Page 62 of Mile High Heist

“Screw. You.”

I squeezed again, until her face turned a deep scarlet. “Who is she to you?”

She gasped up at me, hands clawing uselessly where I’d trapped them beneath my knees. She was weak and concussed. Soon her survival instincts would override her training. She knew she couldn’t run. She knew she couldn’t fight. So she’d crack, beg.

I loosened my grip and leaned over her, feeling her desperate breath against my skin. “You touched my things,” I whispered into her mouth, sealing her fate. My blood dripped onto her lips. Perfect. “You threatened mine. Now be a good girl and tell me what I want to know. Or you will die weak and begging.”

She trembled. Bloodshot eyes swiveled over my face, reading my intent.

Finally, she started to talk. I listened. Absorbed. Dissected and reshelved for later.

When she was done, I sank back on my heels. The plane jerked again, forcing me to brace against the server. I stared thoughtfully at the swollen flesh of my fingers.

There were more pieces on the board than I’d anticipated. More eyes watching from the shadows. Watching her.

I always knew Olivia was interesting.

You’re not done with her, my demons purred. When it came to Olivia, I’d barely scratched the surface.

Movement stirred beneath me.

Julie decided to strike for the last time. But not at me.

Rearing up, she slapped her hand over her throat. When she withdrew, a tiny pinprick of blood dribbled from her neck.

I grabbed her wrist, examining the ring. The tiny prong of venom. It was no cyanide tablet, no sudden or clean death. But it was clearly effective.

“Why didn’t you use this on me?” I mused. I hated unpredictability.

Perhaps she knew that.

She laughed through her suicide. Her lips swelled, her eyes bulged. The minutes ticked by as I watched her convulse, pink-tinged foam spilling from her mouth. Then, with one final jolt, she went still.

How disappointing.

I moved her body to the far wall, propping it up and out of sight. Then I plucked the prototype from the server and slipped it into my pocket. The plane shivered, but I hardly felt it.

Without the adrenaline, the apathy returned. The emptiness was reliable. A familiar void. It didn’t mask the pain, but it buried my ability to care about it.

I opened the hatch, revealing the pilots in mid-panic. Red lights and sirens filled the cockpit, a battle of men and gods.

“Navigation’s back online,” the copilot declared into the radio. Both pilots were distracted by the overwhelming response, allowing me to climb from the hatch and walk to the door unnoticed. I used my new shiny ID badge to open it and stepped through, closing the door behind me.

And then I stopped.

Because standing there in his usual heated glory was the giant idiot. Jax stepped back, his eyes darting over me. I stared back at him blankly.

“Fuck,” Jax exhaled. His bare arms glistened with sweat. He’d clearly been three seconds away from attempting to break down the cockpit door. “Fuck, Madoc. I thought—”

I didn’t care for his fussing. I stepped around him, but he caught me and shoved me back against the door.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, staring at my mouth. “You never bleed.”

That was where he was wrong. I’d spent my life bleeding. Most of it self-inflicted.

So like a true masochist, I gave him permission to touch. He didn’t waste a second. He groped along my sides, up my chest. He didn’t ask where does it hurt? because he knew me too well.

His hands were searing on my skin. He cupped my jaw, his eyes blazing beneath his furrowed brow.