Page 45 of Forbidden (Wicked Billionaires #1)
LORENZO
It has only been days since Storm ran, but that feels like a lifetime. My Vice President, who I trust with my business, told me it is healthy to give someone time to calm down, in a situation like this.
It is going against everything I feel, and my instincts.
I have no idea if being patient is right or wrong, but I have forced myself to go with it. For the first time in my life, I am gentle, and patient.
I was never taught what to do in life as I grew up in the messed-up adoption system.
I just had to try things. Many things failed, and painfully.
All I know is, I just kept trying. Trying to live. Trying to learn about the universe, and trying to survive.
It was hell, but I slowly rose. I worked like a son of a bitch as soon as I could legally work. Then, I saved and invested every dollar and every hour.
I started working onset in movies, after breaking in, and working hard. Finally, things started to take off.
That was then, and this is now. All I wanted then, was to make it in movies.
Now, I only want her .
I rise the next day, and I know what I need to do. That is get her back, and now! Fuck waiting. Fuck being patient!
Storm is mine!
There is just one thing I need to do. Get Falcon home. I have a strong black coffee on the roof, and I look at the Peregrine, and my chopper. I remember the back of the helicopter cabin, and how last time the falcon ripped up most of the leather seats.
“Not again,” I say crouching. “No more ripping shit up.”
The falcon cries out, and it flies across the roof, landing on one of the eagle statues. It seems to be comfortable flying, but for whatever reason, it does not want to leave.
Falcon cries out, and I walk closer to him. I sigh and feel depressed. It could soon be me alone, again. I’m sick of living alone in the universe, and I’m sick of having no one.
"Come on buddy,” I say finishing my coffee. “It’s time to get you home to your family!”
I fly the falcon north, up the coast, and I take a sharp hard line. I hardly avoid the terrain based obstacles. Enough time has been wasted.
Finally, I find the exact area I need, and I land on the safest ground nearby. I open the rear side door, and the falcon streaks out fast.
I feel good as the Peregrine heads off for its own family.
Only this fucking happens...
The falcon swoops back down, and it flies straight back in.
After lecturing the falcon, and trying to herd it out, I climb into my seat shaking my head. “Crazy fucking falcon.” After lifting my chopper off the ground, we bank and head south. “You will tire of me, just like her.”
The falcon cries out, defiantly, and I decide to unpack Falcon wanting to stay later.
For now, I need to get Storm back.
As I fly south towards The Hamptons, NYC, and the rest of the world, I think about what to say, to Storm, when I find her. I then think of all the places she may be.
I should be focused on the deal with Dante, and proving I have not lost my edge. Also, several movies in production. I’m distracted, and all I think about is her.
Until Storm and I are resolved, I’m no good, to anyone.
I have avoided calls, emails and messages for around thirty hours, and it’s completely unlike me.
The only thing I’ve done since returning from France, and losing Storm, is secure the deal with the Wall Street fund. That was critical, but only in buying me a window to last longer in motion pictures, and maybe prepare my exit from the business.
Something tells me, I am my work, and that’s likely a fail.
I love showbusiness, I love making movies, but maybe, just maybe I need to focus on me for once. Also, to work out how to get my act together.
I know the time away from my work is costing me, and likely millions a day. I am just not feeling it, and Storm is the center of my universe.
She is all that matters now.
As we come into land on my penthouse rooftop, I hesitate. It feels wrong. Suddenly, feet away, I yank on the primary column, and we drop down the side of the building. As we level out, I point the chopper’s nose south.
We skim over Central Park, and I know I will be fined for the break in flight paths.
Fuck it, and fuck everything.
As I head towards South Carolina, my cell chirps. It’s fed to my headset, and I hit accept.
“You’re a hard man to find,” Dante says. “How about you pick up your phone.”
“I’ve had something on,” I say. “Anyway, how can I help?”
I suspect Dante is also mid-flight, because I can hear some kind of droning.
“We’re here to kick your ass,” Ryan Remington somehow cuts in.
“Ryan?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
I shake my head. “Look, I’ve got a little on,” I say when suddenly another helicopter banks around and flies alongside me. It’s too fucking close, and I don’t like it.
“Wakey wakey dipshit.” I look over, and Dante’s dark blue chopper is flying alongside over NYC.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, looking over. I can just make out Dante and Ryan, and I shake my head. There is no fucking way this is legal, and the flight plans approved.
“It’s called an intervention,” Dante says, while flying his chopper.
“And you need some advice.” Ryan says.
I stare ahead and I know New Jersey is coming up and fast. We are lower now, and buildings and highways streak below.
“I suspected, that if anything bad happened, between you and Storm, you’d go off the rails.”
“Like you are,” Dante tosses in.
I side eye Dante and Ryan through the chopper side window, and I don’t like it. The only time we’ve flown choppers side by side, was up the Amazon. But that was far from cities, and air traffic police.
“Make your point.” I say, keeping it short.
“Look, without her you’re a complete fuck up.” Ryan is not far off, but it was semi-brutal.
“Lorenzo?”
“What?” I ask Dante, as we both fly full speed and low.
“Where are you going?”
“Where do you think?” I ask.
We are now flying straight for a large building complex plus high bridges. It’s about to get ugly, and in seconds.
Dante looks over, “Just get her back!”
“Copy that,” I say, as I yank on the column hard. My chopper banks sharpy away from them, and the engine screams.
As we streak south towards the Carolinas, I pull off the headset. “Crazy fucking arseholes.” I inhale long and slow and then I hear, “We can still hear you.” I shake my head and smile.
Why do I have the craziest arsehole pals in all of show biz.
As we thunder south, I call Alfred. He’s in NYC, and I tell him I have the falcon, and we will be away a few days.
I then call my primary VP, and I tell him to contact all of our current partners and people we are planning to do deals with. I instruct him to inform them, we need a week to get something important done.
“And if any of them do not want to wait, then screw them, we will not do business with them again. I have never done this, they will know that. The patient, are our family.”
As my eyes skim over the console, and check all for the flight, I process the risk. I suspect Storm is home, and in South Carolina, but I have no proof yet.
The concept of flying to New York City’s airport, screwing around with the faster jet, working out how to travel with Falcon, and landing permits for the jet, did not interest me. Neither did flying commercial.
I’m getting her back, and nothing will get in my way, or slow me down.
As we fly over New Jersey, I make another call. My aviation handler is sharp, and he’s quickly aware it’s an emergency. Even if he is pissed, there is nothing he can do.
I explain I’m flying to South Carolina, and I am on the way. Also, that I will stop for nothing, and no one.
He outlines problems, fines, and obstacles before I tell him solutions are all that are welcome.
That means flight plans, flight clearance, and aviation gas stops. After ending the call, I adjust my route, and get comfortable.
We streak over endless miles of neon lights, and the odd car or truck on the highways, I think about my life. And I think about the knife edge I am now on.
If things go well, I get to keep the two women in the world I love. If things go badly, I am alone in the world.
After half a dozen aviation gas and steak sandwich pit stops for us both, we finally enter South Carolina. The sun is now rising, but the bad coffee is cold.
The first major obstacle is now close, and after thinking about it for the last few hours, I feel physically sick.
Telling someone who chose to be like a mother to you, that you did the one thing you were asked not to do, is messed up. But it’s got to be done.
Getting Storm back is all that matters.