Page 110 of Mile High Heist

Nate was plunging his broken bottle into a man’s leg when three others rushed him and overwhelmed him. Two held his arms while the third delivered a brutal blow to his temple. He was knocked out cold

Ryle roared in fury and tackled the man who’d knocked out Nate. There was a harsh, wet sound and then Ryle reared back, his bloody teeth flashing.

Had he…bitten him?

The man howled and cupped his face. Then a woman launched at Ryle’s back, strangling him. Another delivered a blow to Ryle’s face.

“Ryle!” I cried.

I tried to move to help him, but a large man stepped into my path, a vicious glint in his beady eyes. I aimed a kick at his balls, but he was fast, catching my ankle with one hand and pinning me against the wall with the other.

“Come along, bitch,” he sneered, and tossed me over his shoulder like an old rug. I stabbed at his back, but it only made him move faster.

When we emerged from the suite, the cabin cheered.

Cheered.

A lump formed in my throat. Even upside down, I couldn’t mistake the malicious glee in their faces. These perfect strangers, who probably worked in high-rise buildings, drank overpriced coffee, spent their weekends at the country club. They cheered for my capture like I was a virgin sacrifice about to be thrown into a volcano.

“Wait, stop!” I cried, hoping to appeal to some shred of humanity left within them. “Don’t. please. Don’t let him take me!”

The lawyers laughed.

Cheered again.

I couldn’t believe this was happening.

A large hand swatted my ass. Humiliation burned through me, hotter than anger. I stabbed my fork into his spine and twisted.

That, finally, made him stumble.

We hit the floor and I rolled, then scrambled on my hands and knees through a sea of grabby hands.

“Get her!” Someone bellowed.

My hands were tacky with blood, none of it mine.

I saw my opening between a pair of legs near the galley. With a burst of speed, I shot through them, then stumbled to my feet and ran.

There was only one destination in my mind. One person.

Jax.

Find Jax.

31

JAX

Cartilage cracked beneath my knuckles.

I was sure I had a dream about this once.

Well, not this, exactly. Never, in my wildest fucking dreams could I cook up this level of chaos. We were trapped on a plane, an hour from landing, with a zombie horde of lawyers trying to take us down. I’d done some drugs in my life, smoked some wacky shit. Somehow, reality proved to be the biggest trip of all.

I swung my fist again, straight into the bespeckled face of another lawyer who tried to rush past me. We’d made it as far as the staircase before the floodgates opened. Panic soured the air. The plane rocked and rattled around the pendulum of violence.

I was in my element.