Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
Scarlett didn’t say a word on the drive to Teterboro.
That was what set my nerves on edge.
She wasn’t crying. Wasn’t shaking. Wasn’t arguing or demanding answers or lashing out the way she always did when she was scared or angry. She just stared straight ahead through the windshield, eyes open and empty, her body slack against mine as if the part of her that was feisty had evaporated.
She was too still.
I held her tighter, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing. Alive. Functioning. But not here.
Lach pulled up to Jet Aviation and cut the engine. The late-afternoon sun broke through the clouds for the first time in days, washing the airport in golden light. It felt wrong—too bright, too optimistic for what had just happened.
I pushed the door open and stepped out with Scarlett in my arms.
She didn’t react, didn’t even blink. Her gaze stayed fixed on nothing as I crossed the concrete toward the jet waiting for us—sleek, long-bodied, unmistakable.
The G800 stood ready with its stairs already deployed, a fuel truck driving away.
Nik didn’t do half measures, and the sleek new jet was ready for our use.
The first officer met me at the bottom of the steps.
“Good conditions across the Atlantic,” he said briskly, trying to hand me the flight plan, which I waved off.
“Light traffic out of Teterboro. Estimated flight time to Adolfo Suárez Madrid–Barajas is seven hours and change. Arriving just after sunrise, local time. We’ll be wheels-up as soon as you’re aboard and set for takeoff. ”
“Let’s go,” I demanded.
He didn’t argue. Just nodded and stepped aside.
Lach jogged up behind me and set my go-bag down inside the cabin. “Nik had a replacement passport printed for Scarlett,” he said under his breath. “It’s in the outer pocket.”
I didn’t slow down or respond.
I climbed the steps and carried her into the aircraft. The cabin was quiet, immaculate—leather, polished wood, soft lighting tuned for long-haul travel. The kind of space designed to make its passengers forget about the distance.
Scarlett didn’t look around. Didn’t register where she was or what was happening. She let me settle her into the seat without resistance, her hands limp in her lap, eyes still unfocused.
I crouched in front of her for a second, searching her face.
Nothing.
Not fear. Not anger. Not relief.
Just vacancy.
I straightened as the door closed, sealing the cabin with a muted thud. Outside, the ground crew cleared away. Somewhere up front, systems came alive, and the jet began to roll.
Our trip to Madrid was already in motion.
And Scarlett—silent, distant, and unbearably still—was returning to the place she was desperate to escape so we could get some answers.
Her eyes stayed open, but her mind was far away.
Just before I was about to sit down, she asked, “Did that pilot just say we were going to Madrid?”
“Now, lass. Stay calm. I’ve got you,” I said, keeping my voice low and even, forcing calm into every word.
She didn’t blink.
“We need you away from the men your father’s indebted to,” I continued, careful with my words. “We need to understand who’s been keeping you caged in Madrid. It’s for your safety—”
The moment Madrid left my mouth, Scarlett’s body went rigid—pupils blown wide, color flooding her cheeks.
That word snapped something inside her.
It hit like a detonation, and she exploded.
“No!” she screamed, bolting from her seat and lunging for the door.
I caught her around the waist just before her hand grabbed the door release.
“No, no, no—get your fucking hands off me!”
Her elbow slammed back into my ribs. Before I could get a good hold on her, she twisted and drove her knee up. I blocked it with my thigh and grabbed hold of her arms. She launched herself forward, striking out, trying to bite my throat like an animal, driven by pure instinct.
“I’d rather die than go back!” she shrieked. “I told you that! I told you!”
She kicked me in the shin and pain flared.
“Why would you do this to me?” she screamed, clawing at my arms. “You promised not to hurt me! You promised to protect me!”
She pounded her fists on my chest. I didn’t stop her because she needed a place to unleash all the pent-up rage and frustration she was feeling.
Then she went for my hair. I dodged her hands and swung her up into my arms.
“Instead, you murdered my father!” she screeched, her voice breaking and rising again in the same breath. “You killed him right in front of me! You’re a monster! I hate you!”
She thrashed, trying to wrench free, trying to get down. She kicked and scratched, trying to do damage.
“Let me go!” she screamed. “Put me the fuck down!”
The cabin was too small for this, and the floor unsteady beneath our feet as we jostled along. There were too many sharp edges, too many things she could slam her head into if she lost her balance.
Outside, the world moved faster, and I couldn’t risk having to abort the takeoff.
Cops. Delgado. It didn’t matter which devil showed first. If we weren’t airborne, we were dead.
I tightened my hold and turned toward the main cabin area as she flailed about.
She fought like she had at the church—dirty, relentless, fueled by panic.
“I’ll jump out of the plane!” she screamed. “I’ll jump before I set foot in that hellhole!”
“Scarlett!” I barked. “Enough.”
Her head jerked toward me. Her eyes were wide, wild with fury. She couldn’t be reasoned with.
She wanted out.
I hauled her down the aisle and dropped into one of the large cabin seats, dragging her onto my lap before she could throw herself sideways. My arms locked around her, one forearm across her upper body, the other catching both wrists and pinning them down onto her lap.
She bucked hard, trying to launch herself forward.
The seat rocked.
“Fuck you!” she screamed. “Get off me! I’ll kill you—”
“I know you want to,” I bit out, breath harsh against her hair. “I get it.”
Her body twisted, fighting for leverage. She threw her head back, aiming for my nose. I turned just in time, and she caught my cheek. Pain flashed white-hot.
“I hate you!” she sobbed, her wrath melting into tears of utter frustration. “I hate you!”
“Hate me all you want,” I grunted, struggling to keep hold of her without hurting her. “I’m not letting you go.”
I shifted my body, pinning her tighter. Maximum control—because she wasn’t in control of herself.
The flight attendant stepped out from the galley as if she’d been waiting for the right moment.
“Can I be of any assistance?”
“Sedative,” I ordered. “Now.”
She didn’t flinch. “Yes, sir.”
Scarlett’s head snapped toward her. “No!” she screamed. “No—don’t you fucking touch me!”
The flight attendant disappeared.
Scarlett thrashed harder, fueled by fresh panic.
“You’re drugging me?” she shrieked. “You’re sending me back! You’re taking me back to them!”
“Scarlett, listen to me—”
“There is no listening!” she screamed. “You killed my father! You killed him, and you’re going to hand me over like I’m nothing!”
“I shot him because he was taking you,” I snarled. “Because he was going to deliver you—”
“I don’t care!” she screamed, even louder. “You’re all the same!”
She bucked again, nearly slipping off my lap. I hauled her back, locking my arms tighter. She kicked, heel slamming into the seat base, then twisted.
“Quit fightin’ me, lass.”
“Don’t call me that!” she screamed. “Don’t—don’t you dare act like you care—”
The flight attendant returned with a syringe in hand.
Scarlett saw it and went fully feral.
“No!” she screamed, thrashing so hard I thought the seat would break. “No, no, no—get it away!”
I didn’t give her any more opportunity to fight me.
I shifted my grip and unbuttoned her jeans with one hand. I flipped her over my lap, then wrapped her legs with mine, pinning her hips down and holding her there.
She shrieked, the sound ripping through the cabin.
“Don’t!” she screamed at the flight attendant. “Don’t you fucking—”
The flight attendant swabbed her hip with antiseptic, then injected it into the muscle.
Scarlett howled.
“Hold still,” I growled.
“Go to hell!” she screamed. “I hope you die—”
The flight attendant withdrew the needle and stepped back immediately.
I flipped Scarlett upright again, pinning her back against my chest, her breathing wild and ragged.
She fought wildly for several minutes—violent, frantic—then she slowed, and her resistance turned sloppy.
The rage didn’t vanish, but her muscles started to betray her.
“No,” she choked. “Don’t…don’t take me…”
I lifted my head and shouted toward the cockpit. “Get this fucking plane off the ground—now!”
The cabin shifted. A low vibration rolled through the floor as the jet began to pick up speed, rolling down the runway.
Scarlett’s panic gave way to tears that spilled down her cheeks, her head turning side to side as if she could shake the reality loose.
“Lucian,” she sobbed, my name tearing out of her throat. “Please. Please don’t. I can’t go back. I can’t—”
Her body sagged against me, but her voice rose, breaking into hysterics.
“Please,” she begged. “Please, please—don’t take me back to Madrid. Don’t take me back to that nightmare. Don’t make me go back—”
The jet picked up speed, the runway vibration rattling through the cabin.
Her arms—still trapped in mine—went limp.
She tried to lift her head and couldn’t hold it; it was all she could do to look up at me.
“Please,” she whispered again, devastated. “I’ll do anything. I’ll—I’ll—”
The cabin tilted as the wheels left the ground.
Her breath hitched.
“I can’t— I can’t go back to having to sell my body just to survive.”
Sell her body to survive?
The moment she said it, my fury exploded. Every life connected to her suffering became a debt I intended to collect.
No wonder she was so desperate—she was exploited in the worst of ways. And every man who’d touched her was already dead. They just didn’t know it yet.
The engines roared.
And Scarlett sobbed against my chest as the world outside fell away.