Page 70 of Mile High Heist

I shook my head like trying to clear an etch-a-sketch, then winced. Nope. Don’t do that.

Then the plane rocked and angled hard to the other side, and I slid with it. My body slammed into the opposite wall. Pain rocketed through my back. My spine is fucking broken, I thought. But I could still move my arms and legs, so when the aircraft levelled out, I pushed up and staggered drunkenly to my feet.

A tinny voice broke through the growling engine: “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are experiencing some mild turbulence. The seatbelt sign has been turned on.”

Mild? Yeah fucking right.

I looked around, searching for the slithery fuck amongst the maze of cargo containers. I barely caught my breath when the plane swung again and I scrambled to brace myself on a railing.

But this time, there was a loud, metallic snap.

Before I could identify what it was, something sharp sliced into my side. I glanced down just in time to watch the gimlet blade pull out of my torso.

I turned with a snarl. “You fucking prick.” Blood spilled hot and warm down my ribs. “What happened to that so-called honor?”

The Viper held up his bloody gimlet knife with a vicious smile. “There is no honor amongst thieves, Jax.”

I launched at him, just as gravity decided to disappear again. We were thrown into the air like a tossed fucking salad. I thrust out my arms just in time to avoid faceplanting into a pile of luggage.

Groaning, I rolled onto my side. A shadow fell over me, and I tensed automatically, fists curling, ready to strike.

“Idiot.”

Madoc knelt over me, his features demonic in the flashing emergency lights. His eyes were dark and glistening, full of deadly intent. He was breathing hard.

I sat up, searching for my Viper. With any luck, he’d be impaled on something.

“He stabbed you.” Madoc’s hand pressed to my bleeding side. I took him in just as urgently—the blood on his nose, the cut above his eyebrow, the missing buttons on his shirt.

“I’m fine,” I said, knocking him away. But I spoke too soon.

Twisting around, I threw up into someone’s open luggage. Then I sat back onto my knees and stared at the open suitcase just beside it.

No fucking way.

Madoc, who’d been hovering over my shoulder, hummed in pure sadistic delight.

He reached in and took a whip, which had sharp metal tassels that could strip skin. Jesus fuck. There were also strap-ons, ball gags and butt plugs—everything one needed for a business trip to Zurich.

They wanted to fight dirty. We’d fight fucking dirty.

I picked up a leather corded whip and a thick, twelve-inch metallic dildo. Madoc chuckled beside me as he stood. I heaved myself to my feet and searched out my prey.

“You know how to use that?” he asked me.

I curled my fingers around the thick metallic base. “For this? Sure.” I glanced at him. “You?”

Madoc met my eyes, bloody brow twitching. The sly look on his face made my mouth run dry.

Holy shit.

My mind blanked, and then he was gone, armed with his torture whip. I grinned, the hungry beast inside me pawing after him.

Not the time.

I scanned the cargo hold again. It didn’t take long before I caught movement in the corner of my eye. I turned, snarling, as my Viper launched at me. Predictable. The knife whipped toward my head, but I twisted, so it only nicked my ear. Then I caught his outstretched arm and used his momentum against him to pin him to the floor beneath me.

“Say goodnight, motherfucker.”