Page 103 of Bared

That plane.

And getting Jayd onto it.

Fast.

“Brickham!”

“I hear you!” He dialed back from the bellow at Oz once he tucked his mouth next to Jayd’s ear. “And you need to hear me, sweetheart. This ride’s about to get bumpy but don’t you dare let go until I get you to the plane. You got that, Pixie? Do. Not. Let. Go!”

He waited for her brave yes, Sir. Instead, he got a couple of urgent nods. Good enough for now. It had to be. Neither of them had any choice about how this had to go down.

Or more accurately, what had to surge ahead.

His two legs.

Holy fuck, it was hard. His muscles, at the mercy of his brainwaves, fought to process the Mach 10 adrenaline spike. He force-fed the impulses to them, homing his attention on everything from his ass down. Everything north of that was on automatic do-or-die mode, desperately holding Jayd close. He added to the protection as much as he could, hunching over her while bolting forward.

Fuck. This had to go right the first time.

The only chance he’d have.

Mentally, he charted a course to the plane’s waiting stairs. Yeah, it was a giant middle finger at fate, as well as his own mortality. But this wasn’t a luxury buffet of opportunity. In the next few seconds, the Audi would be shot up like Butch Cassidy’s poor mule.

Every choice mattered now. They needed to be the right ones.

But the last time he’d been in hot water this deep, he’d trusted all his eggs to the right choices. They’d ended in disaster.

Apparently, dysfunction loved company.

He even smiled about that one, as he got within two bounds of the stairway.

Then smiled even wider, looking up to see Requiemme ducking into the aircraft with Fox’s help.

Oz was positioned halfway down the stairway, now brandishing—and using—a handgun. Brick almost tapped into some valuable lung power to swear at the guy. Was he really trying to give them cover fire with a pistol? There was no custom barrel or sighting system on his piece, so he couldn’t be thinking of hitting anything at this long range.

Unless it wasn’t such a long range anymore.

Fuuuckkk.

The word billowed in his brain as the air crackled and roared around him. And while the violence pushed him forward, it wasn’t what compelled him to keep going, carrying Jayd up the daunting steel stairs.

The drive for that belonged to the whisper beneath it all.

The fervent words, in sweet strands of Arcadian, beseeching her creator with all the force of her soul. A force he could feel now too. A pull belonging to a bigger entity than him—or even her. A belief that overrode every screaming muscle in his body, wrapping him in powerful purpose, lifting his steps and filling him with determined fire…

Until the fire flared too hot.

And then too cold.

So. Fucking. Cold.

Every move he could still make. Every thought he could still form. Every awareness he could still acknowledge—though they were dwindling by the moment.

Until there was only one.

Jayd.

His perfect pixie.