Such a scary little mouse.
But just this once, I’ll listen.
Which is really hard to do when Daya is staring at her, too, brows raised. Addie just thins her lips, and I have a feeling they’ll be discussing in detail just how intimate she became with what nature has to offer.
“That gives us just enough time to intercept their flight.”
Addie cocks her head to the side, curious. “What are you planning on doing exactly?”
Now, I let the grin loose, the savagery bleeding through.
“I know exactly how we’re going to make her come to us.”
Her brows knit in curiosity. “Which is how exactly?”
I train my gaze on Jay, and though he looks just as curious, he also looks wary. Shithead never approves of my plans. Which is stupid. They’re awesome.
“Gary Lawson and Jeffrey Shelton are going to get in a confrontation with Z. And guess who loses?”
“Them,” Addie guesses confidently.
“No, baby. Me.”
Addie bounces on her toes, nervous energy radiating from her in waves. She’s been restless since we had arrived at the airport a couple of hours ago. We flew to L.A. as quickly as we could, just to give us time to plan and prepare. Now, we’re waiting in the private jet on the airstrip, and she’s started morphing into the Tasmanian Devil from Looney Tunes.
“Why don’t you take a seat? They’re comfortable as fuck,” I suggest.
To emphasize my point, I kick my feet up on the little brown wooden table in front of me and recline back.
“How can you be so relaxed right now?” she asks, but she’s looking at the seat like maybe it wouldn’t hurt if her ass sat in it for just a second.
“This is the least exciting thing I’ve ever done while on the job.”
She arches a brow, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was offended.
“Well, that’s fucking rude,” she says dryly. Definitely offended. I grin.
“Would you like to go up to the front seat and fuck next to the dead pilot?” I query, very interested in what her answer will be.
She always surprises me.
Right as she opens her mouth, distant voices arise, distracting her like a dog spotting a cat.
Damn. I’ll have to pull that answer out of her later.
The voices draw nearer, and she instantly stands, rolling her shoulders to release the tension lining them. She hasn’t gotten accustomed to going on missions yet, and her anxiety persists, despite her being able to fight. There are some days she gets through my defenses even and knocks me on my ass. But the way she looks right now, it’s as if she’s about to appear before a judge and get sentenced to life or some shit.
“Don’t underestimate yourself, Adeline,” I draw lazily, my muscles languid and relaxed. They usually are when blood is about to spill all over my hands.
“I’m not,” she defends. “They’re old, saggy men. Their security guards—”
“Are my men,” I finish. Addie’s mouth forms an O.
“You sneaky dog,” she whispers, a smile tipping up her plump lips. Those caramel orbs stare at me with an amused glint.
We both quiet as the two men and their respective guards approach the steps and start climbing, the metal ringing beneath their weight.
“She’s going to have to come back to the states eventually,” one of them mutters, sounding irritated.
The first person that breaches the entryway is Michael, and I almost laugh when he slides his gun from his holster and points it at me.
Jeff and Gary follow behind, with another one of my men, Baron, taking up the back.
“What is going on here?” Gary exclaims, the two old men pausing and backing up the moment they spot us.
I lift a hand in a hello gesture. “I’ve come to turn myself in, Gary. Why else would I be here?”
“Turn yours—what on earth are you talking about? Who are you?”
“Ah, terribly sorry,” I say, grinning. I reach over to the seat beside me, grab my mask, and hold it over my face. “How about now?”
It’s comical how quickly they pale, and their eyes widen, recognizing my mask from my television appearance.
Tossing it to the side, I tease, “Did you like my presentation? I was really nervous.”
Gary sputters, unsure how to respond. I stand, and they immediately back away, two bumbling idiots that bump into Baron in an attempt to create distance, but the mercenary is like a brick wall.
Jeff turns to Michael, his face now beginning to redden. “Why aren’t you shooting him? Shoot him!”