Page 2 of Arrogant Bastard

“Yeah, right. Fine. Place a call for me. Pilot. Home.”

“Dialing pilot. Home,” the female AI obliges me.

Nelson Whittaker, my LA-based English pilot, picks up on the second ring. It’s three a.m. but he answers as if it’s normal working hours. Which it is, to be fair. Everything is normal for me in my line of work.

“Good morning, sir.”

“How soon can you get to the airport?” I snap.

“As soon as I put on my trousers and chuck a bucket of water over my son to wake him up,” he replies with a dark chuckle.

My fingers fly over the keyboard as I save her information in a few more electronic vaults. “Give William my apologies,” I say.

“No need. He’s been champing at the bit to take the new girl for another spin.” The new girl being the Bombardier Global 8000 I added to my collection of private jets last month.

“In that case, I expect to see you at Van Nuys within the hour.” At this time of the morning, traffic from their Santa Monica apartment should be light enough to get them there fast.

“We’ll be there.” He clears his throat. “I expect the paperwork regarding out-of-curfew flights—”

“Will be taken care of. I’ll text you the details but we won’t be straying far from the usual parameters.”

“Very good, sir. Destination?” he asks crisply.

My gaze tracks that chin. That shoulder. The hair. Four years’ worth of turbulent emotion threatens to rip free. My chest burns with it, but I contain it. “New York.”

“And do I need to file a return flight?” Nelson asks.

“Not yet. I anticipate being there for a while.” Until I find her. Until she’s back in my arms. She won’t come willingly, but that’s another problem for another day.

“Got it.”

I disconnect the call and stare at the picture for another minute before I blink and turn to the next screen. It takes less than five minutes to hack the aviation database I need and input the relevant information.

Russell, my driver, is waiting when I sprint downstairs. One advantage of owning homes around the world is the ability to pick up and go at a moment’s notice without the need to pack a suitcase. All I need are the clothes on my back, my computer, and other clandestine electronics.

“All set to go, sir?”

I nod and hand over the extra computer bag but don’t answer as I slide into the backseat. I’m already itching to power up my computer again to make sure her picture is still on my home screen. When it flares to life, and I see her again, I breathe easier. I note that the shock is wearing off, and anticipation is filling its place. As is the growing bewilderment. But also…I’m angry. It’s one thing to have your insides ripped out when a relationship, or whatever the fuck we had, ends. It’s another to be eviscerated without explanation and left bleeding and half-dead.

It’s what she’s done to me. As much I want her back in my arms, I have a lot of volatile emotions to resolve. My body immediately supplies me with one avenue of resolution, and my cock jerks to life in my pants. Like an eager bloodhound straining at the leash, it flexes with very little heed to my gritted jaw or angry intake of breath. It wants what it wants. And I can’t really blame it. This has been a very long time coming. And I haven’t even truly gotten her back yet.

I breathe through my angst and resist the urge to stroke off to her image. I’ve done enough of that since she’s been gone.

The next time I come, it’ll be with her in front of me, on her knees or on her back…or whichever way the fuck I please, I silently promise my raging dick.

There’s very little traffic at this time of night, but I stare at the screen for the short drive to the airport. The photo has got me whipped. I can’t look away from it. Just like I couldn’t look away from her the first time I saw her.

God, was that only five years ago when I almost didn’t make it to her fateful birthday party? When I dragged my darkness through the side gate of a house in the middle of Xanaxville under completely false pretenses and felt the earth shift beneath my feet?

I feel like I’ve desired her and lost her through several lifetimes. She wishes she’d never met me in even one of them, I know. But that matters very little now.

It happened. We happened. And this time…I don’t plan to lose her again. My fists clench as I debate the lengths I’m prepared to go to make it that way. She’ll fight me. That’s her nature. I might even lose this particular fight. But there’s a reason the term or die trying is more than mere words to me. To us.

“Another medical emergency, Mr. Knight?”

I look up from the screen and frown. I have no recollection of leaving the car and entering the VIP terminal building reserved for private flights.

“Unfortunately, yes,” I respond, my gaze already sliding away from the uniformed officials gathered around, and back to the screen.

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