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And then, at the last possible moment, he swerves. The van’s tires shriek in protest. The sedan never stands a chance. It tries to swerve out of the way, but it’s too late. There’s a sickening crunch of metal on metal, and then the sedan is spinning out of control.
“We did it,” Frederico breathes, the tension ebbing away. “We got rid of them.”
We all collectively breathe with relief washing over us, like a wave breaking on the shore. But then Frederico hammers the accelerator again.
“Now, let’s get to that airstrip,” he says with a new determination. “Let’s hope that’s the last of Vishekov’s men we see tonight.”
A silence falls upon the van, tension still hanging in the air like the remnants of a storm. No one dares speak, as if our voices might bring back the danger. The only sounds are the low growl of the engine and the soft hum of the road beneath us.
We pull into the airstrip. My jet is bathed in the moonlight. Every muscle in my body uncoils as Frederico pulls the van to a stop a couple of yards from the jet and kills the engine. A sigh of relief escapes from everyone, a stark admission of the fear we had all held. There’s no sign of Alex’s men, and I see a way out for the first time tonight.
As we jump out of the van, a recognizable droning draws our attention to the sky.
“No fucking way!” I shout.
A helicopter hovers above us, looking to land.
Alex.
“Get on the plane now, Ella!” I yell, pushing her toward the plane.
She hesitates, gazing at me.
“Now!” I growl.
She hobbles away on her swollen ankle and up the stairs as I help Giuseppe out of the van. His injury has taken a toll on him, especially after running, and the blood is staining his shirt.
The helicopter lands, and I know we don’t have much time.
The jet’s engine is already firing as I help Giuseppe up the steps and into the jet. When I turn back, Alex and his men are sprinting across the tarmac, holding machine guns.
“Get this shut!” I growl. “Now!”
The hostess rushes forward and pulls the door across, locking it.
“We need to take off now.”
Bullets ricochet off the bulletproof body of my jet, and I’m thankful that I paid an extra two million for it, as a hole in the plane would mean game over.
Ella cowers on a chair, her eyes screwed shut.
“The pilot is working as fast as he can,” the hostess says.
“Well, if he doesn’t want a bullet in his fucking brain, tell him to work faster!”
She rushes to the cockpit, and within a few moments, the jet taxis down the runway. I wait with bated breath, expecting a rocket to come flying through the windows at any moment.
But it doesn’t come. Instead, we are airborne and out of harm’s way. The tension slowly recedes from my body. We made it out alive. I pause, as not all of us did. Antoni is still lying dead in a room in the Egorov mansion.
The hostess brings us glasses of whiskey, but none of us says a toast. We’re all too mentally exhausted and emotionally drained. I move toward Ella and squeeze her hand. “There are a few bedrooms in the back. Go and have a rest. Get some sleep.”
Her brow furrows, as I know we have much to discuss, but I can’t have that conversation now. She needs to rest and get her ankle looked at.
“I’ll send the nurse back with some ice for your ankle.”
Instead of arguing, she presses her lips together and nods, walking back to one of the bedrooms.
I watch her go, knowing that I love her. No matter how badly I didn’t want to believe it. The fear I felt when I saw her tied up, bruised, and scared in that room was untenable. She’s my reason for living, and I won’t ever let her get away again.
