Page 147 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

Moving.

And not just moving.

Moving... upwards.

Fuck.

No.

Not a plane. Can't be a plane. I feel around with my hands. Leather seats. Leather seats I actually know pretty damn well — the ones I sat in when Elliot Monroe took us all on a guys' trip a few months back.

“Guys? Are we in Elliot's plane?” Marcus says, confirming my suspicions.

Rhys curses under his breath. “Yeah, I think we are.”

I let out a slow breath. It can't be all bad if we're on Elliot's plane, right? At least it's someone we know.

By the time I feel the drop in my stomach that means a plane's finished its climb and levelled out, my heart rate has returned somewhat to normal.

“Are you sure there are enough parachutes on this thing?” Marcus's voice calls out, somewhere to my left. He sounds much more relaxed as well.

“Anyone know where we're going?” I ask, hoping someone actually has an answer.

“Nope,” Marcus answers. “Got nabbed at a site.”

Someone shifts, feet stretching out and kicking mine. A waft of cologne washes over me. Rhys. Benefit or disadvantage of living with someone, you know what they smell like at all times of day. Lucky for me, my housemates actually bathe and use deodorant regularly.

“You smell nice, man,” Marcus says, presumably to Rhys.

“Thanks,” Rhys replies, sounding anything but thankful. “Could you get your hand off my thigh, though?”

I snort despite the situation. “Sorry. Thought you were the other one,” Marcus says, sounding about as contrite as Rhys sounded thankful.

“Which other one?” I say. “Am I 'the other one'? I have a name.”

Rhys groans. “Is someone going to tell me what the fuck is going on?” His already negligible patience is running thin.

“In answer to your questions,” Leon's voice cuts in, and I'm genuinely surprised. Of all people, I did not expect him to be part of this. He'd returned home a few days ago but had stayed mostly confined to his room, all communication coming through his nurse or one-word messages in the group chat. “You'll find out where we're going when we get there. And no, there aren't enough parachutes. So the first person who really pisses me off today isn't getting one.”

Nobody says anything for a beat.

“Good. Just for that, you can all take your blindfolds off now.”

I feel someone tug at my bindings, and I shake my hands out before pushing up the scarf around my eyes. Leon's sitting in a plane seat across the aisle, wheelchair locked down beside him, looking entirely too pleased with himself for a man a week out of surgery and possibly five minutes from being pushed out of a plane.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Rhys, rubbing at his eyes, voice gone hard. “Are you going to tell us where we're going, or am I going to have to beat it out of you? Because in your current condition it wouldn't take much more than a thumb wrestle.”

“You'd be amazed how well a wheelchair steers when the driver's properly motivated.” Leon leans back. “Also, if we crash, and you want your own parachute instead of tandeming with one of these two idiots, I'd watch the threats.”

“Where are we going?” I ask again, not wanting to think too hard about the phrase if we crash.

“I'd rather not say. That way if I do end up dumping your bodies somewhere, I'll have time to establish an alibi.” He says it with a grin, but the edge in his eyes tells me he's not completely joking. “Honestly, though, I think all I'd have to tell a jury is that my three best mates since primary school have been sleeping with my little sister, and they wouldn't just acquit me. They'd give me a key to the city.”

He settles back in his seat.

“Enjoy the view for the next twenty minutes, boys. Might be the last thing you ever see.”

Nobody says anything for the rest of the flight.