“Get all of that and gum,” Frankie said and then tapped the back of the seat twice in his own little acknowledgment that it was okay to leave.
I sat in the car quietly, trying to figure out if my heart slowed and what else I could do if it was a coma dream. If I died in the dream, did I die in real life?
Frankie’s bodyguard came back quicker than I expected wielding a bag loaded down with chocolate treats. He passed it to the back seat, and Frankie rifled through, grabbing his pack of sugar-free spearmint gum.
My brain kicked back into working order as we drove through the streets, having lost our attackers. I didn’t want to be kidnapped and get into that black van, but I couldn’t stay with Frankie either. The road stretched on, leaving me free to develop a plan. I’d use the snacks to fuel my long walk back to Chicago after I escaped from the airport before he took me to Maine.
I’d need the sustenance since I didn’t know how long it would take me, and I probably wouldn’t feel safe stopping to ask for a ride. Over the last few days, I lost a lot of trust in the average person. Now I only trusted chocolate and sometimes myself. Like half the time. I had no idea what waited for me as I made my way back to the city, but I could be absolutely certain of one thing. The car bumped along the road as we made the drive in silence.
I definitely, most certainly, absolutely was not getting on a plane with Frankie Zanetti.
CHAPTER 8
So… I’m a moron.
Only a moron made the decisions I did.
I got on the plane with Frankie Zanetti.
In my defense, I never found a good time to escape. The man surrounded himself with guards. It was smart but made escaping difficult. Henchmen came out of the woodwork, and by the time we pulled into the airport, two more cars had stopped behind us to complete the sea of suited men. People probably thought we ordered an NFL team—as long as no one noticed the guns barely concealed by everyone’s jacket.
I chomped on Frankie’s offered gum, trying to be as loud as possible to annoy him as he occupied the seat right next to me. Even on the plane, he didn’t let me get far away, as though he thought I might run to the exit and jump out.
It wasn’t a half bad idea, and if I wasn’t concerned about turning in that paper on time, I might’ve risked it. He probably wouldn’t give me a parachute, though. Plus, asking would be a dead giveaway.
And even kidnapped, I didn’t have a death wish.
I chomped my gum louder and Frankie turned his head to stare at me. The plane’s descent quickened, and I stopped myself from leaning forward with the movement.
“Aren’t you glad I bought gum?” Frankie asked, popping a bubble with his own piece. “These little planes can be quite bad with air pressure.”
A small secret part of me hoped he choked on his piece of gum. Nothing was worse than being smug. No, that’s not right. Being a smug criminal who kidnapped innocent bystanders made him worse.
One thing that became truer with each passing second was that I, more than likely, wasn’t in a coma at the hospital. I was really being kidnapped and flown on a small plane to Maine, and now we were landing. In Maine.
I didn’t have many regrets in life. We grew up with little, and I’d learned early to enjoy when I had things. But as my stomach rolled with the falling plane, I severely regretted eating all the chocolate.
I may not have needed it for my walk back to Chicago since Maine was way the fuck too far, but I was also suspecting they weren’t free calories since I wasn’t in a coma. And now I didn’t even have a chocolate bar to chuck at Frankie’s head. So many wasted opportunities. I’d eaten them away without a second thought.
The plane landed as I fantasized what Frankie’s smirk would look like once I hit him square between the eyes with a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. I bet he wouldn’t be so smug then.
No, he’d probably smile bigger to piss me off more.
The plane was full of his men, and I heard him talking to his top bodyguard about sending it back to pick up the rest of the crew once we were safely on the ground. Just who was Frankie Zanetti? I knew I should more than likely fear him, but the most emotion I felt his presence was annoyance, irritation, and a few other things I refused to name.
Half the plane stood up and exited before us. Frankie stayed in his chair as if he tried to read exactly what I was going to do. I’d given up on making an escape. Too many of his men surrounded us. I would have to wait until the timing was better. Like at night.
I let out a deep sigh, which Frankie seemed to take as my acceptance, and he stood, holding out his hand to me. I raised mine as I planned to push him away, but for whatever reason, I stuck it in his and let him lead us off the plane. Maybe subconsciously, I figured his men wouldn’t be rude to me if I stayed by Frankie’s side. That sounded like a better option than anything else I came up with for my behavior.
Three jet-black cars waited right outside the runway where our tiny plane stopped. Two men piled out of each waiting vehicle and sealed us in a little bubble of protection.
“I thought you said you were safe at home?” I pressed Frankie, pulling on his hand a slight amount. He’d made promises, and I’d made escape plans based on those promises.
This was a lot of men with guns for a place he considered safe.
He stopped, letting one of his men open the car door, and turned back to give me his full attention. I realized he did that often, and I enjoyed it too much. “Well, I figure, better safe than sorry. I did just kidnap the favorite cousin of one of Chicago’s worst criminals.”
For some reason—more than likely insanity—I laughed. Something was funny about hearing Frankie call Westley one of the most notorious criminals in Chicago.
