XXXIII
Hazel Winters
M y feet drag automatically as I make my way downstairs, only for Andros to tap my ass with his crutch.
When I walk into the kitchen, Dawson is at his usual place behind the stove. He looks up at me with a reassuring smile and gestures with his spatula to the bar stool at the island opposite him.
Taking the seat, I ignore Atlas’ brooding gaze, which is somehow heating my whole body. Andros makes me a coffee and kisses my forehead, before taking the seat next to Theo, who’s reading a newspaper.
“Here you go, Spitfire,” Dawson slides a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. I give him a weak smile and pick at the food. The tension in the room is making me too nervous to eat so I just push the eggs around the plate.
“How’s bed rest going, Andros?” Dawson asks him with a mischievous smirk. My cheeks burn at the insinuation as he wiggles his eyebrows. Putting an end to my embarrassment by making me laugh, Andros throws a piece of bacon at Dawson’s face. He catches it and puts it in his mouth, winking at me.
Atlas disappears out of the room, his phone pressed to his ear and I sigh a little in relief. Although Theo is still acting strangely, Atlas not being here has alleviated the tension in the room somewhat.
My nerves dissipating, I take a bite of the crunchy bacon, letting out a shamelessly soft moan as the flavour explodes on my tongue. It’s not burnt, but crispy enough to have a satisfying ‘snap’. I close my eyes in pure bliss as I chew. When I open them again, I notice all three men are staring at me with heated eyes. I look away shyly as my cheeks redden again.
Dawson quickly moves the conversation on to the club and I listen quietly as I finish my breakfast. Atlas returns at my last mouthful, with his phone gripped in his hand. His jaw is clenched tightly as though he will break his teeth if he were to apply any more pressure. His dark hair looks like he has run his hands through it a million times and he’s ditched his tie, unbuttoning the top button of his white shirt, instead.
“We’re going to Italy,” he announces, putting a pause to all conversation in the kitchen. I frown at him in confusion as the others start to bombard him with questions.
“Why?” Dawson asks.
“What for?” Andros follows.
Theo opts to stay quiet, and I assume he was already filled in on this plan. I watch Atlas warily as I wait for his answers, but he leaves the room without saying another word.
“You knew about this, Stronzo?” Andros points his finger at Theo accusingly, who keeps reading his paper nonchalantly.
“We’re leaving in two hours,” Theo replies, not looking up.
“Un-fucking-believable,” Dawson mumbles before pulling me out of the chair. In my pure state of bewilderment, I let him pull me out of the room and up the stairs. He leads me into my room and leaves for a second before returning with a suitcase.
“When King Asshole says jump, we say ‘how high’, right?” I ask with a sarcastic drawl to my voice. He looks at me for a few seconds before bursting out in raucous laughter. I smirk and plop myself down on the bed.
“Unfortunately,” Dawson confirms as he regains his composure. A smile is still painted on his face as he sets the suitcase on my bed and undoes the zip. “Pack what you need. If you forget anything we can get it when we’re over there.” “I’ve never been to Italy,” I mumble as I stretch out my legs and arms in front of me.
“It’s Paradise,” he proclaims and I frown.
“If it’s Paradise, why did you ever leave?” I ask.
He pauses and frowns and I realise the reason. We both say it at the exact same time.
“Atlas.”
We chuckle at being in-sync and he comes to sit next to me. His face becomes sorrowful as he looks at me, his eyes searching for something in mine.
“Spitfire. I wanted to say I never thought you betrayed us. Atlas forced me to stay away because he knew my feelings were too strong to be trusted around you.”
I blanch for a second, not expecting this heartfelt confession from the big, burly man sitting next to me.
“It’s okay, Dawson. I get it,” I say as I wring my hands together nervously.
“It’s not, Spitfire, and if I have to, I will spend the whole time we are in Italy making it up to you,” he says solemnly and I smile softly, knowing he means it. He leans in and kisses me chastely on the forehead before standing up. I smile at his retreating figure until a thought pops into my head.
“How long will we be in Italy?”
He chuckles and heads to the door, swinging it open.
“Pack, Spitfire.”
With that, he leaves before I can press him for more details on this spontaneous trip.
A few hours later, I’m packed and in an SUV on my own. The thought of being without any of their protection sets my nerves alight, especially with my father being loose and out to find me.
I’d even take Atlas at this point.
As the car pulls up to the airstrip, I gasp at the large plane outside my window. It’s white and could easily carry over twenty people. A thin, gold line wraps horizontally around the middle of the plane, and from the size of their mansion, I have no doubt that it is real gold.
As the driver opens my door, I step out onto the tarmac. The wind takes me by surprise, and I turn to see the engines of the jet are turned on. My straight hair whirls around my face, making me regret spending so much time straightening it.
Pulling my navy, woollen cardigan tighter around my torso, I step towards the plane steps. I look over my shoulder to see the driver transferring my bag to the airport staff, before ascending the steps up to the cabin.
When I step into the warm room, a small gasp escapes me. I completely ignore the four men already in there as I take in the interior of the private jet. With dark wood furnishings offsetting the cream leather seats, the whole place screams ‘luxury’.
In the front part, there are two sets of four seats, with tables between them. Further back, a long sofa spreads across one side whilst a TV stand covers the other. A small door and wall separate the last part of the plane, and my mind wanders with possibilities of what can be behind them.
“Welcome to Air Dawson, Spitfire,” Dawson greets me, spreading his arms wide with a grin.
“Air Dawson?” I ask as I furrow my eyebrows.
“It’s my fucking plane, Asshole,” Andros rolls his eyes. He gives me a warm smile from his seat at one of the tables and I notice his crutches are propped next to him. Instinctively, I go to sit next to him as Atlas and Theo filter into the cabin.
Theo comes to sit opposite me and Dawson nabs the seat next to him, leaving Atlas to sit on his own. Casting my eyes to Theo, I almost shrink in his gaze as he watches me carefully. When he sees my reaction, a flash of longing appears in his eyes before he covers it again.
The plane rumbles to life below us and the captain’s voice filters through the cabin. He briefs us on the journey, and it’s not long before we’re in the air.
As I stare out of the window at the clouds and disappearing cities below us, my eyes begin to feel heavy. I’m not used to flying much, and I have a feeling that it has a drowsy effect on me. Curling up in my seat, I smile as Andros throws a blanket on top of me, and I soon fall asleep.