Page 3 of Savage Bratva King

I smile. It could’ve been me, and sure, it would make the flight more bearable, but ultimately, it would change nothing. I’d still be leaving behind the life I chose for myself and going back to a life I didn’t ask for.

“They’re probably sipping champagne from crystal flutes right about now,” he continues, popping an orange fish candy into his mouth.

I look at him properly for the first time. He has unruly brunette curls, a round face that might be kind of cute, like the goofy best friend in a romcom kind of cute, and hazel eyes with puffy circles underneath. There’s no spark of attraction there; we’re just two people who happen to be on the same flight back to the States.

“Do you read thrillers?” He turns his novel around to show me the cover when he senses me looking at him.

“Not really. I’m more of a cozy mystery kind of girl.” It isn’t true but hiding who I really am is so ingrained in me that I don’t even have to think about my responses to questions.

“Nothing that gets your pulse racing.” He smiles. I don’t think he even registers the innuendos every time he opens his mouth to speak.

He rests his head back against the seat and closes his eyes, and I turn away to peer out of the window at the activity taking place around the aircraft. I’m excited to see Mel and Lucian when I get back. We have a lot of catching up to do, and even though things haven’t been the same since she married Xander, my big sister will always be my best friend. My ally.

If anyone will understand how I feel right now, it’s Mel. Because her marriage to Xander was arranged too. Even if he is the love of her life.

I’m grateful when the doors close, and the aircraft starts taxiing along the runway. Once we’re in the air, there’s nothing I can do about it. No going back. No point in churning through what ifs and maybes. This is my life now, and I might as well start accepting it.

I shut my eyes and allow my mind to wander. I think about my family, and the home I grew up in. My bedroom with its pale gold and ivory walls and the king-sized bed. The gardens and the pool and the tennis courts, and the way we still dress up for the evening meal because it’s what my mom always wanted.

But the wealth and the comfort and the trappings seem to fade when I think about my life in Montenegro with Mika and Cartier. Sure, we saw some terrible sights. We saw women bleeding internally from injuries dealt out by their husbands. We saw burn scars and self-inflicted wounds, and broken bones that had healed awkwardly. But we also saw spirit and determination and bravery, and we compensated for these sights by laughing hard and having fun in our leisure time.

Leaving it behind is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I remind myself that those women didn’t get a choice either, and they still fought back even when they had nothing left to fight for. Who am I to complain about a life of enforced luxury when so many women have to rebuild their lives from scratch?

My travel companion is quiet for a while. I hear him turning the pages of his book. Then, when the flight attendants come around with drinks and snacks, he stands up and retrieves his bag from the overhead locker.

“Do you play cards?” His voice jolts me from my reverie, and I open my eyes to find him holding a deck of cards in his hand.

“A little.” I think about messy drunken games with Mika and Cartier, the three of us sitting cross-legged on the living room floor of our apartment with a bottle of Tequila and a mountain of potato chips.

“It’ll pass the time. What do you say?”

I smile. “Sure.” It will take my mind off Seamus for a short while at the very least.

We play a few games of Rummy. Andy—he tells me his name while he deals out the first hand—doesn’t even complain when I win every round. So, when he suggests a game I’ve never heard of, I go along with it. He was right about one thing: it’s better than sitting there counting the seconds and tracking the flight path on the screen in front of me.

The games get sillier, and noisier. Andy orders a gin and tonic for each of us, which takes the edge off the uneasiness in my stomach.

The first gin and tonic leads to another, and then a third. Andy is determined to win a game and laughingly tells me that there’s a saying that goes, Lucky at cards, unlucky in love. He doesn’t talk about his girlfriend, and I’m grateful because it means that I don’t have to talk about Seamus.

But I should’ve eaten at the airport. I barely touched the on-board meal of meatballs and pasta, the smell making me feel a little queasy, and by the time I’m on my fourth gin with hardly a splash of tonic, my head is spinning.

I rub my face with both hands, and guzzle water from a plastic bottle. Alcohol doesn’t normally affect me, but then it isn’t every day I’m flying home to meet my fiancé, the man I’m being forced to marry. I’ve let it get to me more than I realized.

“Gianna? Are you okay?” Andy’s eyes are filled with concern, his eyebrows almost meeting in the middle.

“I need to…” I squeeze my eyes shut. Try to stand up. “…go to the restroom.”

The plane lists sideways, and I land heavily back in my seat. Bile rises in my throat.

“Sit down, there’s a good girl.” Andy leans across me and fastens the safety belt around my waist.

“No.” I shake my head. “I need to get up…” I can’t remember why I need to stand, or where I wanted to go, but the situation suddenly feels off-kilter.

“You’re not going anywhere, Gianna.”

Andy feels off-kilter. He isn’t smiling. His eyes are cold and hard, and I can’t be certain, but did I detect a faint accent when he spoke?

I try to raise my hand to call the flight attendant, but my arm feels like it’s weighed down with a bucket of sand. “They won’t help you,” Andy says before the world goes black.

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