I’d managed to drag myself through the shower, washing my hair and cleaning my teeth, but then I’d had little time to do anything more. I’d thrown on my comfort clothes—jeans, converse sneakers and a wonder woman tank top—but my hair was still wet and my face totally devoid of makeup.
“Yikes, you look like crap, trailer trash,” Jasper sneered, grinning at me from behind the girl who was seated in his lap. One of his hands was buried up her skirt and from the speed of her breathing and the flush to her cheeks, it wasn’t hard to guess what was going on. “Didn’t you get the memo, this is a business meeting? Right now you barely look old enough to handle a fucking Chuck E. Cheese party.” He tilted his head back to watch the chick again. She let out another moan. “Celia here can help you sort out your appearance before we get there, can’t you doll face?” He pressed a possessive kiss to her neck, and she just moaned.
“Where are we going?” I demanded, folding my arms and desperately trying to ignore the writhing woman in Jasper’s lap. “In case you forgot, no one has filled me in on anything, least of all where the fuck we’re going today. I don’t know shit about your business, so it’s pretty stupid to drag me into any sort of meeting.”
“You don’t need to know, Butterfly,” Beck answered, not taking his eyes from his computer for even a second. “You’re only here as a show of power. To prove that the Delta is not weakened by Oscar’s death. We are still five successors strong. Five votes.”
I wanted to argue, but the pilot stepped through the little cockpit door and cleared his throat. “Uh, Celia? We need to take off.” He gave the woman who was clearly mid-orgasm, writhing all over Jasper’s lap—and hand—a pointed look and indicated toward the open door. For a moment I thought he was telling her to get off the plane, but when she huffed and stood up, tugging her skirt back in place, it suddenly clicked. This was our flight attendant.
“Sit down, Butterfly,” Beck ordered me casually, nodding at the plush, cream leather recliner facing his. “We have a decent flight ahead of us and I’d rather not find out if you get air sick.” He arched a brow at me and my cheeks flushed hot. Goddamn tequila.
I wanted so badly to cut him down with my words, but my head still pounded and my stomach hurt from the earlier vomiting. So instead of whipping out my sassy pants, I slid into the waiting armchair and buckled my seatbelt.
When I said nothing, Beck cleared his throat, his gaze turning to the small drinks table near the window. A bottle of water and packet of painkillers sat there, waiting for me, like freaking magic.
“If you knew I’d be here, why mute my phone?” I asked, taking the pills out of the packet and washing two down with a gulp of water.
Beck sighed and closed his laptop, sliding it into a pocket beside his seat. “When you noticed I’d muted your phone, what was your first thought?” The way he looked at me, I knew I’d walked into a trap, but my poor hungover brain couldn’t figure out how or why.
“That you didn’t want me to make this flight,” I replied, then took another long sip of water. Holy crap I needed that water.
Beck raised one of those dark brows at me, his gray eyes full of dark amusement. “So what did you do?”
Realizing I’d done exactly what he wanted me to do, I sighed heavily and put my water down. I needed a damn minute to get a hold of my temper because I was too fucking tired to start stabbing people. Also, I had no sharp objects on hand.
“You’re a prick, Sebastian,” I murmured. Tipping my head back, I closed my eyes and tried to block his presence out.
Sometime later, the plane gently rocked as it began moving, and I tried to breathe deeply. I’d never been airsick before, but I’d also never vomited in a Bugatti so never say never.
For as long as I could, I kept my eyes shut and prayed for sleep. I had no idea where we were going, or how long it’d take to get there, or even what the fuck we were going for. But I was sick of asking and getting no answers, so I kept my mouth shut. Only seven weeks until I was eighteen and legally free of Catherine Debitch. No matter what she thought, she couldn’t make me run her company. I just had to bide my time.
Eventually, I gave up on sleep. When I opened my eyes again, I was totally unsurprised to find Beck staring straight at me. He didn’t even have the grace to look away when I caught him, he just continued staring.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I grumbled, shifting in my seat and reaching for my water again.
His lips curved up in an evil sort of smile. “I took plenty last night, thanks. Nice tits, by the way.”
The water I’d just sipped shot down the wrong pipe and I choked a bit. “You’d better be fucking joking,” I snarled, glaring daggers at the flawless asshole opposite me.
He just shrugged and grinned. Fucking psychopath.
Looking around the plane, I hunted for a change of subject. “Whose plane?” I asked. “Yours?”
Beck shook his head. “Delta’s.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course. Militant Delta Finances. Care to tell me any more about your world dominating company? What do you do anyway besides deal in illegal arms? Hang out and make threats?”
He just stared at me with that blank gaze, and I knew he wasn’t going to suddenly start spewing out answers so I sucked another deep breath and released it with a long sigh.
“What sorts of speeds do these planes get up to?” Why I was trying to make small talk, I had no idea. The fact that he’d just so casually alluded to having seen me practically naked left me on edge, and it was nerves that made me chatter.
Beck leveled another blank stare at me, and I huffed, folding my arms.
“Why don’t you go annoy Darren with your questions?” he suggested, already turning his attention to his phone. Clearly, I’d been dismissed.
He’d been sarcastic, but chatting with Darren—the pilot I assumed—sounded considerably better than dealing with Beck’s surly attitude. Unclipping my seat belt, I decided I’d go and learn a bit about jets.
Beck raised a brow at me, but I ignored him and made my way through the cabin toward the cockpit. Celia, our lovely flight attendant, was back in Jasper’s lap so no one stopped me when I tapped on the little white door. A sound came in response, which I assumed to be something along the lines of “come in,” so I let myself in.
“Hey, Darren?” I greeted him, latching the door and then admiring the vast array of buttons and levers, not to mention the view. “Wow, this is incredible,” I breathed, in total awe of the fluffy white clouds ahead and the tiny glimpses of land below.
Turning to the pilot, who was yet to speak, I gasped. In his lap, clutched in his shaking, white knuckled hand was a sleek black handgun.
“Uh, Darren?” I prompted, “Why...” My words faded out and I needed to lick my lips a few times before trying again. “Why do you have a gun?”
My words seemed to jerk him out of the trance he’d been in, and his bloodshot eyes snapped up to my face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Sweat ran down his forehead in beads, and tears leaked from his eyes. Every vein in his face stood out with the sheer tension thrumming through him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he started to sob as he apologized and panic seized me. I froze, totally unsure what the hell to do. Was he going to shoot me? Why?
“Darren,” I started, holding my hands up, palms out. I had no idea why, it just felt like a calming sort of gesture. Or maybe I’d been watching too much TV. “Darren why don’t you put the gun down?” I was aiming for soothing, like I was talking to a wild animal.
He shook his head slowly, tears still running from his red, puffy eyes. “I’m so sorry; they made me do it. I had to keep my kids safe.”
I’d been so focused on the gun, I hadn’t noticed the device in his other hand until it was too late. Not that I could have done anything, anyway. Without any further hesitation, he pressed a button on the little remote, and an explosion rocked the aircraft from the left side, followed by one on the right. Still holding my horrified, stunned gaze, Darren raised the gun to his face and pulled the trigger.
Blood splattered the walls, the controls, the windows, me. It was everywhere. Frantic screams ripped from me as Dylan and Beck came bursting into the cockpit, and found the mess which was once their pilot. But that was the least of our problems. The plane shifted and Darren’s lifeless body fell forward, leaning heavily on a large lever and sending us hurtling toward the ground.
“Move!” Dylan barked, shoving me aside. I was still frozen in shock, whimpers ripping from my throat, and I didn’t even flinch when Beck grabbed me around the waist from behind and held me firm within his strong arms. As I watched, Dylan heaved the dead pilot from his seat and sat down. He hesitated only a moment before taking the important looking lever thing in his strong grip and slowly, painfully slowly, pulling it back in an attempt to control our descent. Or, that’s what I had to assume he was doing.
The plane was shaking and jolting like we were in a giant blender and it was only by Beck’s impressive strength that I hadn’t been thrown clear across the cabin.
“Sit down,” Dylan yelled at us. “Strap in, we’re going to crash.”
I couldn’t have moved if I’d tried. My whole body was locked up in sheer terror, and my gaze was fixed on the smears of crimson decorating my arms. Somehow, Beck manhandled me into the co-pilot’s seat and buckled my seatbelt with cold efficiency. He yelled short, sharp commands back into the cabin—for Evan and Jasper—then strapped himself into the jump seat.
“Can you land us?” he demanded of Dylan, whose pale, tense face was firmly fixed on the controls and displays in front of him.
It was only a brief hesitation before Dylan replied, but it seemed like a lifetime while we continued hurtling toward the ground. Fast. Too damn fast. “No,” he said, and my stomach dropped through the floor. We were going to die. Holy shit.