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She was flying.
And it was all because of him.
And that was more than enough.
***
The feel of his hand on her back brought her back to the present as he picked her up and put her in. She sat still as he strapped her in, her heart beating in happy rhythms as she watched him, his dark hair, his permanent scruff, his mismatched, hypnotic, devilish eyes. He gripped her jaw and gave her a hard, quick kiss.
“You love me,” he stated, as he had begun stating every day since she’d told him.
“I love you,” she confirmed, brushing her nose against his.
He kissed her again and pulled back, shutting the door at her side. She saw him walk lithely to the pilot’s side and climb in with an agility that belied how often he’d done this. He shut his door and strapped himself in, and she watched with absorption as he began to push some buttons that made no sense to her. He put on his headgear and indicated to hers, and she put it on, eager to see what happened next.
After he did some checks, he pushed a button that sent vibrations running through her body as the blades of the helicopter started to move. Gripping the edges of her seat, heart pounding, her stomach dropped as the ground slowly began to move lower. They dipped forward slightly before steadying, hovering, and she absorbed the entire vista of the mountains, the cliffs, the sea, the beach, the house, spread out below for her to feast her eyes upon.
“Wow,” she breathed out, still amazed that she could see something like this when a few months ago all she’d expected out of life had been a clean end. She had changed since then, evolved, grown. Like a tree that had been cut and ravaged and pulled until nothing remained for the eye to see. He hadn’t seen the ripped roots, the bleeding stump, the utter destruction. No, he had seen life. He had taken the single root, put it in a controlled, safe environment, and fed it sunlight and water and affection in his own way until a new shoot had emerged, new roots had planted, new flowers had bloomed.
Eyes glued to the vista below as they got higher and higher, she felt her stomach twist with every vibration and glide of the helicopter. She turned to see him, watching the little smile on his lips as he took them across the mountains inland toward the city—Gladestone.
He had told her about it one day when she’d asked about where she had been, where the complex had been. He’d told her about Gladestone, a city that emerged in the 1800s, known for its mining and textile industrial prowess. It was a fast-paced city, a place where people didn’t sleep and crime didn’t stop. It was one of the key locations for The Syndicate’s operations, something she’d learned from him later. That was what had brought him to Gladestone all those years ago in the first place. It was a dark, polluted settlement of mostly people who had something or the other to do with the underworld—be in humans, organs, animals, murderers, or more.
After about half an hour of flying, she got to see the first of the tall factory chimneys from a distance.
“That’s Gladestone’s outskirts,” he told her, his voice loud and crackling with static in her headphones. Factories after factories passed under her, the view so drastically different from the one she’d seen around home.
Home.
It still sent disbelief coursing through her when she said that.
The cityscape come across the view after a few minutes, the factories and warehouses falling away to show cleaner, taller buildings. The first glimmer of the black hole opened in her mind in months watching the city that had destroyed her.
“Where’s the Club District?” she shouted over the mouthpiece.
He pointed right. “Over there. You used to live farther in that direction.”
She touched her choker, taking a deep breath, and snapped her hair tie again, rooting herself in the present. It was fine. She was fine. She was not the same girl who had given in to the black hole. She was new and she would be fine.
Dainn circled a tall building, one of the tallest in the skylines, and she saw a helipad on top of the roof. “We’re going down.”
She gave a thumbs up sign, and held onto her straps, her stomach whooping as they descended. She regulated her breathing, knowing it would take some getting used to for this to feel normal, and they touched the roof.
Within moments, once the helicopter was set, he pushed more buttons and turned it off, the blades slowing down until they stopped.
Unbuckling himself, he jumped down from the pilot’s cockpit and came around to her, getting her out and on the roof in record time.
Her knees shook but she stood with his support, feeling the wind on her face, the sun on her skin, the view—although beautiful in its own way—marred by her memories. She hated this city and hated its people.
“Mr. Blackthorne, welcome.”
The voice from a woman on the side made her turn. A pretty woman in some kind of a uniform led them toward an elevator.
“Thank you, Fiona.” He pasted a charming smile on his face and took her hand. “I hope you have our suite ready? My wife is tired from the trip.”
For the first time, she saw why people fell for his facade without seeing who he was underneath. The woman ate it up, and to be honest, so did she, especially the ‘wife’ part.
“Of course, Mr. Blackthorne.” The woman pressed a keycard to a fancy, fancy elevator. “Should I tell Moonflame to expect you tonight?”
