Page 9

Chapter Eight

Carys

T here have been several times in my life when I’ve been grateful for a private jet. But flying a known fugitive from Switzerland to Russia, even on a fake set of documents, makes me appreciate the luxury more than normal.

When we got on the plane, I picked my usual seat, expecting Finn to settle into one near me, close enough to at least talk. Instead he sat as far away as possible, asked for earbuds, and has been drinking Irish car bombs and listening to something—maybe music, maybe a string of angry profanity—who knows?

Every time my focus strays to him and his relaxed pose, I want to scream. It’s irrational, but I hate him for ignoring me so completely that switching off and forgetting I exist when we’re locked on the same plane is easy. Since the moment he opened his damn door to me and Kim, my Finn obsession has been reborn.

Kim. Fucking Kim.

A few seats away, Jay catches my eye. “You all right?”

“Fine.” I draw circles on the side of my head. “Thinking, thinking, thinking.”

He chuckles. “About where we’re going?”

“Should be. But no. About where we’ve been. Never good.” I shift in my seat, straightening my spine and grab the Vogue magazine from the cushion beside me.

“Him,” he says, tipping his chin toward Finn. “Or Kim.”

A smile threatens at how well he knows my thoughts. “Both, actually.”

“Ouch.”

I flip through the articles, seeing nothing, skimming over the latest trends. I can’t focus.

“Just go tell him he’s pissing you off. He seems like the type of guy who appreciates a straightforward approach.”

I laugh. “You’re right there. Finn only likes games if he’s the person playing… and winning.” After a glance at Jay, I shuffle through a few more pages of my magazine. “I will not talk to him. What happened between us is old news. Old, dangerous, get-me-killed news.”

“Any room the two of you are in positively crackles.” Jay leans forward in his seat. “Even right now, you’re not talking. But you see the slant of his shoulders.” He uses his finger to draw an invisible line on Finn. “He’s so fucking aware of you it’s unreal.”

I shake my head. “The slant of his shoulders?” My voice drips with disbelief.

“You pay me to notice this shit.”

I close the magazine. “I do. Doesn’t mean I don’t consider it bullshit.”

“Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up. I bet he goes tense.”

My lips twitch. I’m amused despite myself. “Just stand,” I clarify.

“Stand up. Wiggle, like you’re pulling your shirt or readjusting your clothes. He might not look, but I guarantee he’ll notice.”

With narrowed eyes, I start to rise.

“No, no,” Jay says. “Don’t look at me. Watch him.”

“Sure. Sure. I’ll watch the slant of his shoulders.” Tossing the magazine on the seat between me and Jay, I keep my focus tuned to Finn. Sure enough, as I tug my shirt, he straightens in his chair. His head angles in my direction, not enough to see me but almost as though he’s listening or waiting for something to appear in his peripheral vision. A predator. A shiver zips through me. Why is that movement, that instinct in him, such a turn-on? God, I have issues.

After falling back into my chair, I glance over at Jay who is chuckling. He makes a shooting motion with his finger and then blows on it. Then he pretends to rotate his gun before holstering it. A laugh escapes me, louder than normal. Finn twists in his chair, and our gazes connect. My smile slips, and he turns around again.

Fuck it.

With a quick push on the armrests, I’m out of my seat, and I wander to him, my hands in the pockets of my loose black dress pants. When I sit, I keep an empty seat between us. He doesn’t acknowledge me, and I yank out the closest earbud. His jaw tightens, and when he faces me, there’s a hint of anger.

“Can I do something for you?” He removes the other earbud and keeps them bunched in his hand.

Now that I’m over here, next to him, I’m not sure what I want. The only thing I don’t want is him ignoring me. “Should we come up with a strategy for when we arrive?”

“You organize shit. I’m the mindless muscle.”

I cock my head and tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “No offense, but you’re not exactly in prime mindless muscle fitness.”

“Doesn’t take much to shoot a gun.” He swirls the last of his Irish car bomb. “You sure these threats are coming from the FBI guy you paid?”

My fingers flex on the armrests. “Not exactly sure.”

“Give me a percentage.”

“Um… fifty?”

“I’m going to murder someone over a fifty percent chance. I suppose I’ve killed for less. I’m surprised you like those odds though.”

“I told you I don’t want anyone killed.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a guy who makes those sorts of promises.” His icy gaze rakes over me. “The desire to murder an FBI agent is still thrumming through my veins. Wouldn’t take much to set off my instinct.”

“Finn.”

He sits forward and leans across the seat between us. “This is who I am, Carys. I am the guy who does those things.”

Anger rises in me like a tide, and I gather myself, meeting him in the middle of the free seat. “I understand exactly who you are. But if you’re out there representing me and my business, you fall in fucking line. I put my life, my company at risk by rescuing you. Do you have any idea what Kim gathered on me in the time she worked for me? 'Cause I don’t. But I sure as hell know she’s got lots on you.”

Finn opens his mouth to speak, and on instinct, I cover it. Electrical currents shoot through my arm. I ignore the sensation, and Finn’s gaze locks on mine.

“You want to help me,” I say. “You help me. You don’t douse the situation in gasoline and light a match.”

Behind my palm, his lips quirk. Carefully, I remove my hand.

“I wouldn’t drop the match.”

“Yeah, you would.”

“It might accidentally slip out of my fingers.”

“You shot Kim.”

He scowls. “She fucking deserved it.”

“Your plan, such as it was, seemed to be simply not to die.”

“Not true.” He settles back in his chair and avoids eye contact. “I didn’t believe, when it came down to it, Lorcan would pick her over me.”

“That’s a mindset, not a plan.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “You want to put a collar on me? Fine. Done. I won’t kill anyone without your permission.”

“Not just a collar. There’s a leash too.”

With a smirk, he turns to examine me. “You into role-play now, Carys? You always liked to experiment.”

Heat floods my cheeks, and my anger dissipates. Using the armrests, I vault myself into a standing position and ignore his innuendo. “When we get there, we’ll go to the warehouse first. I have an employee I’ll need to meet with to see what’s been determined.”

He stares at me for a moment and then sticks an earbud back in. “I’m starving.”

“We’ll grab dinner after the warehouse and meeting. I’ll even let you pick.”

“Anything I want?” His gaze roams over me in a hot, leisurely way, suggesting far more than I intend to consider.

His fingers twist and turn the other earbud, distracting me.

I long to press my cool hands against my face. Why is it so scorching on this plane? “Within reason.”

“Shame.” He looks away. “I can think of lots of unreasonable things.” With the other earbud in his ear, he settles deeper into his seat.

I make a beeline for my chair, my heart pounding. Jay grins when I flop beside him.

“Not so bad?” he says.

“You know when you’re out somewhere and there’s a fruit tray and a brownie tray? Why do we always want the brownie?”

Jay gives me a look of disbelief. “Because brownies are fucking delicious.”

“Yeah, but they’re bad for you.”

“When you bite into one and the chocolate goodness hits your tongue, do you care? You don’t. No one does. Sometimes the bigger sin is not digging in.”

“What if you’re allergic to brownies, and they could kill you?”

His smile fades. “He ever lay a hand on you?”

I frown. “Never. No. I—he’s a lot of things, but he’s not that .”

“And this whole affair was when?”

“Seventeen years ago.”

“You’re not even the same people. Maybe you eat the brownie and you find out you don’t have a sweet tooth anymore.”

I give him a long look. He doesn’t need to realize I’ve sampled the brownie recently, and the sweet tooth might just eat me. “Your wife is lucky.”

He gives me a rueful smile. “Next time we get in a fight, I’m putting you on speakerphone. You’ll have to yell it really loud though, maybe several times. Sofia’s got a temper.”

I laugh. “That’s a deal.”

Over the speaker, the pilot tells us to prepare for landing. “As soon as we’re on the ground, I need you to find out where we can meet Valeriya,” I say.

“You got it,” Jay replies. “Car should be waiting on the tarmac when we touch down.”

“Customs? Passport control?”

“Valeriya took care of it.”

“Perfect.”

One less worry. People criticize countries where money can buy things, powerful things, such as entry into the country without passing through customs. The truth is—people don’t care about right and wrong. They just wish they had enough money so they didn’t have to care either.

Volgograd isn’t a major city, which is also helpful.

“You worried about what we’re gonna find?” Jay says.

I seek the back of Finn’s head, almost on instinct. “Not anymore.”