Page 9 of Bratva's Stolen Bride
I can’t risk it anyway. Who knows what software Ivan has put on her phone. I can’t drag my gaze from Payton, never mind walk away. She’s innocent. Pretty. Not even half my age.
She’s not mine. But she feels like she’s mine, and the thought of deserting her to go to my son as though that piece of shit matters makes me crazy.
Because as it turns out, she is the only one that matters.
Moya lisichka. In less than an hour, this girl has found her way into my heart, triggering a protective instinct that has been dormant for forty-four years. She’s the perfect combination of brave and sweet and vulnerable.
I have to prevent any more fuck-ups, I tell myself. It’s not because I’m falling for her. It’s not because I can’t stand to spend another minute without her.
I’ll return to London tomorrow, and do what I have to, and no parent ever should. In the meantime, I’ll look after Payton, help her get settled into the island and explain she’ll be alone for some days until I’ve dealt with Ivan. What’s the harm of letting him live, and keeping my soul a bit cleaner, for one more day?
“You won’t need your phone. I’ll be your social secretary,” I say dryly.
“My what?” she says, gaping.
Picking up the Champagne bottle from the silver cooler, I rip off the foil, and pop the cork. Nodding to the stewardess, I pour a flute and pass it to Payton, who blinks, confused, but accepts the glass. “We’re going to the beach.”
For a destination wedding.
5
PAYTON
I’ve never been on a plane. I haven’t drunk Champagne before. I’ve never seen anyone thinking about shooting a person. And most important of the fresh experiences, the way I feel with Feliks’ eyes on me is different to anything else.
The bubbles go straight to my head. Probably I shouldn’t accept anything from my captor, but he’s drinking too, and for some bizarre reason, I trust Feliks.
He could have taken advantage of me, he could have hurt me, he could have just left me to be a victim of whatever Ivan is doing, but he hasn’t.
He’s scary, but something about him calls to a wisp of darkness I wasn’t aware was inside me.
The flight attendant gives me a safety talk, impressing on me the importance of the seatbelt and pointing out the exits, as well as alarming things like what to do if the cabin depressurises. But I’m distracted by Feliks making a phone call.
“Find and secure Ivan,” he says, taking a slug of Champagne, then slides his gaze over to me and our eyes meet. He scowls, switches to Russian, and rattles off more instructions, not even pretending to listen to the safety briefing.
He continues on the phone all the way until the plane starts moving, when he shuts it off. Then before I know it, I’m mesmerised by watching out of the window as we pick up speed. I’m pushed back in my seat, and then my tummy flips as we tilt upwards and then soar smoothly up, the ground dropping away.
Everything below shrinks as we fly into the air. The runway is quickly out of sight, then there’s a patchwork of fields and little houses, tiny toy cars on ribbons of grey. It’s a new perspective. I don’t think I’ve seen a take-off on television, but even if I had, it wouldn’t compare to the weight of my body being swooped up with the aircraft and the buzzing in my veins.
A wisp flies past the window, then another. Then we break up into clouds, and I do something ridiculous, like gasp. There’s pressure bubbling out of my ears, then they do this weird clicking pop, and I’m fine again. Outside, it’s pure white, as though the plane is wrapped in cotton wool.
I blink.
I knew clouds weren’t solid. But even so, I’m amazed by cutting into the white blanket hanging over London.
Unreal.
I’m about to turn away, when as quickly as we plunged into the cloud, we break out, the sun blinding. We’re above the white fluff that looks soft and firm, as though you could bounce on it, the most comfortable mattress in the world.
“Flying for the first time is special.” Feliks’ voice snaps me out of my obsession.
“How did you know?” I ask, though it’s obvious, I suppose. How could I have flown anywhere before? With what money?
I try to sit up and be cool. Maybe even summon a bit of anxiety over the fact I don’t have my phone, don’t know where we’re going, and have been kidnapped by my ex-boyfriend’s father who nearly killed someone earlier.
He gazes at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, then at last murmurs, “You have stars in your eyes.”
“Sorry,” I say reflexively.
