Total pages in book: 211
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
Eric inclines his chin and refocuses on me. “Let’s get inside, baby.” He urges me up the narrow stairs and I begin the climb, eager to escape the wind. Relieved with Eric at my back, a protector that I never expected him to be, and never would have asked him to be. A protector to my mother, who hasn’t been kind to him. A protector to—
I stop at the top of the stairs and step into the plane, backing up to let Eric join me. “What about Gigi?”
His teeth clench. “What about her?”
“She and I—”
“Don’t finish any sentence that begins that way. Not with you and Gigi connected. I’m not in the mood.” He pulls me roughly to him. “Walker’s watching everyone.” He turns me to the plane. “I need to talk to the pilot,” he says. “I’ll be right there. Go to the back of the plane.”
With that gruff order, I pant out a breath. This is not starting well. I run my fingers through my hair and start walking down the narrow path, eyeing the fancy plane with luxury cream-colored recliners and tables left and right without really seeing it. I’m focused on the engines firing up already, a sign we’re wasting no time getting into the air. A sign of urgency, of a sense of danger. This hastens my pace, all the way to the rear of the plane, to a set of recliner-style seats I assume will allow us to lay back and sleep, as if I could sleep right now.
I claim one of them and sit down, shivering again and not from the chilly air coming out of the overhead vents. From the evil at play in this family, in my life. I hug myself, trembling in that kind of deep, soul-wrenching way that comes with a fever and illness, but isn’t this family just that? An illness? A sickness I can’t escape, but Eric had. Until I went and pulled him back into this.
Eric joins me almost immediately and he must notice me shivering because he pulls a blanket from an overhead bin. When I expect him to hand it to me, he doesn’t. He wraps it around me and settles on one knee in front of me, his hands on either side of the blanket.
“The Gigi thing—”
“I know. I just—I’m not used to war games, and death isn’t exactly my friend.”
“No one is going to die. And I shouldn’t have left you tonight,” he says, and I know he’s not talking about the plane. He’s talking about back at the office. He’s talking about our fight. “I didn’t leave, not for long. I went back for you and I’m here now, but I fucked up. I let Isaac get to me tonight.”
“What did he say to you?”
“It doesn’t matter what he said. I listened to him and I reacted rather than asking you questions first. And I regret it. You could have been hurt. I keep telling myself Adam was there, watching you, and you would have been fine, but just thinking about what could have happened to you guts me.” His tone is guttural. He’s affected. He’s worried. I’m affected and worried. I have questions. I have fears, and not just about the attack, but the attack is what he’s brought to my mind. I’m suddenly back in the dark warehouse, firing that gun.
The plane starts to move.
“Buckle up,” he orders. “We’ll talk in the air. We’re flying through a storm the pilot hopes we’ll get past quickly.” He stands up and when he would move away, he leans down and brushes his mouth over my mouth and his lips are warm and wonderful. “No one is going to hurt you,” he promises. “I won’t let that happen. I got you now. You’re with me.” But even as he issues that vow, his hands fall away from me, and every warm spot he’s created goes cold as he moves to his seat next to me and across the tiny walkway.
I inhale and replay his words: When I think what could have happened to you. And: No one is going to hurt you.
Ice slides deep into my already chilled bones, turning them brittle. I can feel myself quaking inside, like some kind of internal tremble, and I can’t seem to breathe. He really thinks those men were there to kill me.
Chapter forty-six
Harper
Igrip the arms of my seat as the small private plane lifts off and climbs to the higher altitudes with jolts, jumps, and shakes, with only one thought: Oh God, please don’t let us crash. I’m terrified and not because I’m an amateur flier. I’m not. I’ve flown. I’ve even flown in bad conditions, but nothing like this, with the plane jerking, violently pulling and pushing, but I can surmise why pretty darn quickly. Pilots don’t take off in conditions like this. Eric paid this one, and I suspect paid him well, to get us off the ground. Considering the conditions, I can only assume that he felt it was far more dangerous to stay where we were than travel in treacherous weather.