in the air, and –“
“Give me something for the pain,” I snap. “It hurts again. I'll scream if we have to take off like this.”
He looks more nervous than I do. For a second, I think he's going to fight me on it, but instead he just sighs, reaches for a pill bottle in the tiny box next to him, and shoves a couple small white ovals into my hand.
“Last you can take for a few hours. These won't help you sleep, I'm afraid. You'll have to suffer along with the rest of us while they sort out our schedule. Can't be too much longer before we're cleared for takeoff.”
I roll my eyes. Even he doesn't sound like he believes it when he talks about leaving. There's clearly something more going on.
We've been sitting here for hours. I overheard the security crew mention a wheel with retraction issues, and then get doubly heated when they said there was a 'hold' with the airport's control tower.
The doctor can't tolerate my angry, desperate eyes locked on him for long. He pulls open the curtain and steps out into the cabin for a walk.
I don't understand what's happening. Whatever it is, it's gotten the asshole holding me prisoner upset, and it can't be good for him.
I'm not sure whether I'm more hopeful we'll be saved at the last second, or terrified what Ethan will do if anyone tries.
With the painkiller numbing my blood, I struggle up, using my pillow stack for support. I have just enough strength to reach the baby carrier next to me where my little son doses, blissfully oblivious to the hellish life his mom's mistakes have given him.
“I'm so sorry, little guy,” I whisper. Gripping his tiny hand makes me forget my own discomfort.
This is it. Everything.
His life is all that matters now. I'll suffer through anything to protect it. Trade mine in a heartbeat if it keeps him safe and happy.
There's more shouting up front, something like a door creaking open. The commotion wakes my baby. He rolls, fidgeting his tiny hands against my finger, crying for a mother who's too screwed up and exhausted to even pick him up.
I'm new at this comforting a baby business. I do my best, whispering reassurance, squeezing his tiny palm, but it isn't enough. His screams drown out the furious chatter at the front of the plane. I know we're in trouble when I hear heavy footsteps approaching us at breakneck speed.
“What the hell is going on back here?” Ethan snarls, ripping the loose curtain aside. “Shut your little urchin up, cheri! We have enough fucking problems. Need to hear ourselves think! Make him stop, before I do it for you.”
I wince through the soreness in my body as I struggle, stooping low to pick him up. I'm thankful he can't understand this sadist's words.
Cradling my little man, I tuck his head under my chin. I'll become a human shield to protect the boy before I let him come one step closer.
“Sir, somebody's trying to get in!” There's more happening up front. One of the hired goons yelling to his master, and then a sound like metal shearing apart, maybe melting under a torch.
Ethan whirls around, bangs into the doctor, and grabs him by the shoulders. “Out of my way, fool!”
It's the last thing I hear before the enormous blast goes off near the cockpit. Men fly back through the cabin, twitching on the ground, stunned as wasps hit by a smoke bomb.
Oh, the analogy is perfect, too. Light grey smoke rolls through the cabin. I cover my nose as best as I can, and my baby's face, praying the plane isn't on fire.
“We have to move, madam!” The doctor holds out a hand, a scratch up the arm bleeding through his white coat. I'm reaching to grab it, grateful for a split second because the smoke is suddenly less thick, when more loud blasts ring out in quick succession.
Gunfire. The doctor stops holding out his hand and pulls me to the floor, careful to keep me on my side, protecting the baby. “Stay down,” he thunders in my ear.
I listen, struggling to breathe. I don't think it's possible for my heart to beat faster than this.
It must be a SWAT raid or something. A glimmer of hope, if I can keep my head down long enough, and survive with my little one.
Men fall several feet away, screaming as they hit the floor. I don't think the guys who went down with the first blast ever got up.
I'm grateful for the doctor's presence, one more shield around my baby, thicker than my own body if the worst reaches us. He breathes heavy in my ear, a cold mercenary who still has a shred of his soul somewhere deep in his body, praying quietly in hurried French.
I start counting the seconds. When I hit forty, it's eerily quiet, except for my baby son howling into my hand gently pressed to his mouth. I'm about to turn, and try to peer over the doctor, when a force like wind rips him away.
“Rebekah, come on! We'll go out the back.” Ethan's pale blue eyes roll wild in his head as he snatches at me desperately.
He's completely lost his mind. I'm picturing a long, sharp descent down a yellow emergency slide, and I know I'm too weak to hold my baby safely. “There has to be another way. I can't jump with the baby!”
Even the doctor rears up, grabbing at his leg as he seizes my hair, dragging me several paces across the narrow corridor. “No, sir! You can't! Can't do this with her. We're not equipped and she's in no condition! We should consider surrender if the only way out is to –“
“Quiet!” Ethan's polished toe hits the doctor's temple like a rock. His eyes wobble funny and flutter shut, his grip weakening. The lunatic kicks him away, grabbing at my hair with both hands, pitching me violently down the narrow space to the very back.
I'm screaming, or at least my mouth is open. My baby boy makes the noise for me, filling the plane with the terror I can't. Ethan throws us against the wall and pulls a metal handle shaped like a fire alarm in a building, except bigger.
It's so cold. Wind rushes in, fast and ferocious, as the plane's loading door opens, exposing the twenty or thirty foot drop into black night.
I don't see a slide, or any stairs to deploy. Oh my God.
“No! You can't do this, Ethan. For the love of –“ My voice cracks. I make one last attempt at reasoning with him because I can't do anything else, but I'm choked off because I know it's impossible.
It's hopeless.
There's no way they could've deployed a ramp for a proper emergency exit in the middle of this battle anyway, even if they had one.
He'll kill my baby, and quite possibly all three of us, if he thinks he's going to throw us out. His crazy eyes say he's way past caring, if he even understands me.
Worse, he sees the hesitation, the fear, in my eyes. His hand goes to his pocket, and when it comes out again, he's holding a switchblade. The silver tip gleams in the dim light, sharp and deadly, a fierce contrast with its gold handle.
“I need you to trust me, Rebekah. When I say jump, do it. You'll be perfectly fine.”
“Are you kidding? No...no, please!” He takes two steps forward, boxing me in, pushing me a little closer to the edge. “Please don't do this. Please.”
I open my eyes, and see the endless blackness before us.
Big mistake. The nighttime wind blows, colder than before, like feeling the breath of the reaper blowing its warning on my neck. Three, maybe four more feet, and we're done. My baby boy whimpers, as if he knows the peril we're in.
“You can't make me do this! I won't, you crazy asshole!”
“You will. I'm so sorry it's come to this, cheri,” he says, eerily calm as he tucks his hands under my shoulders, shoving me to the very edge. My heart, my lungs, my whole soul slow to a flicker. “It wasn't supposed to be this way, you understand. If we survive the fall, anything's possible. We'll run. I'll make it up to you when we're in Paris. I'll give you a new baby to replace him. I'll hand over the whole world for you, love. First, I just need you to close your eyes, lean forward, and –“
“You'll let her fucking go!” A human freight train slams into the maniac, pitching me against the wall as I'm thrown from his grip.
Scuttling backwards, I grab for the safety bar in the corner, hoping the crazy mass of snarling, punching, and kicking doesn't push us to our doom.
I'm in disbelief a second later, realizing what's happened. It's dark, but I'd recognize his voice, his body, anywhere.
Grant. My heart skips a beat.
I can't decide whether to be horrified or thankful. For now, it's a relief just knowing I'm not hitting the runway, clutching my helpless son as we plummet to our end.
If we live, we'll have all the time in the world to work this out. Right now, he's here, fighting for me.
Lover, cheater, and now my unlikely hero. And it isn't over.
Grant flings the wiry demon around in his grip, slamming Ethan's face against the metal floor as they roll, his beard smeared with grease or blood or maybe both. The men trade the upper hand every few seconds, barreling a little closer to the black chasm at the end of the plane that will almost certainly kill anyone who falls into it.
They're wild animals locked in a death match. It's blood, guts, and total war, with all the bone rattling punches and bloodcurdling screams a fatal contest entails.
It's a miracle my savior hasn't been cut to pieces yet. I see the knife come down near his face several times when Ethan is on his chest, stabbing erratically. Grant seizes his wrist, knocks the blade from his hand with a vicious grunt, but not before its edge nicks his cheek.
It's a small, but deep cut. Blood pours out like a thick red tear smeared across his cheek.
My baby can't see this. I hold my boy in his thin blanket a little tighter, pressing his forehead to my lips, his face to my neck.
Can't it just be over? I beg for it to just be over again and again and again.
Please, don't let them kill us.
Please, don't let Ethan walk away.
Please, make it fucking stop.
I close my eyes for a second, but it's too much to shut out. They're too violent for words. I watch Grant find the leverage he needs to pick the madman up, fling him against the wall, and scream while he does it. There's a deafening crack that's probably Ethan's shoulder dislocating.
The new disability just makes him more desperate. I think we're staring into the eyes of a frenzied bull as he crumples to his knees, his gross eyes on me, furious and determined as he summons one last burst of energy.
Men behind him close in, approaching us, calling Grant's name as they come closer.
“I'll never let him have you, cheri. If I can't have you in life, we'll go to our graves together,” he growls. “Together, as we're meant to be!”
“No!” Grant roars, grabbing him by the collar as he charges for me.
The violent recoil throws Ethan as he flies from Grant's hands, slams into the wall, and misses me with his arms. His foot stumbles over mine. There's no time to recover before he stumbles a step too far, disoriented, into the nothingness.
It seems like his lonely shriek never ends as he falls.
When it finally does, I hold my breath, summoning the energy to crawl to the edge where I can see, and look down.
It's so dark. Flashlights move across the pavement, swirling like tiny spotlights, illuminating his demon face. Ethan is still, blank, and twisted so awkwardly, he can't possibly be alive.
I have exactly one second to release the air from my lungs. Relief floods my body like anesthesia pulling me under. Soon, Grant's arms are on me, bringing me to him, his fierce eyes melting into mine.
“I can't believe you're here. Maybe you do care,” I whisper. Goosebumps pepper my skin now that my body knows it's safe, and it finally has the time to deal with the conflicted emotions storming through my nerves. “I'm so, so sorry, Grant. We have a lot to talk about...”
“I didn't come for an apology,” he says, more anger in his voice than I expect. His eyes glow flame blue, demanding answers. “Who's the little boy, moscato?”