Page 7 of Possess Me

“Be careful crossing me, Fallon. This is my last warning. Trust me. You won’t like what happens next.” I wasn’t expecting his reaction and didn’t have time to defend myself.

He lunged forward and issued a savage punch to my jaw, the force pitching me against the wall.

Dazed, I tried to claw my way to a standing position only to have him drive his fist into my face, catching me on the side of my lips.

With the taste of blood in my mouth, a horrible ringing in my ears, I slumped to the floor as anguish rushed into my head and neck.

He stood over me, laughing. “Just a taste of what I can do. When I come for you again, you won’t reject me. If you do, it’ll be the last thing you do on this earth.”

CHAPTER 3

Ten days later…

Vissarian

“I’m dying.”

“What the hell did you say?” I stopped walking, shifting to the side so other passengers could continue rushing toward their assigned concourse. Immediately I tensed, my instinct and training causing an instant reaction to my friend’s agonized statement.

I reached for my weapon.

Which was safely stored away in my suitcase already loaded onto the jet.

God fucking damn it.

Jeffrey Collins was not only one of the Dmitriyev pilots, I also considered him a good friend and someone to be trusted.

Sadly, he was close to retiring completely, something I’d tried to convince him to reconsider.

“Not literally. Maybe,” he groaned. “I’m sick.”

“Fuck. What happened? Who did this?”

“Stop thinking everything is a conspiracy, buddy. Appendicitis.”

Jesus Christ, I was ready to torch Miami. I took a deep breath, shaking my head.

“Why the fuck are you calling me? Get to the hospital.”

“I am in the hospital,” Jeffrey muttered, now almost completely out of breath.

“Mr. Collins. I need you to hand your phone over to your daughter. We need to take you to surgery.”

Well, shit. I was standing in the middle of a goddamn airport in Miami, the private company jet a few hundred yards away, with no pilot.

“Hey, Viss. I gotta go. I just wanted you to know I found a substitute pilot on short notice.”

Every muscle twitched. If there was one thing I didn’t like, it was last minute substitutions. That usually led to unwanted irritations at best.

Unnecessary danger at worst.

“You know how I feel about substitutions.”

“Stop worrying. She’s perfect. You can trust her with your life. Much more qualified than I am.”

“Jeff. I don’t think this is?—”

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Collins is being wheeled into surgery,” the curt woman, who I assumed was a nurse, interjected just before she ended the call.