19. June
June
Dominic and I finally arrive at what I thought was an airport, but it's not what I expected, not really.
Instead of long security lines and a bunch of tired people waiting to board their flights, we pull straight onto the runway and get out of the blacked-out SUV and walk directly to a small plane.
Small being super relative considering planes are fucking massive in general.
I thought we were flying first class or something, not on a private fucking jet.
“This way,” Dominic tells me while holding my hand and slinging my bag over his shoulder. He passes it off to the man standing at the base of a set of stairs that leads up to the plane.
“Afternoon, Mr. Adler.” The man nods at him.
“Frances,” Dominic greets him. “This is June, she’ll be accompanying me today.”
Frances tips his hat. “Pleasure is all mine, Miss June. Please let me know if I can be of any assistance to you.”
"Uh, thank you," I say, unsure how to greet this man. There are so many random people I come into contact with because of the guys’ work, and they all side-eye me when I try to befriend them and care about stuff like their damn birthdays. I still haven't figured out Alec’s, and he drives me around almost every day. I’ll have to just ask him myself and deal with the guys being mad at me about it, not like it puts me in danger by asking a simple question.
I realize they’re employees or whatever, but they’re still human beings. And it’s not like they get days off for special occasions or holidays. The least I could do is get them a Christmas card or something.
“Go on,” Dom tells me. “I’m right behind you.”
I latch onto the cold metal of the railing and make my way up the stairs.
It creaks under me and the more I get off the ground, the more unsteady I become.
I've never had an issue with heights in the past. Hell, Co and I used to climb onto rooftops to look at the stars, and one time we were nearly arrested after we climbed the local water tower.
We were able to get down before the cops came, but damn was it a close call.
The idiots had their flashing lights and sirens on, and we could see them from miles away, giving us plenty of time to escape.
Coen. Memories from another life—from another boy.
He is not that same person anymore, but neither am I.
I shouldn’t fault him for changing, but what if the new version of him is something I cannot live with?
The idea of losing a love I’ve held on to for so long aches something fierce in my chest. I used to think there wasn’t anything we couldn’t get through, but I’m not so sure anymore.
I step inside the plane and turn to my right, considering I don’t exactly plan on flying this thing.
I glance at the cockpit but all the buttons and knobs immediately send panic flowing through me.
How can someone possibly remember what all of those do?
I guess it’s like driving a car though, right?
When I was little, I couldn’t wrap my head around the levers and steering wheel and gearshift.
But now, I do it without effort. Maybe I’m only rattled by the idea of operating a plane because I have no idea how to do it.
And unfamiliar territory is bound to stir up some uncomfortable or irrational thoughts.
Like falling out of the fucking sky.
Dom places his hand on the small of my back and guides me farther in. “Sit wherever you’d like.”
“Anywhere?” I take in my options. There are numerous single seats, with a polished table separating them from another seat.
There are a couple double options, and then couches in the back of the plane.
I didn’t even know planes had couches. How was I was living off of sips of booze at Jack’s and packs of Ramen about a year ago, and now I’m deciding which level of luxury I’d prefer on my private flight with my mafia boss boyfriend?
Life is fucking strange.
Dom dips his head into the cockpit and chats with the pilot while I make a decision.
I settle on one of the double chairs because it seemed like a midline rational decision. In between the single seat and couch. A happy medium of sorts. Dom could sit opposite or next to me. Heck, we could play musical fucking chairs if we wanted.
I lower myself onto the plush leather and revel in how damn comfortable it is.
Frances appears at my side, startling me a bit at how prompt he is. With his hands folded so fucking properly on top of each other, he says, "Care for a beverage, Miss June?"
“Yeah, uh, sure. And, just, just June is fine.”
“My pleasure, June. What would you like? I could bring you a fine Merlot, or perhaps a Shiraz. I do have a wonderful Bordeaux I personally picked from France. I’ve chilled Mr. Adler’s Hawks Mark.”
“I’ll have that, please. Neat.”
Frances grins. “Ah, similar tastes, I see.”
I smile politely even though I would have easily settled for a cheap bottle of bourbon over Dom's preferential thousand-dollar bottle.
Don't get me wrong, it's fucking delicious, but holy shit is it expensive.
I don't think I'll ever get used to this lavish lifestyle.
Although, it is nice to not have to worry about where my next meal will come from or if I'll be able to work enough to pay my portion of the rent.
I don't have monetary worries with them.
They insist I have the best of everything, even though I'm okay with “off-brand shit,” as Magnus would call it.
I don’t need their spoils though, and it’s not why I’m with them.
Their love is all I want, and lately, that’s been the hardest thing for them to give me.
I’d easily trade all the lavish shit for more of their time, but I know that isn’t possible.
I just didn’t think it would be this difficult.
It wasn’t supposed to be. I was going to be a part of their world.
Help them with the daily operations and give them business advice, potential ways they could scale and grow their empire.
I was told I would be their queen, but all I feel like is their hidden mistress who barely gets an ounce of their attention.
They tell me it will change, that it will get better, but what if it’s only a lie to keep me on the hook for longer without any real promise of things being different? What if we never really do get that happily ever after they promised me?
Frances returns from the door he had disappeared behind in the back of the plane. Two glasses in his grasp. He sets both of them on the table in front of me. “Are you hungry? Or would you like me to wait for Mr. Adler?”
“I’m good, thank you, but he might be.” Especially after the sex-capades we had before we came here. I leave that part out though. Frances doesn’t want to know about the dirty things Dom did to me only a half hour ago.
My body still tingles from Dom’s touch, my pussy aching from the pounding it took.
Dom usually gives it to me good with his dominant bedroom antics. I eat it up like the good girl I am, but damn do I like pushing his buttons and being the brat I truly am at heart.
“Very well, Miss June.” Frances motions toward the direction he came. “The lavatory is that way, and if you need anything…” He shows me a little button on the side of my armrest. “You can simply push this.”
“Thanks.” I want to correct him about my name again but I don’t force the matter. Formalities sort of seem like his thing.
Dom finally leaves the front of the plane and comes toward us. He grips Frances’s shoulder. “Franc, man. How are you? How’s the family?”
Frances smiles warmly. “Doing wonderfully, thank you, Mr. Adler.”
“That’s great to hear. And your grandson? How did the trial go?”
"We have seen much improvement, sir. I cannot thank you enough." Frances's eyes glisten.
Dom gives him another firm squeeze. “Don’t hesitate to let me know if anything changes or issues arise. I’ll make a phone call.”
“You are a good man, Mr. Adler.”
The two of them exchange a silent nod and Frances goes toward the front of the plane.
I raise a brow at Dom. “What was that all about?”
My Dom, a good man? Ruthless, murderous, cold as ice Dom…
Dom reaches for his glass of bourbon. “He had a problem and I solved it, no big deal.”
“Sounds like it was a very big deal, Dom. What did you do?”
“His grandson has cancer. I pushed to get him into a trial he otherwise wouldn’t have been accepted into.” Dom lowers his glass onto the shiny table and spins it around. “That kid shouldn’t have to die just because he doesn’t have resources.”
I stretch across the surface to latch onto his hand with mine. “That was very kind of you, Dom.”
His gaze trails up and a smirk forms on his handsome face. “Don’t get any ideas, I am not a nice guy.” He rakes his other hand through his beard and leans back, still holding my hand.
“Why do you pretend you’re not?”
“I’m not pretending. Sometimes I do good deeds, but that doesn’t change who I am, June. You might get to see a side of me that no one else does, but don’t for a second equate that to me being kind, or noble, or good. I am a bad man. I always have been, and I always will be.”
Why is he trying so hard to convince me that he has no redeeming qualities?
This theory of good and bad is strictly that—a theory.
No single person is inherently one or the other.
Doing good things doesn’t make you a good person, and doing bad things doesn’t make you bad.
I’ve done my fair share of both, and I lean much more toward the darker side of things, but I doubt any of the few people in my life would say I’m bad.
That’s all that really matters—how those closest to you view you and the things you’ve done.
If people can choose to love you knowing all the terrible acts you’ve committed, how could a person truly be evil?
Or maybe the evil is just that alluring and makes them blind to the depravity.
Engine sounds fill the cabin and a second later, we slowly move from our spot.