Chapter 21 #2
It was Tyler who said it best. “I holed myself up like a damn hermit for years,” he told Ace.
“I wouldn’t even see my family. I just sat in my cave of an office, fucking around on my computers.
Shit, if Kaia knew I was doing that, she’d have been so pissed at me.
It took you guys to knock some sense into me again.
” Then he clapped Ace on the shoulder as he added, “You ever need anything. Someone to spar with. Go to one of those places where you pay by the hour to break shit. Skydiving. Let me know, and I’ll go with you. ”
Because that’s something else family does. They hold you up when it feels like too much to do it on your own.
“I’m glad,” Ace says, pulling my thoughts back to the present. “That they didn’t tell you to ditch me, I mean.”
“It wouldn’t matter,” I reply. “I’m not going anywhere. Because I love you.”
His gaze softens. “Tink.”
“I really do. So much.”
Turning in his seat, Ace lifts his uninjured arm to cup my cheek.
“I love you, too.” Then he leans in to kiss me.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I part them willingly, eager to take our kiss deeper.
Not too deep, given that we’re sitting in first class on a crowded Christmas morning flight, with thirty or so people around us, but deep enough.
As it always does, my body comes alive with his kiss. Desire blossoms at my core, spiraling out. My skin turns electric, sizzling with heat wherever Ace touches me. His hand on my cheek. His thigh against mine. His lips, firm but soft, exploring mine.
Though my ribs are still sore, I pay them no mind. Not when I have something so much more pleasant to focus on. Kissing Ace, to start with, and the fantasies of what we’ll do later, in the studio apartment we’ll be staying in above his brother’s garage.
As we break apart, breathing hard, I ask, “We’re still staying in the garage apartment, right? At your brother’s place?”
“We don’t have to,” Ace replies. “If you’d rather stay in the house, there’s a guest room. I thought you might prefer the added privacy, but—”
“I would. I will.” Checking to make sure no one’s looking, I rest my hand on the erection his pants aren’t coming close to hiding. “I was just thinking about later.”
He swells under my hand. “Oh? What were you thinking about doing, exactly?”
“I don’t know. Maybe giving you another Christmas present.” Dropping my voice to a whisper, I add, “One that involves me wearing just some red lace.”
His pupils dilate. “Red lace, you say?”
“Yeah. I know it’s not what I usually wear, but I—”
“DON’T MOVE!”
My head jerks up in the direction of the bellowed command.
As soon as I spot its source, my heart stalls.
No freaking way, my inner voice of logic argues.
No way. The danger is supposed to be over.
Not standing in the middle of the aisle of first class.
Not on Christmas morning, of all times. And it definitely shouldn’t come in the form of a man holding a 3D-printed gun and wearing a vest that looks like it’s armed with 3D-printed explosives.
But, alas, my voice of logic appears to be wrong this time.
Ace’s hand clamps over my arm, holding me still. As if I was about to launch myself at the guy to defend—
Well, I guess that’s not too unreasonable of an assumption, considering.
“Don’t move,” Ace hisses.
“I’m not,” I whisper back.
“Don’t move!” the man—sorry, hijacker is probably more apt—shouts. “Or I’ll blow the plane up with everyone on it!”
The father three rows ahead of us puts his arm across his wife and son protectively.
Across the aisle from them, a silver-haired woman with bright blue glasses asks, “What are you doing? It’s Christmas. This is no time for shenanigans like this.”
I almost laugh at her scolding tone. Like she’s a librarian shushing a noisy patron instead of confronting a man who just threatened to blow up the plane.
The hijacker turns to her. “Shut up,” he spits. “Or you’ll be the first to die.”
One of the flight attendants—a young blonde wearing sparkly reindeer antlers on a headband—protests, “Sir. Please. Just tell us what you want, and we’ll get it for you.”
He spins and aims his weapon at her. “Shut. Up.”
She cringes. Whimpers. Then she sinks into the nearest empty seat.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” the man continues in a slightly calmer tone. “You—” he points his gun at another flight attendant, who’s vainly trying to hide behind the drink cart. “Stand up. Now.”
She doesn’t move. She’s probably too scared to.
“Stand up!” he yells.
Several people bleat in fear. One man shouts, “Stand up! Before you get us all killed!”
Ace narrows an angry glare at the shouting man, and I can’t say I blame him. What kind of man would encourage a poor, helpless flight attendant to risk her life instead of him?
A coward, obviously.
The flight attendant slowly stands. She’s pale and shaking. Her makeup is streaked with tears. “What…” she stammers. “What…”
“You,” the hijacker orders, gesturing with his gun, “are going to get me into the cockpit.”
She shakes her head. “He won’t let you in. It’s policy. If—”
“You. Will. Get. Me. Into. The. Cockpit!”
Ace glances at me. He doesn’t have to say anything. I know what he’s thinking.
We have to do something.
Or, more likely, he’s thinking he has to do something. Because he won’t want me involved. But that’s not happening. No way. Whatever Ace does, I’m right there with him.
“If you don’t do what I say,” the hijacker adds. He pauses, and his lips draw back in a malicious grin. “I’ll start the bomb.” Another pause. “In fact.” He presses a button on the vest. “I’ve started the timer. Five minutes. If you don’t get me in there, I’ll let it go off.”
The poor mother, who so patiently explained about air pockets and bubbles, lets out an agonized cry.
My heart aches for her.
They’re supposed to be going to Gran and Gramps’ for Christmas. Not fearing for their lives.
To Ace, I whisper, “We have to do something.”
Ace gives a slight nod. “I know,” he murmurs. “I don’t see an air marshal. And I don’t think it would help with the bomb, even if there is one.”
The unspoken part of his statement is, he could defuse the bomb.
Do I want Ace even close to an active bomb? No.
Does it look like we have a choice? Not really.
As the reality of our situation sinks in, fear threatens to overwhelm me. I can feel the panic edging in, trying to take over.
But I won’t let it.
Not when Ace needs me. When the survival of everyone on the plane relies on this playing out perfectly.
Ace could try to do it all himself—get the gun away from the hijacker, knock him out, restrain him, and get the explosives on the vest disarmed. But we have a much better chance of it working if we work together.
“How do you want to do this?” I ask softly.
The muscles in Ace’s jaw work. A scowl tugs at his features. “Shit, Yara—”
“It’s better this way. You know it is. And I can do it.”
After a brief hesitation, he replies, “I know you can. I just… shit. I don’t want you anywhere near him.”
“I don’t want you near him, either. But I don’t think we have a choice.”
“Come on!” the hijacker shouts. He aims his gun at the flight attendant behind the drink cart. “Get up here! Now!”
Ace’s hand tightens on my arm. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He looks like he’s debating with himself, and he doesn’t like either option.
Well, crap. Neither do I. Attempt to take down a hijacker armed with a gun and explosives or sit back and do nothing, hoping he decides not to kill us? Neither seems particularly appealing.
“When he turns to go to the cockpit,” Ace whispers. “That’s when we move.” He looks unhappy but resigned. “I’ll take out his legs. You disarm him on the way down. Once we get him restrained, I’ll get to work on the bomb.”
My pulse jumps. Fear surges, but I swallow it back. “Okay.”
Ace turns to me. “I love you, Tink. With all my heart. Just in case—”
“I know.” I can’t bear to hear him say the rest. “I love you, too.”
In the aisle, the flight attendant is slowly making her way towards the hijacker. She’s sobbing, which sucks for her, but has the unexpected benefit of masking any sound Ace and I might inadvertently make.
“Follow me,” Ace whispers. “In five.”
“Roger,” I reply, doing my best to shift into tactical mode.
I have to think about this like an op from here on out.
If I think about it as a regular person, just a woman on her way to spend Christmas with her boyfriend and his family, it’ll be too hard to focus.
All I’ll think about is how much I have to lose.
How much we all have to lose.
Once the flight attendant reaches the hijacker, he grabs her arm and jerks her against him. She whimpers as he turns and starts dragging her towards the cockpit. Ace taps his finger on my arm, starting the countdown.
He taps a second time. A third.
The hijacker’s back is still to us.
The attendant stumbles, and he jerks her back to her feet.
Ace taps my arm a fourth time.
Taking a steadying breath to calm my nerves, I silently ask my parents to look out for us.
Just help us stop him, I plead. If you can. I’ll take any help you can give.
Ace taps my arm a fifth time.
It’s time.
He’s in the aisle seat, so he’s the first to get up. As soon as he hits the aisle, I hurry behind him.
Ace lifts his hand, signaling to hold. It’s not for me, this time. It’s telling the passengers to be quiet.
And thankfully, no one says anything. Maybe it’s his intimidating figure. Maybe it’s the air of command he carries everywhere. Maybe it’s something in his posture that says he was Spec Ops, and he knows what he’s doing.
That he’s their best chance at getting out of this.
No. Not just Ace, but me as well.
On the heels of that thought, my confidence rises.
Ace and I are a great team. And we can do this.
On silent feet, we creep towards the hijacker. He’s half dragging the terrified flight attendant, and I’m pretty certain he can’t hear anything over her noisy sobs.