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“This stuff is the best. Gaby calls it egg bake,” Jay says, digging in a drawer to find a utensil to serve the food. I open one of the bagels and spread it with cream cheese, swirling it high with the thick whipped cream, and place it on his dish. He smiles widely as he pops a donut hole into his mouth and places a generous amount of the fresh mango and pineapple on our plates. I take a seat at the barstool and he slides in next to me. We just enjoy the quiet, content with each other and our need to regenerate.
When we are completely sated, he takes our dishes into the galley and I place everything back into the refrigerator, and then he undresses me before we curl into bed to get some well needed rest.
17
JAY
The overhead begins to blare.“Hostiles headed in our direction. ETA ten minutes!”
“Get dressed Angel, and then get your ass in a seat belt. Move now!” I say, pulling her from the bed, handing clothes to her before I jump into my pants and drag on my t-shirt. Her eyes have widened, but she doesn’t miss a beat or bother with panties as she slides into leggings, throws a cami over her head, and grabs the hoodie on the chair.
“Let’s go,” I say, taking her hand, pulling her into the main cabin and buckling her into one of the recliners adjacent to the fireplace, in the middle of the fucking plane, and not next to the goddamn windows. I head into the security cabin, grab a Kevlar vest, and bring it back out. “Put this on and then wrap up in the blanket to keep any glass shards off you,” I say.
She nods and starts doing exactly what I say. “Good girl, Angel. I need to take care of a few things, but I’ll be back. Do not get out of that fucking chair or you won’t be able to sit for a week,” I say.
Her eyes light up, and even with the shit we’re dealing with, my dick notices the fact that she loves it when I take charge and threaten to spank her little ass, and it starts to rise to the occasion. I turn, heading toward the security cabin, but pause when she calls my name.
“Jay, be careful.”
“Always, Angel. I’ll be back soon,” I say.
“What’s the ETA now?” I ask Nick as I walk through the security room.
He’s watching his monitor. “I’m putting them at six minutes, no more. They were able to catch us on radar flying this low. We need to refuel, or we’re going to need to redo all the flight plans,” Nick says.
We’re not changing course. When the crew lands the plane, my team has it coordinated with the landing of the Carrington jet. Our teams cover both jets while they’re coming in and landing on the runway. We have two squads on the ground and snipers in the field. “Make sure no one gets a shot off and that this crew and the people on board are safe. As a backup, the Augusta will be flying overhead,” I say, sending a text to make sure that the fastest chopper on the market is in place.
“Roger that,” my team says and they get to work.
I call Scottie, Brian’s head of security. No time like the present to test his loyalty and skills. “This is Scottie,” he says, answering on the first ring which is a point in his favor.
“No time for formalities, we’re in a bad way and landing to refuel. The Augusta is scheduled to be circling us while we refuel but we have incoming, and I can’t be certain it’ll be enough. The Carrington Gulf is landing at the same time to create a diversion, it’ll fly right by in about four minutes, and our hostiles are about six minutes out,” I say, testing him because my gut tells me we want him on the team I’m about to build, but I want to see what he brings.
“I’ll round back with you, lad,” he says, disconnecting before I even know what he’s thinking. I scowl at the phone, and while I do trust him after he proved himself to be on our side when things went down with Jenny, I’m not fucking happy about not knowing exactly what he has planned.
Precisely three minutes later a buzz hits my phone with a message from Scottie.
Keep your heads down, and land to refuel. The Augusta’s got a wingman by the name of Interpol.
Fuck yeah! “Let’s land the plane, refuel and get this baby back in the air. We’ve got the Augusta and Interpol covering us. If you don’t have your gear on, put that shit on now,” I say, hefting a Kevlar over my t-shirt, buckling it, and throwing more from the hooks on the wall to each of my men. A couple of our younger crew look at the armored vests like they don’t want to. Fuck that.
“Get that shit on, do it now. No one fucking dies on my watch,” I say as the jet makes a sharp descent. Every one of us has our eye on that monitor, and when we land I watch as the Carrington jet lands at the very same time. Jesus, these pilots are badass and have precision timing. I smile with pride. Let’s see what these assholes bring because our snipers are in place and ready to take these fuckers out as soon they see even the slightest movement of their trigger finger. Three helicopters, the Prestian Corp Augusta and two others I don’t recognize, circle above on the screen.
“Nick, you gotta lock on the incoming?” I ask.
“We’ve got locks, but another one is right behind it and now another one,” he says, calm as fuck, just focusing on his job as I message Scottie.
Tell me the three birds heading towards the airport are with you?
One is an incoming hostile; two Interpol choppers are right on their arse.
The chopper intended to send shell fire our way flies right by with Interpol helicopters on its ass, and my team doesn’t even have to take a shot.
I smirk. Scottie’s so fucking on the team!
“I need to know who they are and where they’re going. Get a communication lock and let our intel group do the rest,” I say.
“Roger that!” I hear in unison. My men have this covered, and I return to the main cabin. The green-and-gold plaid blanket is covering Sasha’s head and frame on the couch. She’s done exactly what I’ve asked her to do with no questions, and I feel a surge of pride that she trusted me enough to follow my instructions.
