Chapter 10
Fort Meyers, Florida
The tires crunch across gravel as the airstrip creeps into view. No signs. No lights, except a few hazy ones lining the runway. Just cracked asphalt, a rusted-ass hangar, and a shiny black jet sitting there like a loaded gun nobody’s claiming.
I reach over and nudge Bella’s shoulder. “Yo, sis. We’re here.”
She stirs, hugging Mr. Piggles like he’s luxury bedding, then blinks at the jet. “You stole a plane?”
I roll my neck, everything in me aching. “Didn’t steal it. Paid for it.”
“With what?” she snaps. “A punch and a dream?”
I shoot her a look. “No, smart-ass. I used their money. Drained it from creeps who deserved worse. Hacked the accounts and rerouted the funds. Long story.”
Her eyebrows go up, but she stays quiet.
“Basically, I’m a vigilante philanthropist. You’re welcome.”
“Yeah, if Robin Hood had a god complex and unresolved rage issues.”
I shrug. “He probably did. Fucker wore tights and robbed rich people. I’m just better dressed.”
“Debatable,” she mutters.
I toss her a look. “Keep runnin’ that mouth and you’re walking to New York.”
“Wait, why the fuck are we going to New York?”
“Watch your mouth, Bells.”
She crosses her arms. “Seriously. You pull me out of hell, bleed all over everything, magically conjure a damn jet, and now we’re just moving across the country like this is some family road trip?”
“Glad to see you’re catching on.”
The wind cuts sharp as we walk toward the jet. The smell of jet fuel in the air mixes with the weird, metallic taste of freedom. At the bottom of the stairs, three silhouettes wait.
One of them steps forward. Polished black shoes click on the tarmac. Gray suit, shoulder holster, hazel eyes like scanners. Every breath controlled. He walks like a guy who gives orders, not suggestions.
Nate.
He never told me which part of the alphabet soup he works for and I don’t care.
Pretty sure it’s the FBI. One of their stupid embedded codes flagged me, and boom, Nate popped up like a ghost with a badge.
Doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that he’s on my side.
Helping me take scum off the earth one Black Book at a time.
“You’re early.”
“Plans changed. Punches were thrown. Carlos caught a knife to the gut.” I shrug. “Unfortunately, a little drywall was harmed in the making of our escape.”
Nate exhales sharp, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus, Zeke.”
His eyes shift to Bella. “This her?”
“I have a name,” Bella says, arms crossed like she’s already over it.
Nate almost smiles. Almost. “Noted.”
His voice drops. “Carlos?”
I shake my head. “Alive. Barely. Vince too. They’ll wake up with concussions, broken ribs… maybe a collapsed trachea, and a definite need for stitches. Give or take.”
Nate raises a brow. “So merciful. You do realize he’s a fucking D.A., Zeke?”
“I was rushed.”
And then there’s Tex. Posted up by the wing, arms crossed, boots planted like the pavement owes him money. Late thirties, early forties maybe. Buzz cut dusted with silver. Built like the kind of man who doesn’t flinch when someone pulls a gun because he’s already aiming two back.
His stare’s locked on Bella. Hasn’t said a word, hasn’t moved a muscle. Just stands there radiating ex-hitman energy like it’s a goddamn cologne.
Bella notices, of course she does. “You gonna keep eye-fucking me,” she snaps, “or introduce yourself?”
“Mouth,” I growl, shooting her a look.
She rolls her eyes like I’m the one out of pocket. Teenagers. I swear to God.
“Just making sure you’re not a threat,” Tex says.
Bella steps forward, chin high. “Spoiler alert, I am.”
I wedge myself between them before Bella decides to throw hands with the human version of a damn head shot.
“Tex doesn’t talk much, Bells. Don’t take it personal.”
“I’m not,” she mutters. “I just don’t like being looked at like I’m next on the menu.”
From behind us, Nate chimes in. “He doesn’t eat people. He just eliminates them. Quietly.”
Bella raises a brow. “Wow. You surrounded yourself with really stable people.”
I nod. “Welcome to the team.”
“Yay,” she says, dripping with sarcasm. “I feel so safe.”
Nate claps his hands once. “Alright, snark squad load up. Wheels up before someone starts sniffing around. Eric, you ready?”
A voice fires back from the bottom of the stairs. “Was born ready. You’re the ones dragging ass.”
I glance over. Eric’s leaning on the rail like it’s a magazine cover shoot, full Top Gun mode.
Black jeans. Scuffed boots. Faded Zeppelin tee under a leather jacket that’s seen more years than Bella.
He’s got a black tattoo curling up the side of his neck, something winged and sharp, like it’d bite you back if you touched it.
Aviators, of course. Because subtlety is officially dead.
Bella slows her step. “That’s our pilot?” she says not even trying to hide the judgment.
Eric pushes off the rail and strolls toward. “You want smooth, fast, and invisible? I’m your guy.”
Bella eyes him up and down. “You sure?”
He grins like the devil just gave him a five-star rating. “Honey, I’ve flown through sandstorms, cartel airspace, and one hell of an ex-wife’s divorce party. This? This is a damn coffee run.”
I nod. “He’s chaos. But he’s efficient chaos.”
“Air Chaos, Trademark pending,” Eric laughs as he pulls something small and sleek from his jacket. “Gotta deal with your loose end. Give me a sec.”
Bella frowns. “Loose end?”
Nate tilts his head. “Say goodbye to Mariela’s car.”
“Wait, he’s gonna—” Bella starts.
A dull thud shakes the ground. Heat flashes across the tarmac.
I shrug. “It was either that or leave behind a please arrest us starter kit.”
“Plus the two of you have to die,” Nate adds.
Eric strolls back over, casually brushing ash from his jacket like he just flicked a cigarette and didn’t set a whole damn car on fire.
“Handled,” he says. “Two dead teenagers. Let’s fly.”
Bella looks at me like I’ve officially lost my mind.
I grin. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”