Page 122 of Mile High Heist

I charged down the aisle, chest rattling, brain pulsing behind my eyes. The plane shuddered violently, causing the overheads to pop open, luggage spitting out. One clipped my shoulder, but I was already jumping over the next one.

I could taste my lungs. I made a silent vow to quit smoking if I survived this. After I smoked a pack and drank myself into a well-deserved coma.

The air became thinner every second. It was like breathing through a straw as I sucked in as much air as I could. I bashed into the next galley, ignoring the startled cries of the flight attendants strapped in their jump seats.

No time, no time, no time.

Then I saw them.

Up ahead, approaching the rear door. The Viper knew better than to expose his back. They were shuffling sideways, with the gun pressed to Olivia’s head. His eyes swung around the cabin, expecting an ambush.

He’d fucking get one.

I ducked low and slipped between the middle row. A stray foot kicked out at me. I bared my teeth before I looked up into the petrified face of a woman and her toddler.

The toddler was screaming. Red-faced, fighting his mask. The mother stared down at me like I was her worst nightmare.

She’d be right. A dull throb echoed in my chest, pulling at my seizing lungs.

They deserved better. Madoc had better save that pilot.

I sucked in a pained breath and pointed behind her, so she knew I didn’t intend to stay. She surprised me by reaching up and pulling off her mask. I shook my head at her, but she was already extending it toward me.

Damn.

I jammed it over my mouth and took a harsh, grateful breath. Then I thrust it back at her and made sure she had it secured before I moved on.

It wasn’t quite anger that surged through me at the unexpected kindness. It was something else. Something that burned away any last shred of exhaustion or pain.

Keeping low, I edged closer to the rear door. I inhaled sharply. Used the extra oxygen to close the distance between us.

There was movement ahead of me.

It was Ryle, crouched low about six rows ahead, ready to spring. I flashed him a quick signal, and he nodded. His hand cupped his mouth, a desperate attempt to trap more air.

We had two, maybe three minutes.

Ryle pointed ahead of him, where I assumed Nate was also crouched in the next row of seats, closer to the door. I held up three fingers, then pointed at myself and made a fist.

Ryle pouted.

He hated this plan, but I didn’t care. It had worked in the past, usually when we were cornered and had no other options.

Distract. Rush. Ambush.

It was a delicate balance between timing, coordination, and sheer dumb luck. Ryle made the same signal to Nate, and then we moved forward from our respective positions, crawling closer to the emergency door.

I peeked over the rows of cabin seats. The Viper was dangerously close to the exit. He was shouting something at Olivia—I couldn’t hear it over the hurricane roaring through the cabin. She was nodding along, her face scrunched up.

The Viper lowered the gun and reached for the door’s emergency release.

Now!

I popped up like a whack-a-mole. “Hey fucker!”

The Viper swung around in alarm. Olivia gaped at me, then screamed when the Viper whipped his gun up to shoot me.

Then Ryle jumped up from his position to my far right with both middle fingers waving. The gun swung to him instead.