CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
AINSLEY
Y ou know what no one tells you when they push you out of a plane? To be very careful with your facial expressions or your lips could get pinned. Like Daffy Duck.
Or so I’ve heard.
It’s as though my grandmother’s your-face-is-going-to-freeze-like-that warning is coming back to haunt me.
For the first few seconds, I feel like a disoriented ragdoll. I’d like to claim that I’m unfazed because putting on a brave face—Daffy Duck or not—is kind of my thing. But this is one of those you-can-only-be-brave-if-you’re-afraid moments. So, yeah, I’m oozing fucking courage.
I fought to be here though. I swear when Gage laid out the plan, he thought the whole we’ll-be-parachuting-into-the-clearing-in-the-middle-of-the-night scheme was going to have me running for the hills. Joke’s on him. Clearly, plummeting into those hills is more my style.
My drumming heartbeats and humming blood flow are nearly as clamorous as the thunderous gale assaulting me.
I’m not panicking. I’m lightheaded. But fine. Perfectly fucking fine.
There are no cockroaches at this altitude, so there’s that. There isn’t much of anything. It’s an endless void. And while I prefer my feet planted on the ground, I’m sure there are plenty of positives.
Honestly, once I stuff my inner turmoil into that dark hole where I store all my uncomfortable emotions and tether my thoughts, which are outracing our one-hundred-twenty-five-mile-per-hour speed, I grasp why people do this for fun and not just when it’s the best route for a sneak attack.
It’s exhilarating. All three of the girls were jealous of this part of our mission. Celeste has been skydiving, but not at night.
The sensation isn’t as much like falling as it is floating or being pushed upward. Almost as if we were surfing on the inky clouds. The guys zeroed in on our drop zone, so I trust that we’re going to land where we’re supposed to, but I imagine being shrouded in darkness only intensifies this stunt.
Since the whirring rush of the wind is so loud, I can’t tell Gage that I’m relaxing enough to enjoy it. So, I show him by throwing my arms out to my sides, as he instructed me to do when we went over jump techniques. His chest shakes in response, and he squeezes me.
This experience mirrors my life perfectly. Out of control and yet in the arms of the man I’ve loved my entire adult life.
Free-falling into a precarious battle and securely held.
The hunter and the hunted. The lion and the lamb.
Poetic dichotomy.
Somehow, it all makes sense. There’s this inkling swimming in my gut, assuring me that I’m right where I belong. I mean, there is something perversely counterintuitive about jumping out of a plane at any time of day. But in the black of night? Fucking insane. The dark expanse below heckles us. And the glowing moon boasts of its grandeur. Mother Nature is both awe-inspiring and rude from this vantage point. So, I doubt my belonging has anything to do with those specifics.
It’s the company. Family.
Ty, Liam, and Wells are all soaring around us because they jumped first. Though we are quickly passing them by since we’re heavier. They are the strangest group. It’s challenging to wrap my mind around all they are because for thirty years, the Morelli Mafia’s ways were all I knew. The Vittoris were similar in most regards. And one thing I know for certain is that my father and his admins, and Theo and his, would never have been the ones jumping out of planes or forging into a battle. It’s one thing for Gage, as the enforcer. That makes sense.
But Wells? He’s the head of the Cabrini Mafia and one of five KORT chairs, and he’s currently dressed in all black and flying through the night, prepared to personally take down a rival leader. It’s baffling. The same goes for the seconds-in-command. What the hell happens to their legacies if they die? But when I posed that question, the three of them seemed insulted. They were adamant that they always do jobs such as these together. I get that they were Navy SEALs, but those three have every right to order Gage and me to handle this on our own or with foot soldiers.
When I shared that opinion yesterday, Ty gripped my chin and said, “I told you we fight for each other, Skittles.”
That nickname is far too soft for me and yet exactly right out of his mouth. It’s a whisper of safety every time I hear it. And Wells and Liam were right there with him, assuring me that if Gage and I were fighting, there was nowhere else they’d be.
I love that and hate it because if something happened to any one of them, I couldn’t take it. Just the thought has my stomach roiling. Other than the man holding me, the only other person I’ve felt that way about was George. So, yeah, these men are absolutely my family. As are the women I’m desperate to get home to.
After about a minute, Gage deploys the parachute, and as the wind catches the sails, it yanks us back. My body jerks, my legs flipping up in front of us, so high that I nearly knee myself in the face.
But then the most miraculous thing happens.
That grating noise melts away, and a placid quietude reigns.
The world stills to a gentle breeze, shadows of nature, and a canopy of twinkling stars.
Tranquility.
This is the epitome of the calm before the storm. This type of peace has no business preceding the shoot-out we’re about to embark on. But the only moment we’re guaranteed is the present, so I sigh in contentment.
“That’s my girl,” Gage praises with a kiss to my head. “You fucking conquer everything, Wicked.”
His accolade infiltrates all the jagged crevasses inside me. All his commendations do. It was hard to let any of it in at first, to hear that he was proud, to be forgiven and revered. His wrath was far easier to accept. But the way he dotes on me now—he truly is the missing piece, the balm to my broken.
So, I let my guard down and share my vulnerability. “I was terrified, but this is pretty spectacular. If only we could drift here forever.”
“We’ll find our peace, Ains. I promise,” he rasps, his arms coiling around me like a protective shield, already in warrior mode. “I told you I’d free you from all of it, and I will, but we’ve got a few more steps.”
I nod, knowing he’s right. Someday, maybe we’ll skydive for entertainment, floating over the earth like we own it, not like we’re trying to spin it to find our most strategic angle. We’ll laugh and relax and return home to the French chateau with our unconventional family. Our rocky past will be a distant murmur of defeat because our future will be a triumphant anthem. We’ll have babies and do crossword puzzles and leave each other Scrabble phrases before starting a day filled with more blessings than fears.
Someday. But not today.
Today, we massacre a few more of the bastards who not so long ago were considered my kin.
Family means sacrifice.
“I’m good,” I assure him. “Ready.”
“That’s it, Ains. Stay focused. Everything is slow right now, but once we land, speed and precision are what we need. We’ll turn on our comms, assemble our weapons, and hike the mile to the cabin.”
He rattles that all off, intensity threading his words because having me along for the ride is terribly unsettling. I’ll happily stay out of the way until it comes to Theo, so he shouldn’t be so worried.
Less than a minute passes before our still-earth experience blasts forward at warp speed, like he said it would. The guys are all wearing night-vision goggles—NVGs—which allow them to see the clearing of our drop zone, the land and far-off trees highlighted with a greenish glow. I wasn’t so keen on that coloring for my jump. I’m not sure why, but when we tried before boarding the plane, I wasn’t having it. It made my stomach queasy. Looking back, perhaps it was the nerves. Either way, I’m not sure that was my best-made request because through my clear goggles, the ground is suddenly a black blob, rearing to clobber me, which accompanies Gage’s barked order.
“Legs up, baby.”
He smacks my thigh to ensure my compliance, but I’m rather fond of my limbs, so that’s another concern he can knock off his list.
Twenty seconds later, the whoosh of the landing is both enlivening and daunting. And everything accelerates. Gage unhooks us, we flip on our comms, and he sorts through his pack to assemble our weapons. The other guys land shortly after, all rushing through similar steps with a bit more ease since they don’t have a tandem jumper.
And then we’re off. Our rifles in hand and my tranquility long abandoned. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. I’m jittery, but it’s only due to the impending serenity that will greet me when this is all over. I know the point of all this is to gain the media cards for KORT, to complete our end of the deal and be free and clear. But if I had to sum up my intent for this mission with my Scrabble tiles, it wouldn’t have anything to do with that.
One simple eight-point word.
Kill.