I shrug a shoulder. “Maybe I do. Maybe I like the possibilities that lay ahead of us.”
Thayer grunts. "Here we go again.”
Does he think every single reaction is sexual?
With Fabien… maybe it is.
The plane’s wheels touch down.
My heart beats rapidly, as I’m vividly aware of the time, the stakes, what’s on the line.
“Hold my hand,” Fabien commands. “Whatever happens next, you do exactly what I say. Thayer and I will protect you, no matter what.”
Thayer nods. “He’s right.”
“Got it. The big, strong, scary men will protect me. Just listen and obey. On it, sir.”
Thayer shakes his head at Fabien. “You do know how to pick them, don’t you?”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying, man, if you’d come to my place, you’d?—”
“If you don’t shut it,I’llhit you myself,” I growl right back at him.
The very idea of Fabien with another woman, especially one who considers herself hisslave…
It seems anger is a good motivator for me. I feel as if I could run a fucking marathon.
The second we slow, Fabien and Thayer leap to their feet, weapons drawn as if they are an actual part of them. God, I wish I could shoot. I wish I had a?—
Fabien draws a knife and slides it into my palm. “If anyone touches you. Anyone tries to hurt you, you use this. It’s self-explanatory. You just fuckinghurtthem. Got it?”
My pulse races. I don’t even like to smoosh spiders. “Uh, yep. Got it. Have I mentioned I don’t like blood?”
“Motherfucker,” Thayer mutters under his breath.
“It’ll be fine,” Fabien says. “Don’t overthink it.” He leans in and whispers in my ear, “You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem?—”
“And smarter than you think?” I finish. “Did you just quote Winnie the Pooh?”
“Technically, Christopher Robin,” he says with a wink. “You think I only read one genre?”
This man never ceases to surprise me.
“Alright, lovebirds,” Thayer says dryly. “Let’s get ready.”
They form a human wall in front of me. Outside the window, armed guards appear as if they materialized out of thin air.
But all seems normal. It seems like an average afternoon in Corsica.
The door opens. “Leave the luggage,” Fabien says. “We’re short on time and will get it later.”
“Yessir,” the men say in a chorus, as if he’s the sergeant and they hear and obey. I suppose they do.
We move as one, almost in sync with one another. I look to the left and right to see if anything at all is out of place but see nothing. Just a regular old person pushing a cart with luggage, and a?—
Wait a minute. Fabien just told the men to leave our luggage. Then why is one of them?—
