Page 9 of Mile High With the Bikers
“That definitely counted,” I say weakly.
Bull laughs, a deep belly chuckle as he moves out of the way.
Diesel grins, holding up a plastic packet of his own. “You ready for more, baby girl?”
I can't help smiling back. I still can't believe I'm actually doing this, but I nod eagerly. “Okay.”
“Nice.” He rips the plastic open with enough force to send a sharp boom through the whole plane.
Wait, what?
5
DIESEL
“Fucking ow! Holy shit, girl!”I’m all for a woman using a little force, but when a gun goes off and the plane plummets suddenly, Rory has nothing to hang onto but our dicks. I think I found my limit.
“Sorry!”
Shrapnel grunts, looking a little pale as the four of us scramble to find our clothes. “Who the fuck is shooting on a motherfuckingplane?”
“Sh—shooting?” Rory’s pale eyes are wide. Her skin is still flushed from sex, and it’s real damn hard to focus when a second ago I was about to bury myself between those soft thighs.
“Move!” Bull snaps. He’s already pulling on his jeans.
Rory shrinks in on herself. She looks like she’s a few seconds away from a full on panic attack. I crouch down and put my hands on her neck, turning her to look at me. “Get dressed and stay behind us. You’ve got some sort of emergency training, right? We’ll go out first and?—”
Another shot goes off.
First to get dressed, Bull pushes me aside. “Put your fucking dick away,” he growls. “Look, angel, grab your clothes and follow us. You’re going to lock yourself in the bathroom and stay down until we say it’s clear. Got it?”
“Got it,” she whispers with a short, jerky nod.
As soon as we’re in the hall, it’s clear the whole plane is in chaos. People are shouting in the meeting room, and something shatters against the door. Sounds more like a glass than a window. Or at least I really fucking hope so.
Rory, still mostly naked with her clothes in her arms, pauses before going into the bathroom. “Be careful.”
“I think it’s a little late to keep our belts fastened,” Shrapnel jokes.
Bull and I share a tense glance. We’re used to shit hitting the fan, but not at forty thousand feet. None of us are fucking pilots, and we can’t badass our way out of a plane crash. Even so, men like us aren’t built to sit and hope for the best. If we’re going down, we’re going down fighting.
I kick the door open to the front room of the plane and curse. There are people hiding under the table and behind chairs, and others pounding the shit out of each other. At the far end is Whittaker, slumped against the wall with a dark stain slowly coloring the side of his suit red. He's alive and looks more pissed than dying, but adrenaline is a hell of a drug. I’ve seen guys joking around one second and then stone dead the next.
“Idiots!” he roars before coughing and wiping a sleeve across his mouth. “What do you have to gain by getting us all killed?”
Sal Akins waves a smoking gun in Whittaker’s direction. Never had the pleasure to meet the asshole, but he’s a notorious loan shark who’s responsible for at least half the real-estate scams on the West coast. “What did you fucking expect when you showed us all how easy it would be to use your fancy new toy to destroy whoever the fuck you want? Jesus Christ, man. Did you think we’d all just hop on board and hope you didn’t point it at us?Shut up.”
Oh, fuck no.
I made my peace with not dying of old age a long time ago, but I’ll be damned if I get wiped out because of some corporate drama between rich assholes. Not on our fucking watch.
Some of the hired muscle notices us bursting in. I’ve got no fucking clue who is working for who or who started this mess, but someone's gotta clean up. Before the closest guy has his aim on me, I'm in his zone, capturing his arm with both of mine and twisting it hard. He screams as bone cracks. The gun drops from his limp fingers as I push him away.
A fist connects with my face, knocking me back. I can taste the blood in my mouth. Jesus fuck, that hurt.
Shrapnel slides in front of me, giving me a second to recover as he hunches down and drives his shoulder right into the chest of the guy who hit me, and he doesn’t stop until he’s driven him right into the wall. I whirl away from a second goon trying to take me out and then Bull is there, lifting the fucker right off his feet and knocking his head against the ceiling.
Brawling's all well and good, but Sal’s the one with a gun out, so I go for him. Throwing myself down the length of the conference table, papers and drinks go flying as I slide towards him. Henotices, but not fast enough. I hit him like a battering ram, taking us both to the floor with a crash.
