Kes would’ve been next in line. If Cut followed the Debt Inheritance rules—without turning into the power hungry bastard he’d become—with the firstborn dead, the contract couldn’t be fulfilled and both Kes and Nila would’ve been free. Nila would’ve married someone far away from the Hawks and would’ve given birth to a daughter as beautiful as her.
Only to be ruined a generation later.
The ice I tried to cultivate thawed, leaving me wretched.
It wasn’t the thought of future debts, but the thought of Nila married and happy with another that flayed me alive.
She was mine. I was hers. We were meant to fall in love and finish this. Just like Owen, my doomed ancestor, and his love, Elisa, never could.
Fuck, Nila.
What had she lived through in the hours we’d been apart? What had they done to her since I’d failed her?
“Juice?”
I opened my eyes, glaring at the stewardess. Her emotions bounced between job satisfaction and claustrophobia. She loved to travel but hated to wait on passengers. If I listened harder, I would’ve learned most of her secrets and guessed a lot about her life.
“No.” I looked out the window. “Thank you.”
The darkness of the sky illuminated every few seconds with a red flash from the wing tip, keeping time with my ragged heartbeat.
I hadn’t calmed since Jasmine’s phone call.
After galloping to the garage, I’d left Wings to find his way back to the stables and traded him for a different kind of horse-power. My Harley snarled in the afternoon sun, hurling me down our driveway and to the airport.
I didn’t think to seek out Flaw. I didn’t have time to tell my sister my plan.
All I focused on was getting to the airport and a charter.
However, I should’ve used my brain rather than my fearful heart. There were no charters or private planes available that late in the day. No pilots on call. No one to bribe to fly.
I had no choice but to hurtle to Heathrow and board the next available flight to South Africa. Getting to the airport, buying a ticket, and arguing over the fastest service had all cost valuable time.
Time I didn’t have.
No quick routes. No private planes.
My only option had been a cramped, overbooked flight with three stops before reaching my destination. Even if I’d waited for twenty-four hours and hired a private jet, the long haul commercial flight would’ve been faster.
So I bought a ticket.
I sent Nila a text:
Kite007:I’m coming. Hang on. Do whatever it takes to stay alive. I love you so fucking much.
She hadn’t replied. If she had been able to take her cell phone, she wouldn’t have reception in the sky. And if Cut had stolen it from her, I would have no way to warn her of my arrival.
Yet another problem in my problem-riddled future.
Flying while fearing for the life of a loved one was bad enough. But flying with an empathetic condition and a healing gunshot wound was a hundred timesfucking worse.
Every takeoff and landing, every airport and taxi, I lost more of my humanity and focused on bloodlust, plotting what I would do to Cut and Daniel when I arrived.
The promise of wide open spaces and empty African plains helped me remain sane in the tinderbox of airplane madness.
I’d always avoided public spaces for long periods. Flying with Nila from Milan had been the first time I’d suffered in years. For all intents, before Nila came into my life, I was a recluse. Hawksridge my sanctuary and Diamond Alley my office. I had no need to mingle with strangers.
Another whirlpool of conflicting passenger emotions bottled up in a tiny fuselage with no outlet. I did my best to ignore them. Did my best to cultivate my hate and let the single-minded determination give me peace.
