3. OLIVIA
OLIVIA
Through the terminal windows, the plane looked monstrously big.
White and silver, double-decked, with four large engines mounted beneath wide swept wings.
But on the inside, the plane was a palace.
A luxury hotel for the sky. Sleek, modern, with wide-spaced aisles and two full passenger decks connected by illuminated glass stairways.
There was even an onboard lounge, with a bar, and a suite of bedrooms in first class.
I’d always traveled in style, thanks to my richy rich parents, but I’d never traveled like this.
“Woah,” Julie said, pausing beside me in the doorway. “This is some serious physics porn.”
I nodded in agreement. How something so large managed to fly without stopping for fourteen hours was super impressive. My stomach flipped uneasily.
I wasn’t a nervous flyer, but I’d never been responsible for tending to a plane. Usually, I’d be kicking up my feet, sipping my complimentary bubbles, and listening to a steamy audiobook with lots of sticks and balls.
Sometimes, I missed the girl I used to be.
She’d been spoiled and na?ve, a rich girl with rich privilege. She’d been the cheer captain of her squad, the prom queen of her year. She’d dated the heartthrob quarterback. Joined her mother’s college sorority as a legacy.
Then Molly went missing.
And everything changed.
“Move aside!” A voice snapped behind us.
Julie and I shared a suffering look as we stepped aside. Lucille came striding in like a dictator. She took one look at Julie and me and sensed the mutiny brewing.
“Separate. Now,” she said, and clicked her fingers at a forty-something man with a hairless crown and a bored expression. “Marcus, take Emily. Make sure she doesn’t break anything.”
“I won’t—” I stopped short at the blistering look Lucille shot me. I thought the hardest part of maintaining my cover would be remembering the safety presentation. Turned out, it was not stabbing this woman with her knock-off heels. “Okay.”
Marcus walked ahead, his nose high, shoulders perfectly straight. I followed him, shooting Julie an encouraging smile. I sure as hell preferred shadowing Marcus to Lucille.
Luckily, Marcus was a quiet man, disinterested in making small talk as we prepared the cabin. My thoughts ran ahead of me, mapping out the next parts of the plan.
Identify the mark.
Confirm he had the prototype.
Pray to God he didn’t see through my disguise with his terrifying, profiling eyes.
The burner phone in my uniform jacket buzzed, making me jump. I waited until Marcus was preoccupied before I glanced at it.
ALPHA: Check in.
My heart fluttered like the hopeless organ it was. After months of silence, he was finally talking to me again. Even if it was purely business.
PRINCESS: In position.
My finger hovered over the emoji keyboard before I thought better of it. I wasn’t dealing with a normal guy. Jax was in a league of his own. Rough, abrasive, impatient. Violent. Dangerous. A cute smiley face with heart eyes wasn’t going to mend the bridge between us.
“Ready?” Marcus asked me, arching a brow as I sheepishly pocketed my phone. “Don’t let her catch you.”
My cheeks flushed. “Sorry.”
“Enjoy this,” Marcus said as the rear door opened, revealing the billowing tarmac. “You will not get another second to breathe.”
I was already on the verge of hyperventilating, but for entirely different reasons.
A slow stream of passengers trickled in. When Marcus started checking tickets, I batted my eyes and asked him if I could take over. “For my development,” I lied, laying it on thick.
Marcus looked skeptical but swapped positions with me. I’d have to do better to fool the profiler.
Ticket after ticket, face after face. Without knowing what Peter looked like, I had to be overly attentive. With the lawyer summit in Zurich, most of the passengers were in suits. Shrill eyes and impatient frowns met my overly perky greeting: “Welcome aboard!”
Behind me, the lower economy cabin became a hub of movement. Bags lifted into overheads, trays popped down, laptops and devices set on top. The worker bees didn’t waste a second.
I accepted the next ticket with steady hands, only for my fingers to spasm in shock. Shit. Maintaining my smile, I dragged my eyes up to the man.
My blood ran cold.
Peter Vincilli looked nothing like I imagined. Mid-thirties, with a luscious head of dark hair, a warm smile, and perfectly straight white teeth. He was tall and incredibly fit. He even had a perfect tan, like he’d just been holidaying in the Bahamas.
You know, when he wasn’t out murdering and committing treason.
The only unsettling part of him was his eyes. They were glacial blue, almost translucent. The kind of eyes that glowed in the dark.
“W-Welcome aboard!” I said, my voice cracking slightly.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. Beside me, Marcus cleared his throat, looking equally flustered.
Peter accepted his ticket with a cocky grin. It didn’t match the piercing intensity of his eyes.
Discreetly, I took in the rest of him. Tailored, navy blue suit.
A gold ring on his right hand. A gold Rolex on his left wrist. His only piece of luggage was a sleek, silver briefcase.
That, at least, fit the crime. It was very Bond villain, exactly the kind of briefcase you imagined carrying illicit things.
“Thank you,” Peter said, his eyes lingering on my chest—no, my name tag. Committing me to memory. I swallowed, at once grateful for the neck scarf so he couldn’t see my rapid-fire pulse.
Peter stepped past me and walked down the aisle to his seat, not looking back. I sighed in relief.
“Father, may I,” Marcus sang with a sly grin. “That one looks like trouble.”
Trouble didn’t begin to cut it.
As soon as I had a moment alone, I sent the alert to the crew.
PRINCESS: ROW 12. Seat 44H. Briefcase.
SUNSHINE: Got it. I can see him.
SUNSHINE: Hang on a hot second…
SUNSHINE: R u yanking me right now?
SUNSHINE: what a fuckin smoke show!
I slapped a hand over my mouth, muffling my laughter. Ryle was completely unfiltered.
For the next half hour, I was on luggage duty. My upper body strength was tested as I heaved bag after bag into the overheads. My phone buzzed again, but I couldn’t check it. The most important part now was not blowing my cover.
Just fourteen hours, I told myself. You’ve survived worse things.
The thought had barely crossed my mind when something hard smashed into my ribs. I gasped as pain lanced up my side. I grabbed onto the nearest seat for balance.
“Move aside, blondie.”
A short, jowly man sneered up at me, cradling his sharp overnight bag to his chest as if I had damaged it. Biting back a groan, I straightened.
Lucille’s stern voice rattled through my head. Be calm, speak slowly, smile, never argue.
“I’m sorry about that, sir,” I forced out with a tight grin.
“Hmph.” His dark eyes daggered over me, like I was a bug beneath his expensive Italian loafers. My smile, like my ribs, cracked.
“You should know better than to march us business members through economy,” he said loudly. Heads turned toward us, sensing blood. “I’ve never received this treatment on Delta.”
My face burned at the attention. “Oh, well, um—”
“It’s a bloody insult!” he sneered. The silence around us became sharper. Locked in. I practically felt Lucille’s eyes scratching down my spine.
Smile. Don’t argue.
Don’t wedge your heel into his balls.
“It’s just—you see—the protocol—” My words weren’t wording. The demon in my belly returned with a gleeful twist. Perfect timing.
My chest tightened in panic. Every eye trained on me felt accusatory. FRAUD. IMPOSTER.
I couldn’t get caught. I couldn’t fail Preacher. I couldn’t lose Molly again. I couldn’t—
Suddenly, fingers brushed lightly across my lower back. The effect was instantaneous. My chest loosened. Precious air rushed into my lungs.
The short man opened his mouth, prepared to lash me for my blunder, when his eyes flicked over my shoulder. Whatever he saw made his mouth snap shut. He paled dramatically.
Wariness crept over me. I knew of only two people who could inspire that kind of fear.
“Never mind,” the man said, quieter now, subdued. Quickly, he retreated the wrong way down the aisle.
Steeling myself, I turned around.
Madoc met my gaze evenly, looking utterly bored.
I swallowed my surprise at the sight of him.
He was wearing a pitch-black suit, black shirt, no tie.
His ink-dark hair was combed back, a few insurgent strands brushing his temples.
Unlike Jax, Madoc was sharp without looking polished.
His shirt was unbuttoned at his throat, tattoos stark against his skin.
He’d removed his piercings, but the absence of them was just as jarring.
His green eyes were vacant as always, unnerving in their lifelessness.
“Thank you,” I managed to spit out. My gaze drifted automatically over his shoulder, where it was safe.
My breath hitched when I sensed him lean in. “Thank you, sir,” he purred.
My eyes snapped back to his face. Just like that, my anger returned. His answering smile was cold and disconcerting. Madoc loved mind games. He was a knife-wielding psychopath who tortured and killed without remorse. He wasn’t just a thief—he was Jax’s executioner. The worst one in his crew.
And I hated him with the fire of a thousand suns.
Straightening my shoulders, I prepared to turn away when his hand snapped out and grabbed my wrist. He dropped me just as quickly, like I burned him. His face, of course, gave nothing.
“Someone’s calling,” Madoc said, his voice soft and dangerous. “You should answer.”
My hand drifted into my pocket, brushing the burner phone.
“I’ve been kind of busy,” I said.
His brow twitched in warning.
“Sir,” I added, like it was pulled between my teeth.
Madoc’s gaze dipped down. On anyone else, it would look like he was checking me out. On him, it was like being stripped apart, skinned, gutted, and served for dinner. There was hunger in it, but not the right kind. The wrong kind.
Everything about Madoc was the wrong kind.
“What?” I murmured defensively.
His eyes sharpened at my tone. “How do you know?”
“Know what?”
“That the prototype is in the briefcase.”
I frowned at him. I didn’t have time for games. But, as much as I despised him, I couldn’t deny that Madoc was clever. Disturbingly clever. Not only did he have an eidetic memory, he saw things other people didn’t.
“Where else would it be?”
Madoc’s brow twitched. “Exactly.” He leaned closer. “The wrong door is always the easiest to open.”
I swallowed. “You think it’s a decoy?”
Madoc stared at me. Blank, yet somehow patronizing. Like I was a complete idiot.
I crossed my arms, then uncrossed them, not wanting to look annoyed. I had to remember my cover.
“Was that all, sir?” I asked, plastering on a smile that I hoped conveyed my sarcasm.
Madoc leaned back, smirking. “Cute uniform.”
My eye twitched.
He hummed, as if satisfied with my reaction, and turned back to his seat. He didn’t look at me again.
Fourteen hours, I reminded myself. I could survive fourteen hours.
Right?