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Reese huffed. “And what if he’s too busy to tell me later?”
“Then I guess you and I will have a long night of cheesecake and beer.” She laughed.
“I think I’m more of an ice cream and wine guy.”
Seung shrugged a little. “I can do ice cream and wine.”
“Unless it’s really bad.” Reese flipped the pages of the book. “Then we’ll need to break out the whiskey.” And Reese had a very bad feeling it would be a Jack Daniel’s kind of conversation.
* * *
Johnathan shut the door separating the passenger area from the living quarters of the plane.
Craige, Michael, and Loomis bumped shoulders, trying to fit in the nonexistent space between the bathroom on one side, the shower on the other, and a small vanity.
Dalton came in a moment later and crushed himself in a corner closer to Johnathan.
All the betas stank of sexual aggression. All of them, including Johnathan, had half-hard dicks.
Dalton was the only one who seemed in control of his libido, but he was a delta, and they rarely carried their brains in their balls.
Johnathan crossed his arms over his chest.
Michael poked at the small bottles of soap on the back of the sink. Loomis dug a spot on the carpet with the toe of his boot.
Dalton kept his eyes averted and tipped his head, exposing his neck and leaving access to his shoulder, where he carried Johnathan’s mark, in an obvious act of submission.
Craige, however, seemed more than willing to stare Johnathan down.
“It seems like we need to review the rules regarding Dr. Dante. Since a few of you have forgotten my stance on the matter.”
“No one wants to challenge you,” Craige said. “He’s yo—”
Johnathan snatched him by the front of his shirt. “Are you deaf or stupid, Craige? Because honestly, I can’t decide.”
“C’mon, Johnathan, you act like you don’t want him when it’s obvious you do. You’re as hard as the rest of us. And him?” Craige jerked his chin toward the shut door. “He’s so ripe, I’m willing to bet he’d drop to his knees and spread his ass chee—”
Johnathan tore open the bathroom door and shoved Craige ahead of him. Then seized Craige by the back of his neck and forced his head into the toilet.
Craige jerked and kicked.
Johnathan yanked him back up. Blue fluid soaked Craige’s hair and ran rivulets down his face. He spat and blew out the chemicals from his nostrils.
“Now, as I was saying, the rules.” He shook Craige. “Not another word about running Dr. Dante. Not you, not me. Because it won’t happen.”
“Bu—”
Johnathan shoved Craige’s head into the bowl. Bubbles boiled from around the man’s hairline, and he clawed at Johnathan’s hand.
He counted to ten, then pulled Craige back up. The man gasped for air and blinked over and over.
“No one is running him. Am I clear?”
Craige nodded.
“Now.” Johnathan left Craige by the toilet, heaving and gagging while the Sarvari within worked fast to heal him of the toxins he’d inhaled. Too bad Johnathan couldn’t make him suffer longer.
At least Craige wasn’t stupid enough to stand up.
