15. JAX #2
He pushed the shot glass toward me. “Drink.”
Stiffly, I reached for it and considered tossing it in his smug face. But the room was watching. I felt it, even if I couldn’t pinpoint it.
I threw it back and swallowed, the burn familiar but for once unwelcome. Martha clapped giddily, making me flinch.
“Don’t you feel better?” she cooed.
My eyes shot to the passengers around me. No one suddenly collapsed or started convulsing. After Peter Vincelli’s sudden death, we suspected that it was fast-acting venom. Ten minutes at best.
He flipped the coin again.
Hand slapped down, covering it. “Heads or tails?”
Sweat beaded at my temples. I said nothing, and he called it again. “Tails.”
He lifted his hand.
“Ah. Another stroke of good fortune.”
I took the shot and barely tasted it. My stomach was threatening to punch through my diaphragm.
Two more coin tosses. Two more wins for me. I’d think the game was rigged if it wasn’t obvious I was supposed to lose. I was four shots down. The adrenaline prevented me from feeling them, but I had to get the shots out of my system soon.
And then it happened.
The gold streak ended.
The Viper lifted his palm, revealing tails, the wrong call. A smile stretched across his face. Then he lifted his hand as if to signal for another drink.
“Wait,” I rasped, swallowing around the rising bile. “Just wait a fucking second—”
“It’s too late.”
“Call it off!”
He clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock disappointment.
A minute or so later, glass shattered behind the bar.
The bartender disappeared, collapsed to the ground. There was a single moment of shock. Then all hell broke loose.
“Someone find a doctor!”
I started to rise just as the Viper’s hand slapped down on the table. “No,” he said, his voice dipping dangerously. “We’re not done with our game. We have two more rounds, Noah.”
Beside me, Martha fell silent. She squinted at the Viper, then took another nervous sip.
Survival instincts of a fucking turtle.
I clenched my fists, unable to concentrate with the pandemonium around me. They were trying to resuscitate the man, but it was too late.
He’d be dead in minutes, if not already.
“Heads or tails?”
I couldn’t unhinge my jaw. Anger coursed through my veins like it never had before.
“I will call it, then,” the Viper said, and flipped the coin. “Heads.”
His hand came down.
I was tempted to cover my eyes like a coward. Instead, I stared at his long-fingered hand, picturing every way I could break it.
He lifted it. “Ah,” he said, clicking his tongue. “Another win for you.”
I threw back the next shot and smashed it down with such force, the glass shattered.
Martha made a small, nervous sound. “Perhaps I’ll leave you gentlemen to it.”
“Stay,” the Viper commanded softly. “We’re almost done.”
I risked a quick glance back at the bar. An unfamiliar flight attendant was screaming for help. Others were openly weeping.
Six hours in. Two dead. No leverage.
The odds were not in my favor.
“Last shot,” the Viper said, forcing me to turn back to him. “Heads or tails?”
“Why the fuck are you doing this?” My voice was gravel.
He paused. “I am not an unreasonable man, Noah. I’ve given you ample opportunity to hand me the girl and the SKS and walk away. No one else had to die. Yet you continue to spit in my face, and for what? Her?”
“No.” I learned forward, my arm scraping across the broken glass. “She means nothing to me. But she means something to you.”
His brow arched. “Are you suggesting you’d kill her? Just so I couldn’t have her?” He laughed and shook his head. “How terribly primitive, Noah. We both know you couldn’t.”
At my stony expression, he flipped the coin again. I said nothing. He called it and slapped it down, pausing for dramatic effect.
He lifted his hand for the final time.
A roaring rush of rage overcame me.
“I will get what I came for,” he said, returning the coin to his pocket as if nothing had happened.
The table creaked beneath my knuckles.
He reached over and extended his hand to Martha. “It’s been a pleasure.”
She took it with a chummy grin, which faltered slightly at the firmness of his grip.
No, not the firmness.
The ring.
When he withdrew, the ring was faced inwards, so the tiny prick of venom could pierce her palm. I grabbed Martha’s wrist, holding it up.
There, at the bottom of her hand, was the small wound.
It was the rings.
That was how they were killing people. I forced myself to remember if I’d seen that same ring somewhere else.
On someone else.
The Viper stood and strutted away, disappearing into the chaos. My gut heaved.
“Stay here,” I told Martha, my voice thick. “Don’t move.”
Martha nodded with a dopey smile. I slipped out of the booth and toward the nearest bathroom. As soon as the door slammed behind me, I knelt over the toilet and jammed my fingers down my throat.
It was remarkably easy to purge all the shots.
Then I shoved off my shirt and stood in my white ribbed tank. I checked my arms, hands, fucking elbows for any pinpricks. Sweat turned my skin clammy. I splashed water on my face and neck, trying to ease the inferno building inside me.
My dripping reflection snarled back at me. You fucking idiot.
I balled up the shirt and shoved it aside. Too hot, too angry.
When I returned to the bar, Martha was already convulsing.