Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
All the while, Lev watches my every move.
“Now, will you tell me where you’re taking me?” I ask, wiping the back of my hand across my lips.
He thinks for a moment before fixing those dark eyes to mine.
“Somewhere private and quiet.” He lifts an eyebrow. “Where no one can hear you scream.”
17
BROOKE
A private jet waits on the runway for us. The giant man hands over the car keys to another man, and the three of us climb aboard. For a split second, I forget the reason I am on this plane and look around at the luxurious interior in awe. Plump leather seats. Velvety soft sofas. Plush carpet. Gleaming chrome. A ceiling backlit by rope lights. It doesn’t look like a plane. It looks like a luxury suite in a five-star hotel.
Shrugging off the touch of Lev’s hand at my elbow, I shrink into one of the gorgeously soft leather seats and stare out the window into the darkness, refusing to look at Lev and the giant as they take their seats beside me and behind me, respectively. The mood on the plane is tight. This isn’t a fun trip. This is me being kidnapped.
Yet, to my surprise, there is service during the flight. A stunning brunette in a white silk blouse and black pencil skirt offers me everything from sparkling water and champagne to a full-course meal with options that include chicken poulet de bresse a la crème or beef tagliata with a creamy cavolo nero dressing, despite it being close to midnight and from what I can tell, a last-minute flight.
Or was this Lev’s plan all along? Break into my apartment and steal me out of my life for seven days. But then it occurs to me that perhaps it was Wilson he was going to abduct back to New York so he could make good use of the gun he keeps secured in his suit jacket. But why kidnap Wilson only to kill him in New York City? It doesn’t make sense.
Oh my God. Gun. Kidnap. Am I really having this conversation with myself?
My mind ticks over every detail of what happened in my living room a mere hour ago, trying to make sense of what is happening to me and who the hell Lev Zarkov really is.
I feel his piercing gaze on me, and it only makes me shrink deeper into the seat, as if those inches further away from him were the most precious thing in the world.
How could I have let this monster put his hands on me? The thought brings on a new wave of nausea, and I have to run to the bathroom toward the back of the plane, where I bring up the water Lev gave me in the car.
Oh fuck, was there something in that water?
Has the sonofabitch drugged me?
Another spasm hits my stomach, and I wretch into the bowl, then sag against the marble wall and cover my face until the nausea passes.
The flight attendant raps on the door. “Are you okay, Miss Masters? Do you require some assistance?”
Yes, please call the NYC SWAT team to meet us on the tarmac when we land.
“I’m fine,” I reply, forcing myself to my feet.
When I open the door, she gives me an empathetic look. “We’re about to take off. Do you need assistance back to your seat?”
“No, thank you. I’ll be fine. I’m not a very good flyer.”
“Mr. Zarkov mentioned that, so I have arranged some Dramamine for you,” she says. I pause, surprised by Lev’s acknowledgment of my fear of flying. Ah, but how different things are since our last flight together. On that flight, he kissed me through the fear. This time, he’s arranged medication and my abduction.
“Feeling better, Miss Masters?” he asks as I pass by him.
But I ignore the question and purposely don’t look at him as I take my seat.
The flight attendant returns with water, crackers, a Dramamine pill, and a sick bag. Great. Not only am I being used as insurance so the asshole criminal who arranged all of this gets his money back, but I have to suffer the indignity of not having control over my own body in front of him thanks to my fear of flying. I down the pill and half the bottle of water and try to shut him out.
“Good, perhaps now we can get on with it,” he says coldly. I throw him a blistering look, which only causes those gorgeous lips to twitch in amusement.
Oh, how I hate him.
The jet starts up, and my fear ramps up a notch, and I let out a gasp. My hands grip the armrest, and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to be calm but failing. We start to move down the runway, and I let out another pitiful wince. Why couldn’t he have just shot me instead of forcing me to do this? But then I feel Lev’s hand on top of mine, and I’m too damn afraid of the takeoff that I don’t bother to knock it away. His hand is warm and oddly comforting on top of mine, and as we lift off the ground, I grab onto his strong fingers and squeeze tight.