Right. But one of those naked chicks belongs to me. “Cover your eyes,” I mutter, avoiding their twin looks of incredulity.
Mac ignores us. She turns back to Quinn and growls, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t ring Travis right now.”
Quinn’s eyes flutter closed. A tear escapes and falls down her temple. She whispers something I can’t hear. Something that turns Mac’s face white. She scrambles off her.
“I’m sorry,” Quinn chokes out, opening her eyes. They’re filled with tears and take in all of us. “I’m so sorry.”
Mac nods toward the door. “Everyone out.”
None of us move.
She arches a brow. “Did I just speak Klingon? Out. Now.”
I shoot Mac a look. You better tell me what the fuck is going on.
She gives me a nod that no one else sees. Later.
With the four of us leaving the room en masse, I have no choice but to return next door.
The next morning when we board our flight to Melbourne, I muscle my way in front of Henry and Evie and snatch the seat beside Mac. With three seats on each side of the plane, she’s stuck in the middle and an elderly man has the window. It leaves me with the aisle seat.
It judders as I sit and my shoulder accidently shoves Mac into the old man. He gives a little yelp and she tries to straighten. It’s a big fail because my shoulder now takes up half her seat.
“What are you doing?” Mac hisses as if I’m causing a commotion that every passenger on the plane has stopped to watch.
“Sorry,” I mutter. It’s unbelievable how airlines actually consider these things seats. It’s like sitting in a toddler chair. I’m too wide to fit them properly. My shoulders cop a hit whenever a flight attendant moves down the aisle with their food and drink cart. Aisle seats are something I avoid for that very reason, but trapping Mac on this flight is likely my one opportunity to find out what went down last night.
Quinn comes toward us, wheeling her little carryon. Her slight body is getting shoved by careless passengers in their rush to get seated. Travis is stuck about five bodies down, brows drawn in a pissed expression.
I stand and block everyone who’s trying to come or go. Sometimes my size comes in handy. “Where’s your seat, sweetheart?”
Her brown eyes scan the aisle numbers above. “Ahh, behind you.”
I snatch her carryon. Lifting it with ease, I tuck it into the storage compartment above.
“Thanks, Jake,” Quinn says and takes her seat behind me.
“No problem.”
I sit back down. Mac gets knocked sideways. The old man gives another yelp. I sigh. “Sorry.”
“Next time I’m telling Quinn to book business class,” she mutters.
“Hell yes.” I tuck my shoulder in as a guy bigger than me makes his way down the aisle. We shoot each other a mutual look of sympathy before he moves on. “Surely the band is earning enough now to afford that.”
“And then some.”
“No shit?” I’m impressed with how quickly our star is rising in the music world.
“No shit,” she confirms, satisfaction gleaming in her fierce green eyes. “If this keeps up, one day the band will have its own jet.”
And all I have to do is keep doing what I love. It seems too easy. How had I managed to turn my life around? As much as it grates, I owe a lot to the lying bastard Valentine brothers. They got me out of the gang. To this day I don’t know how. All I had to do was pack my bags in the middle of the night and leave. I haven’t seen or heard from Luke or Leander Fox since. It’s hard not to search for them. Luke had been my best friend. But I don’t. It’s my past. It’s best I leave it there.
Our plane taxies into the sky, and I turn my head toward Mac, keeping my voice low. “So tell me, what was all that about last night?”
She shoots a quick glance over her shoulder between the gap in the seats. Clearly Mac doesn’t want either Quinn or Travis, who’s now sitting beside her, to overhear our conversation. She tilts her head close to mine and speaks quietly. “You know how David was released from prison? Apparently he’s gone underground because he owes people money.”
“Okay.” But it doesn’t explain why the two of them were wrestling last night for the phone. “So?”
“Well, if they can’t get their money from him, who do you think they’re turning to next to get it?”
Quinn Salisbury. His stepdaughter.
“Jesus,” I mutter. “How much?”
She rattles off an impossible sum.
My head falls back against the seat in disbelief. “What’s the plan?”
“Plan?” Her eyes widen. For several moments she doesn’t blink.
It’s Mac’s tell that something is going down, and that something means A: chaos and reckless idiocy are sure to ensue, and B: shit will hit the fan as a result.
“Mac,” I growl. “Does Travis know?”
She huffs at my question, making it obvious there’s a tight little loop and her brother is being kept out of it.
Mac flicks her black-framed oversized sunglasses down from her head to cover her eyes, and she folds her arms. “The plan is that we’re just going to tell them we don’t have the money next time they ask. Jake, she was planning on disappearing in the middle of the night, scared of getting any of us involved or hurt. It’s lucky she even told me. I woke to the noise of her trying to wrestle her suitcase down from the top shelf in her wardrobe.” Her chin juts out. “I tried phoning Travis to tell him, and we will …” she adds hastily when she sees anger rising in my eyes, “but for now, we’re just going to take it one step at a time, and that step is to inform them that we aren’t going to play along. By god,” she mutters angrily, “they can’t just demand Quinn hands over that much in cold hard cash. It’s not her debt!”
My eyes close for a moment as I pray for calm. It goes unanswered. I’m wholly riled. The blood in my toes is boiling upward until my head starts feeling hot. The flight attendants choose that moment to thunder up the aisle behind us with their drink and food cart. My shoulder is rammed hard enough to dislocate bone. “For fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath.
They pause their violent march. One attendant places her hand on my shoulder. “Sir, I’m so sorry.” Bending slightly, she offers me a conspiratorial wink. “Can I offer you a beverage?”
Mac leans in and lifts her sunglasses to rest against her forehead. “God yes,” she declares loudly. “Is it too soon to drink? I think I need a vodka.”
“Me too,” Quinn announces from behind us.
Travis butts in. “Quinn, what the … It’s ten a.m!” He sounds scandalised. I’m sure he’d be sounding a lot worse if he knew even a tenth of what those two girls are up to. It prompts me to ask the question, “Who else knows?”
“Sir?”
“Just a juice, please.” I need a sugar hit because I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day.
“We’ve got apple, orange, pineapple, guava—”
“Orange is fine,” I blurt, eager to get them moving along so we can continue our conversation.
Mac leans in again. “Do you have any cranberry?”
I raise my brows at her.