Page 112 of Mile High Heist

A fist smashed into the side of my face.

My head whipped to the side, iron flooding my mouth. A pale hand snapped out in front of me, blocking the next hit.

I was dazed. Seeing spots.

Then I was seeing red.

I charged like a bull, ripping back the fuckers trying to reach her. On the third step, my shoe slipped in blood. I grabbed the railing, balancing as the plane threatened to tip us like marbles in a tin can.

Olivia panicked. She came to the top step, then looked back at the angry horde behind her.

I braced my burning knee and opened my arms. “Right here, baby!”

Olivia ran. She ran and launched herself down the last few steps straight into my chest.

My hand cradled her head, bloody knuckles gripping tight. I wrapped her up and spun us around, using my body like a shield.

Madoc glanced over at me, then at Olivia in my arms. His jaw ticked, dark bruises molting across his face. His nose was bloody. His eyes were blazing, protective, possessive. A reflection of mine.

I pointed above his head. He nodded in understanding.

We had to get out of the thoroughfare. Madoc cleared a path for us toward premium economy. Olivia squealed as someone tried to grab her. I punched the fucker so hard, he was still spinning like a bottlecap when I looked back.

We made it to the galley. I pressed Olivia to the wall and shoved the nearby trolley in front of the opening. It wasn’t enough. A pack of ten or so bloodthirsty lawyers bolted towards us down the aisle. Individually, they were easy targets. None of them were fighters. None of them had the credentials for violence and mayhem that we had. But as a pack, they were unrelenting. When one went down, another was ready to take his place.

“Stop, just stop!” The flight attendant, Marcus, was trying to call for order from across the cabin. “This is madness!”

He was quickly shoved aside.

Then they were climbing over the trolley like mindless fucking androids. Hands grabbing, faces desperate. One of them had the balls to shout: “She’s just a girl! Give her up!”

I punched him out.

If I could give her up, I would’ve done it months ago. That was the problem. She was under my skin, burrowed into my chest. The thought of any of them touching her made my blood boil.

She was my problem, and she’d stay my fucking problem.

A body slammed back into me.

I raised my fist on instinct, then paused when I realized it was Madoc. The swarm had driven him back. He was breathing hard. We both were.

We couldn’t keep it up. Not like this. Not forever.

I grabbed Madoc and pulled him into my chest. “Stay here,” I grunted in his ear. “I’m going to end this.”

His lip curled in a snarl. He didn’t like the idea of staying behind. Too bad.

One of us had to guard the princess. And I didn’t trust anybody else.

I launched over the trolley and fought my way through the tide. I tried to punch out as many as I could to buy us some time. My knuckles were raw. Pretty sure two of my fingers were broken. My stab wounds were bleeding again—I could feel the one around my knee dripping down my leg and pooling in my shoe.

Blood loss aside, I was still going strong.

When I reached the cockpit, I limped toward the door and smashed my fist against it. I did it again, and again, until pain radiated down my wrist.

Finally, the phone rang.

I picked it up and barked: “Call them off!”