Page 308 of Blackwood

A walking storm cloud. Hood up. Shoulders squared. Black gloves on those hands that have ruined me more times than I can count. His coat’s some Bratva-grade winter armor, still open just enough to show a glimpse of the Phoenix on his chest.

He looks pissed at the cold. Pissed at the wind. Pissed at the fact that his boots are probably too nice for this tarmac. But mostly, he looks hot enough to melt the damn snow.

“Why the hell do people not believe in heated sidewalks?” Lex grumbles.

“Because then you’d have nothing to complain about,” Cade replies, smirking. “Plus, aren’t Russians supposed to love the cold?”

Lex levels him with a dead stare. “Fuck that shit. I’m two seconds away from turning back and throwing hands with winter.”

Ellie huffs. “You two sound married.”

Haley adds, brushing snow off her coat, “Well they’re kind of Bella-married. So, the bickering tracks.”

Lex just grins and drops his arm around my shoulder. “Where’s our ride, baby?”

I nod toward Project Dylan’s newest sleek black jet sitting just past the security gate. A predator on the tarmac. Minimalist silver markings. Custom tail number. No logo. Just danger and speed wrapped in matte black.

Cade whistles low. “Jesus, Bella. That’s not a jet. That’s a damn Batmobile with wings.”

“Don’t get hard over it,” Lex says, dragging his duffel. “We’re not even on board yet.”

The hangar doors slide open with a mechanical hiss. And as if summoned by Satan himself, out strides Eric, looking like he just walked off the set ofTop Gun: Apocalypse. Leather bomber jacket worn like a second skin, scuffed combat boots pounding across the concrete with swagger, and Ray-Bans hiding eyes that have probably seen war, whiskey, and way too many bad landings.

He’s got that unshaven, vaguely feral,I’ve survived three plane crashes and one bar fight this weekkind of energy. A crooked grin plays on his mouth, equal parts cocky and unhinged.

“Bells!” he calls. “You brought the whole damn entourage.”

Lex’s eyes narrow. “Who the hell is that?”

“That,” I say, grinning, “is Eric.”

Lex raises a brow. “Pilot Eric?”

“Yup,” Cade says without hesitation, already looking worried.

“The one who flew you and Zeke out of Thailand on three minutes’ notice?” Lex asks.

“The one and only,” I reply, already bracing.

Lex squints. “Didn’t he get kicked out of the FAA’s database for hacking it so he could change his pilot’s license to saySky Daddy?”

Cade sighs. “Also, true.”

Right on cue, Eric laughs, “Welcome to Air Chaos, motherfuckers! Trademark pending.”

Lex stares. “Absolutely not.”

Eric points at him. “You must be the Russian mafia boyfriend.”

“Bratva,” Lex deadpans.

“Same difference,” Eric shrugs, then turns to Cade with a shit-eating grin. “Ah, Cade Whitmore. Still sour over Cabo?”

“Cabo is the reason I have turbulence-induced PTSD, Eric.”

“Son, I’m the reason yousurvived that turbulence. You’re fucking welcome.”

Lex frowns. “Wait, you guys went to Cabo?”