Page 23 of The Mafia Bachelor

8

AVERY

I’ve never been on a plane. I eye the private jet warily, a week after my date with Kill.

And at least I don’t have to dance this time, I guess?

No homework this time, but Kill sent me a string bikini and a pair of comfortable but flattering wide leg trousers and top that says “effortlessly chic yet casual, as well as hugely expensive”. I was a bit shocked when the first outfit arrived from him, but wearing clothes from him feels surprisingly good. A secret ownership.

The plane is white, with discreet green markings on the tail, and I know that it works, but seriously how can anything that big get into the air and stay there? It seems impossible. Magic.

Like everything Kill does.

I’m at the back of the group standing on the tarmac, the other women having nudged their way politely or not so politely to the front.

And honestly, it’s fine. I’m scared of flying, I’m not too proud to admit that.

It doesn’t help that Kill isn’t here. I’ve begun to use him as my North Star, around which everything else turns. Well, I say that. I wouldn’t know how to navigate by the stars. He’s more like my maps app. Whenever I’m unsure, I look to him, and the path is clear.

He’s my boss, and all these women want to marry him. That seems like a pretty good reason both to want him, and also not want him.

But while I can’t see him, something in me is wary.

There are some other cars on the other side of the airfield, and a helicopter, and I suppose they’re Kill’s as well. The vehicles are black SUVs similar to the one that picked me up and brought me here.

At our plane, they’re loading our bags, but someone is fussing about opening the door to get into the plane, and some of the other women are getting impatient. Even though it’s only been a few minutes of waiting. They’re lining up a set of stairs.

“So slow, this doesn’t ordinarily happen at City Airport,” complains Violet. “I’d expect it of Heathrow or another commercial airport, but this is supposed to be well-run.”

Oh wow. This is how out of my depth I am. I am with women who know what usually happens when boarding a plane.

Just then, the black cars on the other side of the airfield move. I track them, expecting them to go to the exit, the large gate in the wire mesh fence. But they’re moving fast and, I suddenly realise, towards us.

It’s Kill. It has to be?

This is…

I freeze as the cars screech to a halt around us and the doors are thrown open. Men in black suits get out, and my mind registers that they aren’t familiar. They have straight brown or black hair, and grey eyes. I don’t recognise them.

And then they brandish guns.

“Get in the cars, now!” a man yells. He has a heavy Russian accent, and fear explodes in my veins.

He’s not one of Kill’s team. He’s not Irish.

Katy shrieks next to me.

“What’s going on?” Violet stands up straighter, her spine solid. “Where’s Killian?”

“Now. Move!” The man shoots into the air, and there are cries around me. Terror grips my throat as one of the men steps forwards, grabbing the nearest woman by the arm.

And in that moment, I decide I’m not going anywhere with these men, even if they have guns. I lunge for the far side of the steps, trying to run away.

“Everyone co-operate and no one will be harmed!”

That’s a lie, and I don’t fall for it.

I sprint, my movements jerky and panicky. I fall on the tarmac, onto my hands and knees as I sprawl on the floor behind the steps.