We shut up instantly. Even Cole bites his tongue, though he mutters, “Wouldn’t hate that,” and earns a glare from Viktor.
Then Damian’s gaze cuts to me and Tyler.
“Rookies. With me.”
We move before the words even finish. Tyler and I plaster ourselves to his sides like magnets snapping into place. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t look back—just cuts through the terminal with his duffel slung over one shoulder like he owns the ground. Which he does.
Boarding starts. Tickets scan. I’m wired—not from nerves about flying or Haverton waiting on the other end, but from one thing replaying in my skull for four days straight.
Two words. A knife and a reward at once. They’ve been echoing like a song I can’t turn off. My skin itches with it. My bones ache for it. I need to hear it again.
We take our seats. Tyler and I end up in Damian’s row—of course we do. Ty’s taunting, trying to look alive.
“You’re gonna eat all that sugar and crash before we land.”
“Better than sweating through my shirt like you,” I shoot back.
“At least I’ll have energy for Haverton. You’ll face-plant into the hotel pillow.”
“Better than face-planting into your ice time.”
He barks a laugh, smacks my shoulder. It’s easy, exactly the kind of chirping I should focus on.
Except Damian’s right there. Silent. Too big for the seat, long hair brushing his jaw, eyes fixed out the window. I can feel him in my blood, gravity pulling me sideways.
The engines roar, the plane shakes, and we climb. Ten hours of this. Ten hours sitting beside the man I’ve been obsessed with since I was twelve. I’m already combusting.
My knee won’t stop bouncing, rattling the tray table. Tyler elbows me, muttering “nervous much?” but I barely hear him. My blood’s roaring too loud.
And then—his hand.
Heavy, warm, wide. Dropping onto my thigh like it belongs there.
Damian doesn’t look at me. His gaze stays fixed out the window, profile carved in shadow. But his palm presses firm, weight anchoring me to the seat.
Everything in me freezes. My knee stops. My breath stops. My fucking heart stops.
Three seconds—that’s all I last before my mouth betrays me. I turn my head, slow, reverent, eyes dragging over his scarred lip, his jaw, the fire in his gaze. I grin, armor slipping into place.
“So what’s this then, Captain? Holding my hand under the table like we’re on a date?”
No reaction. His hand doesn’t twitch.
I keep going, desperate. “You know, some guys buy me dinner first. Maybe a drink. You? Straight for the thigh. Bold move.”
I’m babbling, flirting, anything to keep from shaking apart under his touch. Daring him to shut me up.
And then he does.
He turns his head just enough for his voice to reach me, low and lethal, meant only for me.
“If I wanted your mouth busy, Mercer, you wouldn’t be using it to talk.”
The bottom drops out of me.
Heat floods my face, so fast I’m dizzy. Me. Blushing. I snap my mouth shut so hard I bite my tongue. The cabin noise hums on—Tyler muttering, Mats flirting across the aisle, the attendant giggling—but I’m gone.
His hand doesn’t leave my thigh.
