Page 41 of Puck
“Twat.”
“Ass-face.”
Ivar sighed. “Enough, enough. You are making my head ache.”
I watched the whole exchange with bemusement. If any man ever called me any of those names, even in jest, I’d probably have—as my gang friends used to say—popped a cap in his ass. Of course, as a white girl from the suburbs, they never let me talk like that; it was kind of a joke among us. Puck and Layla seemed to have that kind of a relationship, though, where the vilest of insults were used as a way of expressing friendship. I thought for Puck, at least, it served as a reminder that she was one of the guys, so to speak.
The rest of the hour’s drive to the airfield was uneventful, if noisy, since several windows had been shot out. The airfield was . . . well, more of a field than anything I’d recognize as a place designated for airplanes to take off and land. There was a pair of those long half-barrel shaped hangars side by side, and then another pair facing them, on the opposite side of what I supposed was the runway—essentially just a wide, neatly mown swath of grass. A twin-engine prop plane waited, and the moment the Range Rover appeared, the airplane’s propellers spun into life, flashing in the sun.
I half expected a helicopter to appear, or a fighter jet, or more cars, guns blazing . . . but we loaded onto the waiting aircraft and took off without incident, Ivar waiting until everyone was loaded before following us into the airplane and closing the door after us, taking the co-pilot seat.
I took a seat in the last row of chairs, and Puck settled into the seat beside me. I don’t know if he saw or felt me tense as the props roared to full speed and the aircraft bumped into motion, but he seemed to know without having to be told that I was nervous.
He threaded his fingers into mine. “Not a fan of flying, huh?”
I shook my head. “Nope.” I let out a frightened breath and squeezed his hand as we picked up speed. “Especially on a plane this small. It’s always the little planes you hear about crashing.”
“It’s gonna be fine, babe.”
“Is that it?” I asked, once we were airborne.
“Is what it?”
“Cain, the bad guys, the shooting.”
Puck winced. “Probably not, if you want the truth. We’re not going directly back to the States from here, certainly not in a puddle-jumper like this.”
“Then where are we going?”
“Prague, in the Czech Republic.”
“I think they’re calling it Czechia, now, actually. And I am familiar with European geography, thanks.”
“Oooh, gettin’ snippy, are we?” he asked, but the smirk and the twinkle told me he was teasing.
“If you haven’t already picked up on the fact that I’m just atadsarcastic,” I drawled, “then youreallyhaven’t been paying attention.”
He grinned at me. “Oh, I’ve noticed, believe you me.”
“You have, huh?” I couldn’t help how flirty that came out, and at this point, it seemed kind of silly to keep resisting . . . except that it was so much fun to fuck with him.
He gave a sassy little smirk and bobble of his head. “I don’t mean to brag, but I’m kind of smart. I’m trained to notice these things.”
I laughed. “Things like the fact that I’m a serious bitch with a serious attitude?”
“Tiny, minor little details like that, yeah.”
“So you don’t deny that I’m a bitch?”
He shrugged. “Why should I? Serious bitches with serious attitude make my cock hard. I’m weird that way.”
I shook my head, snorting in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”
He touched my chin and turned my face to his. “I’m teasing, Colbie.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Mostly. I do like your attitude. But you’re not a bitch; you just don’t take any shit. And that really does make me horny.”
“What doesn’t?”
“We’ve covered this already, remember? Nuns, centipedes, and the IRS.” He let go of my hand so he could explore closer to the hem of my skirt. We were alone in the row; everyone else sitting in front of us, so there wasn’t anyone to see where his hand went this time. “Some things make me hornier than others, though.” His voice was pitched low enough that only I could hear him.