Chapter 9
Quinnly
The hair on my neck prickles painfully. Awareness creeps up my spine and I know he’s here.
My Shadow.
Patience isn’t my strong suit, but I’ve allowed him time to come out of hiding. Whoever he is, he doesn’t seem too keen on the idea.
I’ve got a plan to pull him out one way or another. My great adventure just got a whole lot more interesting. I hoped he would follow, I’ve been waiting years for the perfect time to meet him.
The past couple of months I’ve been testing him. I know he’s a man from the few times he’s visited while I slept. I can’t explain how I know, I just do.
I can feel it.
Sense it.
Smell it.
The one thing I can’t figure out is why? He’s lurked for quite some time, yet, he’s never shown himself. It makes me wonder if maybe I’m his ultimate trophy and he’s waiting until the perfect time to off me.
That could be fun, and I have to admit, I’ve had that fantasy run through my head a time or two. Getting kidnapped, maybe seeing first hand how someone would kill me…
Sounds like a fun time.
Speakers crackle as an attendant walks behind the counter and announces that our flight is on time and boarding will begin soon. I’m starting to get antsy, I’ve only flown a handful of times and I’m ready to get into the air.
People start filing in, standing at the gate as if they aren’t going to call people by their seats. I’ve memorized my ticket, so when the nice lady calls my row number, I hop up, grab my shit and head for the door.
The whir of the plane assaults my ears as I step onto the hallway thing that connects to the door of the plane. Squeezing through the aisle, I land in my assigned seat and stuff my bag under the seat in front of me.
It’s a tight fit, but I manage.
The gum woman passes by me with her nose in the air. If she keeps that up she might drown in the Pacific Northwest weather.
The air shifts then as a ghost walks down the aisle, his face is hard, eyes locked on wherever he’s heading. His dark skin is covered in tattoos, his hair’s twisted in thick locs and my brain rattles. I know him.
I’ve seen him.
I killed him.
Gravity Hill, he came to the Hemlock Estate looking for Salem, my boss’ nephew's girlfriend? Whatever the relationship, he came after someone the Hemlocks decided to protect. I didn’t ask any more questions.
It was unfortunate he didn’t want to tango, I gave him the option, but he didn’t take the bait.
How the fuck did he survive? I’ve never had a kill fail.
Ever.
Furrowing my brow, I contemplate all the scenarios which would put him on this flight. The Hemlocks took care of his family, I know that for certain.
I’ve never had a kill of mine survive, but I can’t say I dislike the rush of it as I watch him find his seat several rows behind me.
My heart pumps faster in my chest, and glee rises up in my throat. Or it could be acid reflux, I did eat spicy nachos for lunch.
More people pile into the plane and a man, nearing his fifties I’d say, sits down on the seat next to me with a curt nod. Flipping open his tablet, he begins typing into spreadsheets and documents. It’s fascinating to watch.
His eyes trail my way a few times, and I shrug. I don’t have anything to say, but he looks at me as if he does. By the fourth time he’s toggled between the document and spreadsheet, he turns his body to me and his head cocks to the side. “Why are you watching me work?”
My eyes flick up to his and I try to decipher his tone. His eyes aren’t squinted, you know, like when someone’s evaluating you. His lips are settled into a relaxed position, as if he doesn’t care whether I answer him or not.
“I find it fascinating.” I know he doesn’t know me, and I sure as hell don’t understand what’s happening on his tablet. But the way he does it mesmerizes me.
The plane’s already in the air, we took off about forty minutes ago. I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did. Most people get antsy with someone watching over their shoulder. The man doesn’t say anything else, just goes back to what he was doing.
By now I’ve lost interest, as if his voice ruined my concentration. I could watch something on my phone, or research my Washington target. Though, something tells me I should sleep. I haven’t been very good at that recently.
Bringing my legs up and tucking them to my chest, I lay my head down and close my eyes. The plane wall vibrates under my head, and I can hear the hum of the engine running through my ears. Allowing it to lull me to sleep, I drift off seeing my quarry behind my eyes.
My eyes snap open as the man beside me shifts in his seat for the first time during the flight. He looks my way, but doesn’t comment. A yawn pulls my lips apart and a sigh escapes my mouth. Someone has their feet propped up between my seatmate and me, and I stare at them.
When did those get put there, and who do they belong to?
Lifting out of my seat, I glance over my headrest and glower at the man the feet are attached to.
But his eyes are closed and his headphones are securely over his ears.
He’s not even wearing socks. I thought that was an unspoken rule in guy world, they always must wear socks.
Not to mention that you never take your shoes off in an airplane.
Sinking back down into my seat, I try to ignore his feet, looking for my snacks in my bag. That’s when my nail polish clinks against my fingers and I smile, lifting the bottle out of my bag. It’s bright green. Neon, I’d say, and it will look perfect on his toes.
Figuring out how to paint each nail proves harder than I thought. He’s got his ankles crossed, so access is limited, but I’ve always loved a challenge.
Getting to my knees, I hunch over his feet and continue running the neon brush over his toenails. I think the color suits him, and in spite of the awkward position, I think I’ve done a wonderful job.
Painting the second to last toe, the man sitting next to me looks over, eyes widening as he looks from the feet to me. “What are you doing?”
“Painting his toes,” I respond with the brush hovering over his feet. A drop falls onto the hair there, and I twist my mouth wondering if I have a napkin to wipe it up. That’s when the man’s legs jerk and his eyes pop open.
His feet hit the floor of the plane with a thud and his features curl. Though I’m not sure if it’s the paint on his foot or his toes that makes him look that way.
“What the fuck?” He hollers, and leans back a little. He’s loud, screaming about personal space and violations of his body. The flight attendant that led the spiel on safety rushes over, eyeing me in the process.
“Sir, what’s going on?” She asks, bending down so she can speak directly to him.
He looks up at me, face still pinched and red. “She painted my toenails!”
I smile, offering the flight attendant my best. She looks away quickly and I cross my arms, pursing my lips.
“Okay?” Her voice sounds confused, and a little bothered.
“She painted my toenails neon green!” He shrieks, holding a leg up to confirm that I did, in fact, paint them as he said.
“You didn’t let me finish,” I grumble.
“Finish–” he scoffs, looking back down at his toes, “You… Why would you do that? You can’t just touch someone like this!”
He’s yelling again, and the attendant looks between the two of us. “Sir, do you know her?”
“No!” He shouts, his shoulders falling, hands reaching my way, palms up.
“Miss,” she looks at me, brows furrowed, “Do you know this man?”
“No.”
“Then why would… How did you–” She trails off, as another flight lady comes over and they whisper between themselves.
“Ma’am, did you paint his toenails?” The new lady asks.
“Mhmm,” I nod with a smile.
“And did he ask you to paint his nails?”
“No.”
“I see,” turning to the man, she offers him a strange face and asks if he would like to move seats.
“Uh, yeah. I think that’s the least you could do,” he says, throwing a look my way.
“You don’t like the color?” I ask, scooping up my bag and searching for another.
“No, you weirdo.”
His words strike a match in my belly, everything gets hot and I drop my bag. “I believe it’s normal to thank someone when they do something nice for you.”
“Nice?!” His eyes widen and I clench my teeth together. “What about this is nice? I didn’t want my nails painted, especially not by some fucking freak!”
The flight ladies look at me, as they usher that douchebag to a new seat. My eyes clash with the man from my past and I turn, sinking back down into my seat.
“Can you believe that guy?” I ask aloud.
The man beside me coughs, and gives me a funny look. “You can’t just… alter someone’s body because of their proximity.”
“I didn’t ‘alter his body’,” I use my fingers around his ridiculous words and continue, “I enhanced his toenails.”
He shakes his head and rubs his eyes, “You do realize that’s like an invasion of privacy, or something like that, right?”
I don’t understand what he’s saying. I didn’t cut him open and watch his muscles work while he slept, and I didn’t even touch him with my hands.
“Usually someone would ask permission before painting someone’s nails like that,” he says with a sigh.
“Did he ask permission to put his feet on our chairs?” I ask, wondering if maybe I missed that.
“Well… No.”
“Isn’t that…” oh hell, Naomi’s told me this word, but for the life of me I can’t remember it.
“Polite?” The man offers and I smile wide and grab his hand.
“Yes!” I exclaim with a snap. “That!”
His eyebrows rise up his forehead and he leans back a little pulling his hand free. “It is polite, but still… Forget it.”
He doesn’t speak to me again the whole ride, not even when he plucks his bag from the overhead compartment, or when it’s our turn to exit and he lets me walk out in front of him.