Page 27 of Mile High Heist

I finished my drink and stood. “Good chat,” I grunted. I turned to leave just as the plane jolted. It made me stumble like a drunk donkey.

“You look unsteady,” the man observed. “You should sit back down.”

“Look, guy,” I said, no longer willing to play nice. “No offense, but you’re not my type.”

“What’s your type?”

I stared at him. Was he actually curious or just fucking with me? I suspected the latter.

“Blondes with great tits,” I said bluntly.

“Hmm.” He took another drink, considering me. “Are you sure?”

That itchy, overly exposed feeling struck me again. “The fuck are you implying?”

“Nothing. Just making conversation, Jax.”

My blood ran cold.

Jax.

How the fuck did he know my name?

The stranger continued to watch me, his ring finger tapping his glass mockingly. “Sit back down,” he said softly. It was no longer a suggestion.

I reclaimed the two steps between us and towered over him.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“You insult me.” He tapped his finger to his chest, over a shiny silver lapel pin. It was in the shape of a V.

My eyes snapped back to his face. A cold dread settled in my gut. I wanted to be wrong. I knew I wasn’t.

V for Viper.

Holy shit.

My brain slammed into hyperdrive. I took him in again, noting the coiled tension of his frame, the predatory keenness of his eyes. His fingers were long and careful, like a surgeon’s hands. Knowing what I did of his reputation, he’d certainly sliced up enough people in his lifetime.

With great effort, I unhinged my jaw and said: “We’ve never crossed paths before.”

“No, we haven’t,” he agreed. “You and your little Crows are low on the food chain. I don’t care much for thieves. It’s dishonest work.”

“Says the killer for hire.” I shot a quick look around the bar. At least seven witnesses, not including the bartender.

He didn’t bother disputing it. He knew what he was. The Vipers were another crew working under Dr.Z. They were ruthless assassins who used venom to incapacitate their victims before taking them apart. No one ever wanted to be on their radar.

My gut burned. The plane shuddered again, making me grip onto the bar.

At least, I hoped it was the plane shuddering.

My eyes shot to my empty drink.

“Relax,” he said, still watching me intently. “If I poisoned you, you wouldn’t be standing.”

I sneered. “Why else would you be here?”

“That’s up to you, Jax. Now sit. Don’t be rude.” The threat was soft and delicate. I bristled, hating the slithery sound of it. I sat heavily, tensed and ready to strike.