Page 10 of Ravens

I look at York as he grabs our bags. “This is a bad idea.”

“No one will be looking for you yet. It’s a necessary risk.”

York hands the driver a few bills and then tells me to start walking as he sets a quick pace.

“They’ll be able to track us once they do start looking,” I argue.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“The wolf does not explain itself to sheep,” he says coolly.

Sheep.My blood boils as I cross the road to the terminal. This fucking sheep is getting tired of his shit very quickly. I walk through the big revolving door with him on my heels.

“We can’t get on a plane with guns,” I murmur as I look up at the departure board.

“Good thing I trashed them all at the hotel, then.” He turns to me. “Don’t move from this spot. Do you understand?”

I nod and watch as he strides toward the ticket counter. As soon as he begins speaking to the ticketing agent, I march over to a nearby row of seats. Fuck him.

Groaning, I rub my forehead and close my eyes as the headache kicks up another notch. I unzip my case and take out my leather jacket. After slipping it on, I bend over to zip the case shut, and someone sits down next to me. It’s a man, and I look past him, noting all the empty seats he didn’t choose.

“Hi there,” he says, smiling at me. “I saw you sitting here alone and thought you might like some company.”

“I’m not alone.”

“Well . . .” He glances around dramatically. “You are right now.”

“Right.” I roll my eyes.

“Why don’t I do you a favor”—he pulls out a business card—“and give you the number of a real man . . . one that won’t leave you to fend for yourself.” Smiling, he leans closer. “It’s okay, you can take it.”

“Jesus Christ,” I say in disbelief.

A hand snaps the card up in a flash from behind, and York rounds us, scrutinizing it. “Darren, now I know where you work. How hard do you think it will be to find where you live?”

The man blanches as York looks down at him.

His eyes shift to me. “Did he put his hands on you?”

I shake my head, and York slides the business card into his pocket as the man slips out of the seat and excuses himself, hurrying to the security check.

“I told you to stand over there.” He points to the departure board. “The less you follow instructions, the more difficult this is going to become for you.” He hands me my passport with a ticket tucked into it. “Now get your ass to security.”

We make it through security without an issue, and I head toward our gate. As guessed, the tickets are for England, but unexpectedly, his fingers lace with mine, and my breath catches.

“You look like a captive, sweetheart.” He raises my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “Try to relax.”

“Iama captive.”

“Well, let’s not advertise it.”

When we reach our gate, he pulls me down into his lap when he sits and checks his watch before stretching his arms across the chair backs. My eyes fall to my fingers. I can feel him looking at me, but it’s taking everything I have to remain calm and avoid picking an argument here.

So, I sit on his lap diligently, and eventually, I lean into him and rest my head on his shoulder.

“Good girl,” he mutters.