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C’mon, Ivy. Don’t give up.
My inner cheerleader keeps me going and I’m sawing steadily when the plane begins shaking even harder and takes a sudden lurch. My stomach flips and the men in front of me start talking. They sound worried.
I pause my work on the rope and turn to look out the window. We’re flying below the clouds and the blue sky is clear. The entire cabin is shaking like crazy, though, and now I’m wondering why.
No time to wonder, Ivy. Keep sawing.
With each saw, the ropes are pulling further apart. But then I’m interrupted when one of the thugs appears. In my head, I named him Snakeman because he has a black snake tattoo coiled around his neck. It’s creepy. The other guy, Scarface, is more meaty, thicker-bodied, and has a scar that runs down the length of his face and a permanent scowl.
“Let’s go,” Snakeman says.
My heart sinks.No, no, no.When I hesitate, it only serves to annoy him, but I don’t care.
“Now!”
My hands aren’t free, but I’m still going to fight and not make this easy for these assholes. Refusing to move, I slouch down, push my knees against the seat in front of me and use my long legs to wedge myself in.
With an angry curse, he reaches for my arm and yanks hard. I fall sideways and then come up swinging. Curling both of my bound hands into fists, I catch the jerk right in his chin. He lets out a howl and instantly releases me. Dropping back down in the seat, I notice the plane is shuddering so hard that it’s starting to concern me.
Wouldn’t it be just my luck for it to go down now?
It doesn’t take long for Snakeman to recover and he wraps his thick fingers around my upper arm and wrenches me up out of the seat. I twist and struggle as he starts dragging me up the aisle.
“Open the door,” he calls to Scarface over my cursing and shouting.
Digging my heels in, pulling hard, I fight him with all I’ve got, but he’s bigger and stronger.
“Knock it off!” he yells and shakes me hard enough to rattle my skull.
I glance over at Anthony Vitello who merely shrugs. “Wrong place, wrong time. Sorry, honey. Are we low enough to safely open the door yet?” he asks his other thug.
“Let me find out,” Scarface responds and knocks on the cockpit door. After conferring with the pilot for a moment, he returns. “All clear. We’re at 14,000 feet.”
My heart sinks like a rock in a pond. This is it. The fall alone is going to kill me. Hitting the water from this high? I may as well land on concrete.
If they had any mercy, they’d shoot me first, but I don’t dare mention it. Fear is choking me.
“Please,” I say, switching tactics. Maybe I can make a deal. “Listen to me. We made copies of the photos. If you let me live, we can work something out.”
But no one is taking me seriously or listening as Scarface opens the door and a strong gust of wind pours inside, whipping my hair around my face. It’s like we’re in a wind tunnel. Terror like I’ve never known before fills me and I drop to the floor, my legs giving out.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone you killed Sharpe!”
“Toss her out,” Vitello orders.
I grab hold of the nearest seat, holding on for dear life, but Snakeman easily yanks me away. With my hands still tied, I dig my nails into the carpet, watching them leave scratch marks through the fibers as I’m dragged backward toward the open door.
Oh, God. This is it.I’m about to plummet 14,000 feet to my death.
One final thought permeates my terror-addled brain:I love you, Eric.
Then I’m being picked up by a pair of beefy hands and I scream bloody murder.
Chapter Seventeen: Finn
Doing my best to keep the Slater jet steady and directly above the plane below takes all of my skills and then some. I draw on everything I’ve ever learned to pull off this insane exploit. Night Stalkers are the best pilots in the fucking world, and I am not about to let that reputation down.
It’s a stunt of epic proportion. We’re currently Lights Out—radar off—and I lower us a little more.C’mon, baby. Just a little closer. Be good to me, sweetheart.
