Page 53 of Mile High Heist

“Or what?” I challenged. “What will you do if I walk away?”

The Viper tilted his head, as if pondering the question. His eyes flicking to Martha, he said to her: “It is a shame what happened to that man in economy.”

In other words: I’ll keep killing the passengers.

Oblivious to the insidious undertone, Martha nodded dumbly. “Yes, very sad, indeed. I’m surprised a large plane like this one doesn’t employ an onboard physician. Perhaps I’ll draft a letter—”

“No,” I snapped, pounding my fist on the table. “No fucking way.”

“There it is,” the Viper mused, turning his sharpened gaze back to me. “That bleeding heart. You care about them. All those innocent people out there.”

“Some of them are innocent.”

“Not to me. Collateral is collateral.”

I gripped the table, hard enough to make my knuckles bleach. I knew what was coming, but the dramatic asshole couldn’t help but narrate it: “We will play seven rounds. Seven rounds for seven lives, innocent or not. Walk away, and they all expire.”

“Why seven?”

“Because, Noah, seven is my lucky number.”

Jaw clenching, I looked around the bar again. A dozen people, drinking, oblivious. Not to mention the five hundred other sods who had no idea that death was coming for them.

My eyes shuddered close.

“Heads or tails, Noah?”

There had to be another way. My brain crunched, pain shooting through my temples like a tightening band.

Fuck.

The Viper chuckled. “How about I call this one for you? Heads.” I tensed and opened my eyes, unable to not look.

He lifted his hand. “Fortune smiles. Heads.”

I exhaled.

He pushed the shot glass toward me. “Drink.”

Stiffly, I reached for it and considered tossing it in his smug face. But the room was watching. I felt it, even if I couldn’t pinpoint it.

I threw it back and swallowed, the burn familiar but for once unwelcome. Martha clapped giddily, making me flinch.

“Don’t you feel better?” she cooed.

My eyes shot to the passengers around me. No one suddenly collapsed or started convulsing. After Peter Vincelli’s sudden death, we suspected that it was fast-acting venom. Ten minutes at best.

He flipped the coin again.

Hand slapped down, covering it. “Heads or tails?”

Sweat beaded at my temples. I said nothing, and he called it again. “Tails.”

He lifted his hand.

“Ah. Another stroke of good fortune.”

I took the shot and barely tasted it. My stomach was threatening to punch through my diaphragm.