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PUSH THE ENVELOPE
ROCHELLE PAIGE
PROLOGUE
Flowers…check.
Chocolates…check.
Champagne chilled and ready to go…check.
Noise-canceling headphones so I didn’t have to listen to whatever noises were going to float up from the rear cabin…check.
This was so totally not the normal pilot’s checklist. When I talked to Dad over the summer about offering Mile High Club charter flights so we had some extra money coming in to cover my room and board at college, I had no idea how the idea would take off. I’d figured I would take a couple flights out each month so Dad wouldn’t have to scrimp on anything so that I could live on campus. He really wanted me to get the whole college experience, especially since I had chosen to stay in town for school.
Who knew there were so many middle-aged housewives looking to spice up their marriages? I usually had three to four flights booked each week now. At a cool grand per booking, we made enough to cover my room and board and maintenance on the planes, and we even had money left over to pay off my student loans and to cover my tuition for my next two years. I guess they’re right when the say sex sells!
Since the flights were offered in the evening, they didn’t interfere with my classes. Dad wanted as little to do with this venture as possible. He had told me that this was my idea, and he expected me to run with it. Talking about anything connected to sex with his daughter wasn’t really high on his list of things to do. I figured I was lucky that he was willing to let me use the Cherokee for the flights. I just had to make sure I booked them when I was able to be in the pilot’s seat. The last thing I wanted to do was screw my grade point average over because I was skipping too many classes to pilot the flights I was only offering so I could pay for school in the first place.
Today’s flight was due to depart in about thirty minutes, so the lucky couple should be here any minute now. I needed to get my butt in gear so I would be ready when they arrived. The plane was set up for their romantic rendezvous. I was dressed in my charter pilot gear of loose khaki pants and a Hewett Charters polo shirt. I’d pulled my long brown hair back in a low ponytail. This appearance seemed to help the wives feel more comfortable with the idea that their pilot was a twenty year-old girl. Add into the equation that I am passably attractive and I could have a problem on my hands with my paying customers. So I did what I could to make sure I presented myself as a capable pilot and nothing else.
I know it’s crazy for some people to picture me piloting a plane, but I started flying with my dad before I ever got behind the wheel of a car. He lived to fly and taught me to love it as well. I had my permit when I was sixteen, earned my private license when I was seventeen, and got my professional license when I turned eighteen. Some days it felt like I spent more time during my life up in the air than I did on the ground.
Yet another reason Dad wanted me to live on campus this year—so I could hang out with girls and act my age. Dad and I had been two peas in a pod forever, and now he worried that I needed to have a normal life with girlfriends, parties, and boys. I admit that my upbringing wasn’t exactly orthodox, but I was happy with the way things were. I just wished Dad would understand that.
Damn, it sounded to me like my housewife of the day had gone all out for this trip based on the click of her stilettos hitting the tarmac. I didn’t understand how women could walk on shoes that looked like skyscrapers to me. Guess that was just the tomboy in me, much to my best friend’s dismay. Time to get my head in the game so I didn’t scare off the paying customers.
“Welcome to Hewett Charters,” I greeted the middle-aged couple as they made their way towards me. “You must be Mr. and Mrs. Williams?”
“Yes, that’s us,” tittered the platinum-blond woman as her husband looked at me quizzically. I guessed that she hadn’t used their real name in the hope that they could keep their trip private. She needn’t have had that concern since I offered complete confidentiality.
“Thank you for booking your flight with us today,” I said. “Everything is all set, and we can be in flight as soon as you are ready to go. Did you have any questions before we board?”
“Ummmm, are you our pilot?” asked Mr. Williams.
“Yes, I’m Alexa Hewett. Don’t worry. You’re safe with me. I’ve been doing private sightseeing tours for a couple years and have had my pilot’s license for almost three years. I might be a little young, but I grew up with my dad in the cockpit of a plane. I can assure you that I am fully qualified to take you up,” I answered.
“And how does this work exactly?” he questioned.
I couldn’t help but smile at the question. It seemed that the wives always booked these flights, and the husbands always seemed uncertain once they got here. I even had flights where the husband had no idea that his wife had booked the tour with the sole purpose of getting it on mid-flight. The expressions on their faces when they saw the bed in the cabin were priceless. It kind of cracked me up since I always figured guys were less shy about sex. Which may still prove to be true since I hadn’t seen a single guy yet turn down the opportunity offered by my special charter flights.
“If you will follow me this way, you can see how we’ve set the Cherokee up so that you will have plenty of room in the rear cabin. Once we are in flight, I will draw the privacy curtain and wear noise-canceling headphones during the flight. I will be able to communicate with the tower but won’t be able to hear anything from the cabin. Any of your activities while on board will be as private as possible.” They both nodded and looked at each other while blushing.
I walked the couple towards the plane, showed them the bed area we had fashioned by removing four of the seats, and asked them to sit in the rear-facing seats during takeoff for their safety. If the hot looks they were flashing each other as they buckled up were any indication, they were ready to go.
“Enjoy the refreshments, and I will let you know when it is safe to move about the cabin,” I said as I got settled into the cockpit.
As I prepared for takeoff, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself about the irony of me helping couples to spice up their sex lives. I wasn’t exactly qualified to do so except for piloting the plane. I couldn’t really be described as very experienced in the bedroom. Yet, I have turned my beloved Cherokee into the equivalent of a by-the-hour hotel room.
Axel by Harper Sloan
Prologue
God… please let him be late. Traffic? Boss needed help? Hell, at this point I would even pray for his shoe being untied.
ANYTHING to give me just five extra minutes.
Taking a frustrated breath, I remember… I gave up pleading to the heavens years ago. Ten years to be exact. The day he walked out of my life. The day the sun stopped shining and my world turned gray. The day that my dreams turned into nightmares. I miss my dreams, the sun, and I miss him. So f*cking much, even though I know I shouldn’t. After all, what good does it do to miss a ghost?
Come on… come on…. I silently beg the light to change. Why is it that the only time I’m running late, every single light catches me? “F*ck! Just f*cking change!” I just know if I am not home in the next ten minutes all hell will break loose. Finally, as soon as the light turns green I slam on the gas. All I need to do is hurry and everything will be fine.
Right?
I roll into the driveway at 5:45, throw the car in park and rush into the house. Thankfully I had enough foresight when I left earlier to start the slow cooker. “Okay, Okay…” I mutter to myself, while rushing around the kitchen island to the table. If I didn’t hurry… nope, I can’t go there. There would cause me to lock up in fear, and cutting it this close, I can’t lock up.
“Deep breath, Iz… just breathe.” I remind myself, setting the bowls of chili down. As quickly as I can manage I set the table, make sure the glasses are spot free and the silverware is perfectly aligned. I was not going to make those mistakes again. Rushing back to the kitchen, I make sure I’ve washed and dried all the cookware, and signs of my slow cooker use. I have just enough time to make sure that my ‘face’, as he so lovingly calls it, doesn’t look like I just rushed my duties.
At 6:05, on the dot, I hear the garage door rolling up. Breathe. A few moments later, he walks in. Of course, he would never be running late. God forbid he would make it home a minute past his normal scheduled time. The world might end, sky might fall, and pigs might start flying.
No, not my husband; he is never off his game.
“Good evening, Isabelle. How was your day?” He asks, while unloading his arms of his coat, briefcase, and keys. He makes sure his coat is hung perfectly; wrinkles wouldn’t dare mess with him. Even they know not to poke the bear. After he disposes of his cell, wallet, and other pocket shit, he finally looks up at me with his cold, dead eyes.
Permission to speak has silently been granted.
“Good evening, Brandon. Things were normal as always today. Did some laundry, ran the errands you asked me to do, and got home around three. I know you said your parents are thinking of coming this weekend, so I wanted to make sure I had enough time to get the spare room situated before I started dinner.”
Lies, all lies … just enough to hopefully make him think I wasn’t out.
“Hmmm,” he states, while rolling his sleeves up. “So,” he looks up with his evil smirk and those dead eyes. “That wasn’t you I just saw speeding down Oak Street like the bats of hell were on your bumper, Isabelle?”
F*ck. Me.
“Brandon, I swear it’s not what you think.” I squeak out. Shit, this is going to be bad. “Dee stopped by, she’s in town and just wanted to say hi, catch up a little. I haven’t seen her in six months- -”
His smile stops me cold, immediately I start backing away. Oh shit, I know that look.
“Now, now… Isabelle. What have I told you about Denise? Hmm? If I remember correctly, it was something along the lines of you are not to talk, call or take calls from her, and you are definitely not to F*ckING SEE HER!”
He’s starting to step closer now. Frantically I look around for an escape, but he’s blocking my only exit. “You have been told, and I would have thought you learned this lesson six months ago. Isn’t that how long you said it’s been? What do I need to do for you to get it through your dumb f*cking head? Jesus Christ, you’re a stupid f*cking bitch.” His eyes are so cold as he steps right into my space. “What part of you being mine, and only mine, did you not understand the last time I was forced to explain this to you. I will not share you with f*cking anyone. Do you hear me, Isabelle?” He sneers my name like its very presence on his tongue disgusts him. I’ve hit panic mode now, he has me backed into the wall, no escape in sight. “No f*cking person in this goddamn world is allowed you. Only. F*cking. Me!” He continues, his eyes bugging out and his spit hitting me in the face. “You’re nothing but a stupid f*cking slut! Isn’t that right, Isabelle? I should have walked the other way that night at Fire. I should have known a bar slut from a mile away. But, no! It’s all your fault my dick wouldn’t walk the other way.” He rears back and slaps me hard across my cheek. I squeeze my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms to keep from screaming out. I can feel the blood running down my neck from the cut his ring must have caused on my jaw. I might be stuck, but I’ll be damned if I will let him break me.
“What did I f*cking say, Isabelle? NO DENISE! No afternoons chatting like little f*cking bitches. You’re to be here, cleaning my f*cking house, cooking my f*cking dinner, and spreading your fat f*cking thighs for my dick!” He reaches out and grabs a bowl of chili, throwing it with all his strength against the wall. I watch chunks of meat, beans and sauce run down my happy yellow walls. “And what in the f*ck is this shit? I told you, you f*cking bitch, I wanted lasagna. Does that look like lasagna?” I should have seen it coming, but my attention was still focused on my happy yellow walls and the globs of dinner still rolling down. I was just turning back to him when his fist hit my temple, momentarily making my vision blur. At least that seems to have knocked some sense into my sluggish brain. I dart to the right, quickly trying to escape the second fist I know will soon be following. Too late, always too late, I catch the second one in the ribs, knocking the breath right out of my lungs. Brandon grabs my thick hair and with a twist of his wrist, I’m right back at his mercy.
Mercy I know he doesn’t have.
Throwing me into the hallway, with what feels like the strength of ten men, he’s quick to follow with a kick to my stomach. “You stupid bitch. You just can’t listen. I own you, all of you. No one else. No one else touches what is MINE. Especially not f*cking DENISE! I warned you what would happen. No, I promised your dumb ass what would happen if you went near her again.” Kick… slap… punch… kick. “You’re never going to learn are you?” He’s panting with exertion and it’s taking everything I have not to let the blackness overcome me. Even if I know numbness would be following quickly.
I lost track of how long he stood over me, screaming and beating, alternating between his feet and his fist.
Freedom, that’s all I crave now.
I close my eyes and pass out.
*~*~*
When I wake up, the house is dark. Every bone, muscle, and hair on my head hurt. I can’t take a deep breath without wanting to die. I can feel wetness on various parts of my head and body. F*ck. It’s never been this bad. I can’t hear anything out of my left ear, what the hell happened to my ear? F*ck, I need to move. Clutching my arm around my middle, I slowly climb to my feet. I take a look around, out of my very swollen eyes, and see that dinner is still sitting on the table. The broken bowl, chili dried to the wall, and even the spotless cups are sitting there mocking me. With a slow and silent step I glance into the living room. No sign of Brandon. Shuffling, more like dragging myself to the kitchen, I see his keys are gone. Holy shit! He’s not here. Never, not once in six years has he left me alone in the house after a ‘lesson’.
I walk along the wall, holding on for support until I reach my purse, unzipping the side zipper; I reach in and take out my phone. The phone Brandon doesn’t know I have. I’m not allowed to have a phone, and he disconnects the house phone and takes it with him when he leaves. I can barely see enough to turn the phone on. I slide my finger across the screen and unlock it. Finally, after a few wrong buttons, I place the call.
“Hello? Hello, Iz? Iz, are you there? Is everything okay? IZ??” I can hear her, she’s practically screaming. But I can’t get the words out. She knows I wouldn’t be calling this late. Hell, she knows I wouldn’t call at all.
I take a shallow breath, and rasp out the only word I need to bring my salvation.
“Help...”
Then the blackness pulls me under.
Chapter 1
(Izzy)
I haven’t always been this weak person… this broken woman. I used to dream, and when I did, I dreamt big. I had plans, plans of a future so bright it would blind you. I can still remember the day those dreams, those grand plans, and that future as bright as the sun went poof.
I just didn’t know it at the time.
At the time I thought everything would be okay. After all, what seventeen-year-old girl doesn’t think she’s invincible?
That, coincidently, was the same day I decided fate hated me. No, she didn’t hate me… she loathed me. People say karma is a bitch, but I have news for you, karma doesn’t have anything on fate when she is after blood. Not a single thing.
I wish I knew what it was that set fate on the path of my doom. Maybe it was just being born? I like to think I was at least okay there. My parents loved me, they prayed for me, and I was everything to them. So, no, I don’t think that was the day.
Or it could have been the day I stole Maggie Jones’ pudding cup. But Maggie was a bully, never nice and always stuffing her face, so I like to think I did her a favor.
I once stole a chocolate bar from the grocery store, but seriously? Fate would have been after every little teenage shit if that was the case. Point fingers all you want, but where I come from it’s like a rite of passage.
No, I think fate decided she hated me the day I walked into Dale High School freshman year and my path collided with Axel’s. It would make sense that the reason she hated me was the reason for all my pain.
The reason I’m convinced fate will never shine in my favor again. Why would she? She took it all away. Wiped out every single thing I had ever loved in one swift kick.
One day I might figure it out, the reason fate hated me, Isabelle West. But, until that day I damn sure will be careful with my dreams and my plans; my heart and my soul.
Fate might hate me, but that doesn’t stop me from hoping one day she forgets about her favorite chew toy. When that day comes, I hope karma has some fun with that bitch, fate.