2. Dane
DANE
Four months earlier
The leader of the Volk bratva smiles at me as we walk to my helicopter on the roof of his compound in Norway.
The meeting has gone well, but I don’t trust that smile.
I check out of the corner of my eye for Stephie.
She’s just there, and I flick my gaze immediately away.
Never good to show anyone what you value most. It’s too easy to exploit.
I really should think of her as Miss Oliver, but that doesn’t sit right with me. Too formal for the young woman I fuck every night and make scream my name as she comes.
In my dreams. My imagination that goes wild for my little assistant, and has since we first met.
“Safe trip back,” he says, insincerely. “I hear there is snow forecast, and you English can’t manage with anything but rain.” His laughter is mocking.
I smile tightly. It’s true that it snows in Moscow and rains in London. All the weather there is soft compared to practically every other country in the world. Rarely very hot, almost never very cold. It’s like the personality of the English arose from our middling weather.
“We’re stopping off in Edinburgh for extra snow,” I joke. Actually, to refuel and check up on the Scottish mafias allied with London. “I have a taste for it now.”
The Volk leader insulting England doesn’t matter. We got what we wanted. Safe passage over Eastern Europe for expanding London’s interests—more specifically Beckton’s, after the Harlesden mafia boss messed up a previously neutral relationship by stealing their ballerinas. One who became his wife.
But I’m a trader by instinct, and I needed the route fixed.
This deal has opened up the area with a minimum of fuss and concession.
I know many in London have shifted to doing everything digitally, but people still need stuff.
And as long as they want illegal goods, Beckton will be here to supply them.
My stomach is uncomfortable and my head not as clear as usual.
I can’t tell if it’s generalised wariness from being with a fellow predator, or something else.
I’ve only eaten and drank from the items we brought with us, but I feel unsteady, and I’m fighting the urge to snatch Stephie to me and run to an unspecified safe location.
My princess. The woman I would protect above all others.
Even from myself.
Indulging my weakness for Stephie would probably get us both killed, so it’s a good thing I have control.
It’s only when we’re in the helicopter, and have risen into the air, that I allow myself to breathe a bit. Not fully, since we’re not back in London yet. The adrenaline I usually enjoy from these situations is making me jumpy. My eyes are twitching.
I don’t attempt to discuss business with Stephie, because the helicopter is so bloody noisy, but I glance over at her, briefly.
Just enough to get a little fix of her beauty.
Her blue eyes, quick and bright and clever.
Her skin that invites my gaze. Her hair that begs for my fingers to run through the straight brown silky strands. My hands clench into fists.
I’m never going to touch her.
Instead, as ever, I roll the agreements with Volk around in my head for a while. It takes me a moment to notice the darkening cloud we’re flying into.
“Is this an issue?” I ask my pilot. He’s experienced. Has been with me for over a decade. The other man I have with me for security is in the front, and Stephie and I are in the back.
“The weather radar says it’s nothing serious,” replies the pilot, but his voice sounds wrong.
“What’s wrong?” I glance out of the window and down this time. We’re over the North Sea, and the grey-blue water looks incredibly cold and dangerous. Not where we want to be.
“Uh…” He doesn’t reply for a second, and I wait. Best to avoid panic. “My vision is shaky, Boss.”
I swear under my breath. That’s not good.
“Have you been poisoned?” Fear shudders up my spine. “Was anything left unattended?”
“Shouldn’t have been,” my bodyguard states the obvious.
“There’s no point in apportioning blame now. We need to land as soon as possible, so you can recover.” I’m trying to figure out the best course of action, but my brain is stuffed with cotton wool.
“I’m fine!” the pilot protests, but that’s not true. It’s taking a lot of effort for him to remain in control.
“Give me the map.” I lean forwards and hold out my hand for the tablet holding the flight plan.
As soon as I have it, I appraise the situation. We’re too far from Norway to go back. There are islands, but given we’re closer to mainland Scotland, I pause. There aren’t any decent-sized towns, and if my men have been poisoned by the faithless Volk Bratva, they need medical attention, fast.
“Can you make it to Inverness?” I ask. “That would be better for access to hospitals.”
“Yes, I think so.”
I’m not certain about his answer, but I nod.
Glancing to the side, I find Stephie is looking around my arm at the map. “There are some small buildings there,” she points, “in case we can’t get that far. “As a backup.”
I note what she says, but shake my head. They could be ruins. Nothing. Private houses.
We continue in silence for a few more minutes, and when the blue of the sea turns into a grey line, then a smudge, the cliffs, a bit of fear I didn’t realise I was holding begins to drip away.
“How are you doing?” I ask as we fly into the hills. My own vision has gone blurry at the edges. I hope the pilot is having a less severe reaction to whatever this is than I am.
“Boss, it’s not good.” The pilot’s voice is tense.
“New plan, we’re not going to Inverness.
Too risky. We’ll land wherever we can, and call Leon for help.
” My second-in-command stayed in London while I went to meet with Volk, because you never want your whole team away from home.
Leon is smart, and loyal, and I can trust him with Beckton as well as helping with this.
What he isn’t, is a good negotiator, so he rarely leaves London.
“Here.” Stephie points at the map. “It’s flat around this house, so getting the helicopter down should be possible.
And there are so many hills everywhere else.
” She gestures out of the window, and she’s right.
Scotland is a fucking mountainous wasteland.
The small flat area is the best bet. There are small grey curves on the map near the building, and it’s white beneath us rather than blue or green. Snow, as the Volk leader said.
Fuck. Just what we need.
“Have you got that?” The tablet I’m using links through to the one in front of the pilot.
“No.” There’s outright fear in his voice now. “I can’t see properly. It’s all dancing around.”
The map and the horizon are still steady for me. Ish. “At one o’clock,” I direct him.
The pilot turns slowly but jerkily, and we head towards the building Stephie identified. As ever, my little assistant has known the right way to support me, whatever the crisis. My princess. I don’t know what I’d do without her.
Possibly be dead. Possibly be able to sleep. Maybe have had sex in the last four and a half years.
“See the roof?” It’s becoming clear through the snow. “You’re aiming for that area of flat between the boulders and the house.”
“I’ve got it, but it’s blurry.” He’s holding things together admirably, but struggling to hold the controls, his hands trembling.
“Can you help him?” I ask my bodyguard.
We’re descending fast, and my ears go painful and tight then pop as they equalise.
A grunt of pain comes from the other man in the front and I turn to him, fear gripping my throat. He’s barely conscious.
“I’m coming to help.” My hand is on my seatbelt, but Stephie’s is over it.
“Stay where you are!” the pilot roars at me. I fall back. “You’re safer there. I can… Brace, I can’t control this,” he says, voice high and tight. “The wind is much stronger here, funnelling through the valley.”
Stephie shrieks in fear as we bounce downwards, then slaps her hand over her mouth to muffle it. For a second, I think we’re going to be fine.
Then a gust must catch us, because the next thing I know, I’m slammed forwards in my seat, caught by the belt, and the glass of the windscreen shatters, avalanching down. The boulder we were trying to avoid is half in the cockpit.
The snow blows in.
Agony from slamming down onto the ground shoots up my body.
“Stephie.” My instinct is for her, despite the carnage right in front of me, and my deteriorating vision. And pain, who cares? “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Her voice trembles in denial of her brave word.
There’s glass everywhere. All over both of us, and I vaguely recognise we must be cut, and that Stephie saved my life by stopping me going to the front of the helicopter.
“The fuel tank. We need to get out of here.” I fumble for my seatbelt release, and after a beat, Stephie does the same.
“Guys. Now.” As soon as I’m free, I’m on my feet and leaning into the cockpit.
My stomach threatens to go inside out. The boulder has shattered the whole console and folded it into two of my best men, who have been many, many places with me.
There’s blood pouring from both, and the angle of their necks is all wrong. The pilot’s eyes are glassy.
It’s a crush of pressure and failure that I can’t afford to indulge in right now.
I lunge for the door, which has partially buckled, and swear when it doesn’t move.
The fear that we could go up in flames—that Stephie would be burnt and in pain and then worse—is more than I can deal with.
It lends me strength. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve kicked the door with everything I have, and it bends open.
I’m breathing heavily as I grab Stephie from behind me and shove her out of the helicopter.
She falls, almost flat on her face, into the snow.
“Go!” I yell.
My good girl doesn’t question me, she crawls away, leaving space for me to squeeze through the barely sufficient gap, and jump after her. Thankfully it’s a soft fall. It must be heather underneath the snow, because it’s too spongey to be grass.
I stumble up, my vision still not right, but not deteriorating as badly as I assume the pilot’s did and grab Stephie under her armpits as she attempts to get to her feet.
“The others!” she protests as I drag her away. There’s not a high probability of fire, but it’s definitely not nothing, and I’m not risking it. Stephie is too precious.
“It’s too late for them,” I tell her bluntly.
A glance out of the corner of my eye shows me her shock. Thankfully, the adrenaline of the crash is counteracting the effects of the drugs, and my vision is crisp, my senses on alert.
When we’re a decent distance from the helicopter, I stop. And that’s when things begin to sink in.
I’m still holding Stephie. She’s slight.
Delicate. This is the first time I’ve held her, and my body responds with a flare of longing and need so intense I have to check myself, putting my feet further apart to not be unsteady.
I knew she was tiny compared to me—everyone is when you’re six-foot-seven—but she must only be about five feet and four inches, and she’s almost doll-like in my arms. My princess.
I’ve turned her without thinking, so my hands are at her side and on one shoulder.
She’s stronger than she looks, too. The only solid thing in the world right now.
Her hair is a bit messy, and she’s breathing hard, her eyes wide, but otherwise, my girl is as calm as ever.
Which is good, because I’m unsteady, my vision blurred.
Snow is gently falling, with the occasional gust that forces it against us. The same wind that meant we crashed, when combined with the pilot being drugged by Volk. Bastards clearly meant to kill us all in a helicopter crash.
“That’s it.” I don’t know what I’m saying, or why. Is it intended to comfort Stephie, or myself?
I swallow hard and fight the urge to sway.
Stephie looks over her shoulder at the helicopter. “Should we go back for the others?”
“Never return to a lighted firework,” I reply grimly. I’d like the first-aid kit and other items in the helicopter, but I’m not putting either of us in danger to fetch them right now. Not when the engine is hot, and the status of the fuel tank is uncertain.
She glances up at me, and I realise I haven’t let her go.
It’s like slowly tearing tape off my skin to release her. Every hair protests that it wants to keep her near, and screams at the separation.
“We need to get to shelter.” Before one or both of us pass out in the snow. There’s snow in her hair, and she’s just wearing those wide-bottomed trousers she likes, heels, and a suit jacket thing. Definitely not snow ready.
“Are you sure they’re—”
“I’m sure,” I cut her off. Necks at that angle are not survivable. My highest priority would always be Stephie, but in this case, she would be even if she wasn’t the woman I love.
I draw my phone from my pocket, and I’m not surprised to see nothing. No service. Not much battery. I switch it off.
“We’re on our own.” I indicate the cabin, and she nods.
With a worried backward glance, Stephie walks with me towards it.
There are no vehicles outside, and I don’t relish that I’ll probably need to break the door to get us in, but this is a matter of life or death.
And one of the advantages of being very rich is that I can pay compensation and not even have to apologise if I do something someone doesn’t like.
And bribes go a long way, too. Very effective.
It’s generous to call it a house. It’s a small, single-story stone building with a metal panel roof and green-rimmed windows in quadrants that make it seem as though it’s cowering. Afraid of the weather and the animals, and the towering mountains in the distance.
Taking a breath, I knock on the door. “Hello!”
No answer. I reach for the handle.