Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Chelsea
The momentary distraction of me shooting a bullet into the ceiling of the aircraft was all they needed.
Atlas shot the gun out of Jones' hand with precision a surgeon would be proud of.
At the same time, Nyla shot Jones in the foot.
He cried out loud in pain and surprise, shaking his hand and pulling his foot back towards himself.
"Fucking hell!" He threw himself down as his minions, and those working with Nyla, used the same distraction to fire at each other. A couple of shots and all that were left were Nyla's men, and mine.
The aircraft rolled to a stop, but the engine was still running.
I looked at Atlas questioningly, but he shrugged and stepped over a couple of bodies to tap on the cockpit door.
Nyla put away her gun and grabbed a set of handcuffs one of her men pulled out of his pocket and handed to her. She dangled them from her outstretched finger, right in front of Jones' face.
"There's two ways this goes down. You come willingly, or we hold you down and put these on you."
"Fuck off," he snarled. He eyed his gun, which still lay on the floor a few metres from him.
Before he could make a move, I dropped down to scoop it up. "There's a third option," I said.
"You let me walk away from here and I'll leave you alone," he said. He held the side of his shoe, his thumb pressed down on where the bullet must still be lodged. He was trying to stop from showing how much pain he was in. Trying, but failing.
The doctor in me wanted to help him, to take the bullet out. The rest of me wanted to put another bullet in him, not in his foot.
"I think we all know that wasn't the third option I had in mind," I said.
"I know it wasn't," Dallas said, coming up behind me.
"I do too." Jay trailed Dallas.
"You don't have the guts," Jones sneered. "You'd rather fix my foot. You know why? Because you're weak. Women don't have what it takes to get the job done. That's why I know you won't kill me. Neither will Nyla. You're both too soft."
"That's bullshit," I said flatly. "Believe me when I say it takes more strength to resist the very great temptation to kill you than it would to pull the trigger again.
This way, you get to pay for the things you've done.
For what you wanted to do to me. What you did to Nyla. To fuck knows how many other women."
"You can try," he said derisively. "We both know the Crimson Vipers will come and get me."
"They have to know where you are first," Nyla said. "And that place has to be somewhere they'd dare to go. Somewhere they didn't risk being chained up beside you." She glanced at me to indicate she was referring to my brother's workroom. If anyone was in any doubt.
"Isaac would have fun with him," I said.
"Speaking of Ice, you should come and see this," Atlas said from the cockpit.
With Nyla and four of her men standing over Jones, guns aimed at his head, I figured it was safe to leave them to it for a few moments.
I stepped around them and moved to join Atlas. "What is it?" I peered out of the front windscreen of the aircraft.
My brother stood on the runway, Hunter and Parker beside him. Storm, Frost and Ramsey stood on the other side. They all had guns trained on the pilot.
"I figured we should stop," the pilot said nervously.
"Good call," Atlas said. He waved back as Ice waved at him, then at me when he saw me standing at Atlas' shoulder.
He looked relieved to see me alive and in one piece. Admittedly, I was a little teary now. They would all have risked themselves to stop the plane from taking off. They could have been mowed down.
When the twins and my boyfriends realised I was there, they all started waving frantically and smiling.
"Only these guys," I said softly, and waved back with slightly less energy. Right now, I wanted a long soak in the bath and a bottle of wine. Not to mention hugs from all of my ruck boys.
"We all love you," Atlas said. He put an arm around me and kissed my temple.
"I love all of you too," I said.
To the pilot I added, "I wouldn't try flying this until you have the bullet hole looked at. Just in case it breached the hull. Or whatever the outside of the aircraft is called."
Flying an unpressurised plane above a certain altitude could be deadly. Which was exactly why I fired into the ceiling. No matter how desperate Jones got, he wasn't going to risk flying in a damaged plane. He never would have risked himself.
The pilot sighed and turned off the engine, letting it putter before it finally fell silent.
"I'm just hired to fly this aircraft. I don't know anything about the person that chartered it." He held his hands to either side.
"Then you won't mind us checking," Atlas said.
"Go ahead," the pilot said. If he was innocent as he said he was, he could walk away. With a cover story, of course.
"I said fuck off," Jones snarled from behind us.
I turned to see three of Nyla's men trying to wrangle him down onto his stomach and pull his arms behind his back. He was wriggling and shoving, trying to fight them off.
"He might be right," I said so only Atlas could hear. "The cartel could try to rescue him."
To the side, Dallas and Jay were opening the aircraft door and trying to work out how to lower the steps to the ground.
"They won't succeed," Atlas said, looking in the same direction I was. "The cartel, I mean. Jay and Dallas are all over getting the steps down."
"Yes, they are," I said. Although, it looked as though they were about to Google how to do it. "Can you be so sure about the cartel? If people want something desperately enough, they'll do anything. He's their leader."
"Not anymore he's not." Atlas gaze slid to Nyla, who hadn't moved in the last handful of minutes. The barrel of her gun was still aimed firmly at Jones' head.
"You really think they'll accept that while he's still alive?" I asked. Not that men were ever misogynistic or anything.
"You really think he'll be alive that long?" Atlas countered.
"A day or two might be all it takes," I said.
Dallas and Jay finally had the steps down and Storm, Frost and Ramsey hurried up to greet them.
"Asshole!" Storm pointed his gun at Atlas. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you right now."
"He's on our side," I said. "He was pretending to be with them."
Storm's brows dipped. "Are you sure? He could be pretending right now."
"I'm certain," I assured him. "I promise."
Storm lowered the gun a fraction. "What about that asshole?" He pointed the barrel toward Jones.
"Definitely not on our side," I said. "He's a horrible excuse for a human being and deserves to suffer."
Jones took the distraction we offered. He kicked one of the men trying to hold him down, in the groin, and threw off the other one. Leaping to his feet, he lunged at Nyla.
He managed to push her back against the side of the aircraft opposite the door, where the tiny galley kitchen was. The impact knocked the gun from her hand. He wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed.
She wriggled, trying to get free. Her face turned pink, eyes wide with fear and frustration. She’d come so close, only to die now?
Not on my watch.
Feeling a bit like Lara Croft, I raised both of the guns in my hands, aimed and shot Jones in the back of the head. The force of both bullets slammed through his skull, into his brain, killing him and sending blood and shards of bone flying.
He released his grip on Nyla and sagged slowly before slumping to the floor.
"There goes my Tuesday night entertainment," Ice remarked as he stepped into the aircraft.
"Sorry, not sorry," I said, exhaling on the last word.
Both of the guns slipped from my hands and I started to tremble. I found myself caught up in a tangle of arms and muscle as I started to fall.