Page 105 of Mile High Heist

I grinned back at him. I couldn’t help it. Madoc in psychopath mode was something else. People thought it was his default, but I knew better. He wasn’t innately cruel; he was just fucking good at it.

The phone stopped ringing.

Not three seconds later, it started up again. Even the ringing sounded desperate.

“He’s panicking,” Madoc mused, his eyes dark. We were so close that I saw the glee beneath the apathetic mask. I’d bet my left nut he was hard as rock right now.

I almost asked. It was right there, on the tip of my tongue. We could die any minute. Fuck, we’d already nearly died at least a half dozen times since boarding the plane.

Unloading in Olivia’s mouth wasn’t enough. It scratched the itch, but it woke the beast.

The phone kept ringing.

On the fourth attempt, I finally turned and answered it gruffly: “You ready to talk?”

“I fucking warned you!” His voice was notably wheezier.

My shoulder hit the wall. I said nothing. Madoc watched me, drinking in my expressions. I grabbed his shirt and dragged him closer, then propped the phone between us. I ignored the rush of heat that shot through me at the proximity.

By now, I’d come to accept that I had…inappropriate responses to stress.

“Don’t you ignore me!”

“You’re not listening,” I said calmly. His breath rattled. “You can still survive this. Come out, and we’ll patch you up. I know a guy who’s good with stitches.”

Madoc smirked.

“No,” he snapped. He coughed, and it took him a whole minute to recover. In a raspier voice, he growled: “I’m not scared to die. There are far worse things than death.”

Madoc tilted his head, his eyes drilling into mine. “Dr Z,” I said, filling in the blanks. “I’m not fucking scared of him.”

The snake laughed wetly. “He is not the one I’m referring to.”

What the hell did that mean? The Vipers only had one master. They were Dr. Z’s prized killers.

“Then who are you talking about?” I demanded. “Speak plainly, snake. No more fucking riddles.”

“Give me what I want, and hopefully you’ll never find out.”

I shifted, the pain in my ribs flaring up hot. Too many stab wounds, too many fucking hoops. I was done. “Listen. You got, what? An hour? Maybe two if you get to a hospital. Your best chance is to land the plane. Do that, and my trigger-happy executioner here won’t rip out your spleen and force you to eat it.”

Madoc’s mouth pressed flat. His equivalent of a pout. He was itching to draw blood.

The snake fell silent.

His breath rattled.

“No,” he eventually snarled. “No, no, no. You will give me what I want.”

His desperation was peaking. We were walking a fine line. The trick was to push him far enough. No more options. No other way out.

Part of me wanted to hear him beg. I also had a cruel streak. I wanted him to suffer.

Madoc’s mouth curled up at whatever dumb expression I had on my face. Usually, I relied on him to do the torturing, but that didn’t mean I didn’t like to watch.

Hell, apparently, we both liked to watch.

“Here’s my final offer,” I said. “You come out of your little hole, toss the gun, and I’ll give you a first aid kit. I won’t snap your slithery neck. You can take your parachute and fuck off.”