Chapter 27
ARCHER
Our plane touches down on a private airstrip about thirty minutes outside New York City with a squeal of tires on the runway, the whole jet bucking and screaming, because our pilot was ordered to get it done fast.
Smooth was not a requirement.
Now we’re here, and my whole fucking world turns chaotic as Tim unsnaps his seatbelt and charges toward the door, a gun in one hand and a whole lot of fiery rage in his eyes.
I could stop him from getting noisy and potentially making shit worse for us. I could slow him down. Fuck, I could tell him to cool it. But I stop on his left, shoulder-to-shoulder, and wait impatiently as the plane bucks and weaves, slowing and turning toward Estefan’s jet.
“He’s probably got guns and scopes waiting for us.
” I glance over my shoulder and lock onto Felix’s green stare.
“Checkmate still hasn’t seen him since last night.
He fucked me and Mayet up this week, and I thought we were landing at JFK?
!” Lava-hot rage sizzles in my blood. “So now he’s rerouting planes mid-flight and telling no one? ”
“Arch—”
“He’s taken this shit too far,” I snarl. “I’m declaring it: his actions are an attack on our family.”
“You point your gun at him, and he’ll declare open season on your face.
” Felix crosses the cabin and muscles his way between my chest and the door.
Pushing me back, he grabs hold of my collar and tightens his grip.
“They’ve landed safely, we’re here now, and he has one car waiting outside.
He didn’t bring a fleet, he didn’t bring tanks, which means he’s not bringing the heat.
Calm the fuck down.” He shoves me back and turns to face the door, then he hits the latch and spins the lock, releasing the door and holding onto the heavy steel frame, his shoulders and back bulging with muscle.
“If you run out there like a dickhead and charge toward his car, you’re a dead man.
” He lowers the heavy stairs and stops in my way, in Tim’s way, and glowers.
“It’s okay to be worried. It’s okay to be stressed.
It’s not okay to get yourself killed when talking is how we achieve diplomacy. ”
“Fuck diplomacy! Shit would be different if Christabelle were on that flight.” I force him to the side and sprint down the steps, onto the blacktop, where the heat—of the sun, the engine, and the world—merge to bake the skin on my face.
I cast a cursory glance toward Estefan’s jet, the door still closed, then I look to his car, and behind it, a half dozen of ours and a pair of Bishop brothers, standing… waiting… their war faces on.
“Fuck it.” I stalk toward Estefan’s Lincoln, gun in hand, and no fucking care for the way his driver climbs out of the front.
The prick stops in front of the back door, barring my way.
“Move.”
He doesn’t speak. He only stares, gritting his jaw.
“Move!” I summon an entire week’s worth of fear and pain and soul-deep anguish, and balling the lot up, I toss Cordoza’s driver to the side and whip the back door open.
“You’re gonna have to excuse me, Estefan.
But I ran out of diplomacy by Thursday.” I duck my head, fully prepared to stare straight down the barrels of half a dozen guns.
Only… there are none. No one. Nothing.
“What?” Frantic, I swing back around and stop on Tim’s steely eyes. “He’s not in here!”
“He’s in there.” Jay, folding his arms and leaning against the hood of his car, shouts above the sound of the wind. Of rumbling jet engines. Of my blood roaring in my veins. “Soph opened communications about ten minutes ago. He flew with them.”
“With them?” Stunned, I turn from the brothers and cast desperate eyes toward Estefan’s jet, my stomach rolling as, through the small windows, I catch Ellie’s red, splotchy face.
Minka’s ghostly expression. “Ellie’s been crying.
” I sling my gaze to the one I know will care most. Troy ‘Romeo’ Rosa.
Her husband. The father of her unborn child. “Why has she been crying?”
The jet’s door releases, and just like ours, a set of stairs folds out to touch the ground. A hostess in a tight skirt suit smiles, like this is just another day on the job, then she steps out of the way, making room for Sophia to exit first.
Unharmed. No sign of crying. Not even a weapon in her hands.
Aubree follows second.
Tim charges forward, both relieved and terrified, scooping his wife off the bottom stair and burying his face against the side of her neck.
Their lips move, words passing between the two of them, but there’s too much noise surrounding us, and even if there wasn’t, the things they’re saying aren’t for me to hear, anyway.
“Minka Mayet?” I look to Cordoza’s man back at the car, no gun, then to the Checkmate guys, no guns.
In their hands, anyway.
“Minka!” I shout. “I need you to come out here. Right fucking now.”
My stomach lurches as I stumble forward. My heart aches. My brain throbs in all the worst ways, because Ellie steps out next, her movements slow, and when she’s a full arm’s length away from the door, she twists back and smiles up at the man on the other end.
She’s holding him. He’s not holding her.
“W-what’s going on?”
“Everything’s okay.” Soph sets her hand on my shoulder on her way past, squeezing for a beat before she continues her trek in Jay’s direction. “Relax, Detective.”
I can’t fucking relax!
I stride toward the steps and stare up at Ellie’s swollen eyes.
Her shaky grin. Her trembling jaw. I shift my focus to Cordoza and glower as suspicion turns my stomach hollow.
“I’m trying really hard not to disrespect you right now, old man, but your conduct this past week makes it extremely difficult. ”
“Understood.” He emerges fully from the door, his body twisting almost sideways, because on his other side, Minka steps out, her arm wrapped around his.
Like Ellie, he’s not holding her. She’s holding him.
“What’s going on?” I growl. This week has been too fucking much.
Too painful. Too devastating. Too exhausting.
“Someone needs to explain what the hell is happening, because my grip on everything Felix lectured me about on our flight over—like not pulling a gun on the fucking boss—is slipping. I want answers, and I want them right now.”
“Perhaps we should have dinner?” Like this is all just a big fucking game to him, Estefan’s lips curl into a playful smile. “Since you’re here, I suppose it would be my honor to have you at my table.”
Continue the Mayet Justice series in Sinful Silence