Page 18 of Dimitri
The blonde grunts and groans with every step I thump, but it’s better than her being silent. Silent would mean she’s dead. Although she’d probably wish for that to be the case if I lose my daughter for the second time.
Rocco cranks open the back passenger side door. “Is she alive?”
“Just.” I place her onto the back seat of the Range Rover as gently as possible before slipping in next to her.
When Rocco slides behind the steering wheel, I scream for him to go. I’m in two minds, torn between wanting to assess the blonde for injuries and causing her more harm.
Because I acted on impulse instead of the cruelness I was raised by, I wasted precious minutes I don’t have—minutes that could have Fien torn away from me forever.
As Rocco races us back up the exit ramp, he strays his eyes to the rearview mirror. “Wrap your belt around her thigh. If the blood squirting out of her wound is a femoral artery, she’ll bleed out in minutes. Trust me when I say no amount of scrubbing will remove her blood from your interior if you let that happen.”
Under different circumstances, his murderous gleam would be entertaining.
Tonight, it’s anything but.
While yanking my belt through the loopholes of my trousers, I hear my phone buzz. Naturally, I search my pockets.
It isn’t there.
It’s nowhere to be found.
I return Rocco’s uneased gaze when he tosses my phone into my lap. “You left it in your suit jacket.” I haven’t been without my phone for a second over the past twelve months. Not once. It’s my only form of contact with the people holding my daughter captive. I don’t do anything without it being on me. Not a single fucking thing—except this.
Pissed at the fool I’m portraying tonight, I cinch my belt around the blonde’s leg with more force than needed. Blood stops oozing out of the gash in her thigh, but she barely rouses. From experience, I can tell you her chances of surviving are low. When you stop feeling pain, you soon stop feeling anything.
Guilt for hurting her leaves when I read the message Smith sent. Fien’s jet is taxiing toward the runway. My daughter is about to leave the state if not the country.
“Hurry the fuck up, Rocco.”
Hearing the desperation in my voice, he mounts the curb edging the entrance of the private airstrip and drives through the steel security fence instead of going around it. While he creates his own path over rugged, sandy plains, I signal for Clover to move. It’s fucked I have to warn him what will happen if he kills my daughter, but I’d rather him be cautious than go in bombs blazing like he usually does.
The scene replicates a stunt movie when our bumpy ride switches to a smooth one. We’re at the far end of the runway. The jet is heading straight for us.
If playing chicken with twelve thousand pounds of metal isn’t adventurous enough for you, you could always join Clover on the wheel of the jet. He’s hanging on like a real-life action figure, unconcerned about the speed the jet picks up the further it careens down the runway.
“What’s he placing on the jet?” I scream down comms when the placement of a metal box on the underbelly of the twelve-seater plane is quickly chased by Clover’s huge ass rolling across the asphalt. This is usually when I’d plug my ears in preparation for a massive blast. He’s a detonation expert as much as he is an assassin.
My heart stops punishing my ribcage when Smith’s gruff tone barrels out of my phone’s speaker. “Tracking device. Depending on the length of travel Rimi is planning to do, it may hold on.”
Even though he can’t see me, I jerk up my chin, understanding his objective.
Although I’d give anything to be handed a few minutes to deliberate, things are progressing too quickly for that. I have to once again act on impulse.
Fingers crossed it works in Fien’s favor as it did the blonde’s.
“What will happen if I shoot out the window of the jet?”
Fingers fly over a keyboard before Smith replies, “On the ground, nothing much. No guarantees on her staying in the air if she takes off, though. All aircraft have holes in them, and the pressurized system is capable of taking an additional one or two, but if you blow out the window…”
When his words trail off, I fill in the gap, “I could kill Fien?”
“Possibly.” He sucks in a big breath before continuing, “It’s like all aspects of life, Dimitri, you either take a risk and hope you don’t fail or sit back and let someone else control your life.” Even aware his comment was more a personal reflection on his life than our current situation, it still hits me square in the stomach. First, I let my father puppeteer my life, and now I’m letting a weasel of a man like Rimi Castro get the better of me.
This needs to stop.
“Pull over.”
Proof Rocco was born for this life is exposed when he yanks up the parking brake before he tugs on the steering wheel. He brings the Range Rover to a dead stop parallel with the jet still whizzing down the runway.
