Chapter 9
Raine
Ten Days Later
Pulling into the Agency’s private airfield, I feel relaxed, even though I’m late.
The Agency black site is exactly as I remember, carefully hidden and impossible for the average person to find.
The airstrip has no tower, no signage, and no lights.
It’s just a slab of runway concrete in the middle of nowhere.
The Agency’s black private jet waits for me, engines whirring.
Soren’s already on board. I know this because there’s a tattooed middle finger pressed against the window.
Prick.
I haven’t seen or heard from him since he was carted off from Lukas’s cabin to one of the Agency’s medical black sites.
Do I feel bad about accidentally shooting him?
Maybe one percent bad. The other ninety-nine?
Certain he brought it on himself by acting like a reckless, undisciplined idiot.
I expect more from an ex-black ops, special forces soldier, or whatever the hell he is.
Aren’t they supposed to secure the perimeter before going all John Wick?
Doc Martens clanking up the stairs, I hand my bag to the blonde flight attendant, who receives it with a fake-ass smile, welcoming me inside the cabin.
My organs somersault when I spot him.
Soren sits on a cream leather lounge, legs spread, one tattooed arm draped over the backrest, the other holding a battered leather notebook. He is infuriatingly hot. Like something sculpted from the depths of hell.
His eyes drag over me, slow and assessing … and still furious as fuck. “You’re late.”
I sink into the lounge seat across from him, crossing one leg over the other. I widen my eyes, playing the innocent schoolgirl. “Sorry, Daddy.”
Sarcasm. I’m fluent.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You gonna ask me how I am?”
I give him a once-over. “Two arms, two legs, one smart-ass mouth. You look fine.”
His jaw ticks. “You fucking shot me. You’re lucky my lung wasn’t punctured.”
“No,” I correct, “you’re lucky it wasn’t punctured. I saved your miserable life. Lukas was going to kill you. And you know it.”
For a second, he studies me, and I see it. He knows I saved his life. I just can’t tell if he’s happy or disappointed at that fact.
“You’re a smart-ass,” he states, sitting back in his chair with a huff. “Has anyone told you that?”
“I’m a truth-teller,” I correct, meeting his stare.
“You’re pissed you made a near-fatal mistake in front of me.
Your ego can’t stand the fact the ‘bitch you didn’t want to babysit’ is the very bitch who ended up saving your sorry ass.
If it wasn’t for me, your corpse would still be there, rotting away. ”
He sucks a breath in as he bites his bottom lip, anger boiling beneath. I know internal rage when I see it. But, damn, the sight of his teeth sinking into his lip sends a hot jolt low in my stomach. Two things a man can do to spike my body temperature?
Wear a hat backwards.
Bite their bottom lip.
Soren’s doing both of those things. No wonder I feel fucking hot. I reach up and angle the cool air vent toward my face, welcoming the rush of cold air.
“So.” I smirk. “Are you gonna act like a little bitch this whole flight?”
Soren returns serve with a shit-eating grin of his own. It causes his little upside-down cross to crinkle. Damn, if that little smirk doesn’t do something to me.
“I’m gonna make it as uncomfortable as possible.”
***
He wasn’t lying.
Ten minutes into the flight, and the blonde attendant is making her intentions painfully clear.
She’s perched on the armrest of Soren’s seat, one manicured hand resting on his shoulder, her legs crossed, flipping her wavy hair like she’s auditioning for a porno.
She may as well be giving him a lap dance.
I get it; he’s hot. Unfairly so. But the breathy giggles and cleavage in his face are too much, and I can feel my anger begin to uncoil.
She keeps flicking her eyes over to me, as if to check I’m watching.
To see if she’s succeeding in making me jealous.
But I don’t entertain envy; the only emotion I’m dancing with is anger. Maybe I’ll shove my gun in her mouth.
I seem to be trigger-happy these days.
As much as I want to choose violence, I refrain, reaching for my headphones instead.
I believe that is what therapists refer to as ‘growth.’ The headphones do the job, her shrill laugh now muted.
I should’ve known this would happen. The Agency always rewards its men with power, money, and sex …
like treats for obedient dogs. And what do I get?
For my obedience and success? More assignments.
More blood on my hands. More silence when I ask for answers.
My peripheral catches movement. I try not to look but can’t help it.
Soren’s leaning into her neck, whispering something in her ear that makes her gasp and slap his shoulder.
I suck in a breath and force my eyes back to the window.
I could let it go.
Focus on the endless stretch of brilliant blue sky.
She laughs again, the sound like a thousand needles jamming into my skull. My pulse starts to pound in my throat, hard enough that I feel dizzy. Rage begins to manifest inside of me.
I should let it go.
My eyes betray me and snap back just in time to see Soren’s hand slide higher up the attendant’s thigh. Intimate in a way that feels deliberate, like salt poured straight into an open wound.
I’m the fucking open wound.
There’s no way I’m letting it go.
Fuck the sky.
I yank my headphones off.
“Can you two fuck off? Preferably somewhere away from me? Some of us want to fly without being subjected to the cringefest that is you two.”
There’s no sound but the hypnotic hum of the aircraft. Soren’s lips curve, slow and wicked. I’ve taken the bait, and I know it. The blonde’s eyes dart between us. She stands, clearing her throat and smoothing her skirt.
“I’ll be in the back if you need me,” she says to Soren only, her nails trailing his jaw before she walks off.
Lame.
When I look back towards Soren, he’s already watching me, amusement splayed across his face. He can smell blood in the water.
I narrow my eyes. “What?”
He blinks, slow. “What?”
“You’re the one staring at me.”
“You’re so vicious. I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who is so angry.” His head tilts, gaze skating over my face. “When’s the last time you got laid?”
Heat crawls up my neck, and I bite the inside of my mouth so hard, I draw blood. I swallow the metallic taste away. I mustn’t let him get under my skin again.
Soren smirks. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. It’s been a while since you’ve had a good, hard fuck.”
The words stick to me like glue. Is it obvious I’m sexually frustrated? Because, yeah, it’s been a hot minute. But I’m not out here whoring myself around to loser men who can’t tell the difference between the clitoris from the bellybutton.
“Yeah? And why’s that?”
“You look like you want to stab someone in their sleep.”
“Well.” I give him a thin smile. “You better sleep with one eye open then, motherfucker.”