Chapter 29 Rae
RAE
INTERNATIONAL FLIGHT PLAN
Operator: Lazarev Global LLC
Departure: Teterboro, NJ (KTEB)
Destination: Bordeaux, France (LFBD)
Flight Time: 7h 12m
Passengers: 2
Pilot Notes: "VIP transport. Discretion required."
The car is waiting at the curb. It’s the same black Rolls Royce and the same silent driver from the gala.
Once again, he declines to look at me as I get into the backseat. He just returns to his place behind the wheel, pulls away from the building, and merges into traffic.
I watch through the tinted windows as we drive. Midtown gives way to the tunnel. Then we’re heading north, bound for God knows where.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
JILLIAN PIERCE
Where are you? Drinks tonight???
Rain check. Something came up.
:( Everything ok?
I don’t know how to answer that in detail, so for now, I just give her a smiley face and a thumbs-up. I’ll fill her in once I know what happens.
The drive takes longer than I expected. To my confusion, we leave Manhattan entirely. The skyline of the city shrinks in the rearview mirror until it’s just a smudge of sparkling light against the darkening sky.
I assumed we were going to a restaurant, some fancy place with a three-month waitlist and portions the size of postage stamps.
But we’re not heading toward any restaurant district I know.
We’re heading toward nothing. Industrial buildings. Empty lots. A stretch of chain-link fence topped with razor wire.
Then I see it.
A private airfield.
The car pulls through a gate and onto the tarmac. There’s a jet waiting. Sleek, white, audacious.
And standing at the bottom of the stairs is Lukas.
He looks like every bad idea I’ve ever had.
He’s wearing a dark suit, the top button of his shirt left unfastened.
His silver hair catches the last of the fading daylight.
Even from here, I can see the scars on his hands—pale lines crisscrossing his knuckles, souvenirs from a life I know nothing about.
As always, it strikes me just how massive he is.
Not just tall, though I feel like he could look down on the top of the plane if he chose.
No, Lukas Lazarev takes up space. His shoulders strain against his jacket.
His chest is a wall. His thighs look thick enough to crush watermelons. Or skulls.
His eyes settle on mine through the tinted window. Gray as gunmetal. Cold as a January grave.
But there’s something else there, too… Something that makes my breath catch and my thighs clench together on the leather seat…
Hunger.
The driver stops the car and gets out to open my door. Cold air rushes in. My shoes ring out against the pavement as I cross the asphalt hesitantly toward him.
Lukas watches me approach. His eyes travel down my body. Taking inventory of his newest prize, I presume.
“Where are we going?” I demand as soon as I’m close enough for him to hear.
His mouth curves into a vicious, sinister smile. “You didn’t think I’d spend five million dollars on a simple dinner, did you?” He turns and gestures toward the stairs. “After you, Ms. Everett. We have a long night ahead of us.”