“I think I’m going to be sick,” I announced, before bending over and vomiting bile all over his immaculate designer shoes. Instead of the violent repercussions I was expecting, I felt his hands gently gather my tangled, greasy hair up and hold it out of the way while my stomach ejected what little contents it possessed.
“Come on,” he murmured so quietly I barely heard him. “Get on the plane, and you can take a shower. You smell atrocious.”
Desperately trying not to look at Gheorghe’s body on the tarmac, I meekly followed along, too tired to worry about what new hell I would be entering by going with him, The Romanian.
8
Once on board the aircraft, we were greeted by a grinning air hostess whose uniform was a touch too tight and makeup a touch too heavy.
“Romanul, you’re back! We missed you,” she purred in what was probably intended to be a seductive way. To me, she just looked desperate. She stroked a red fingernail down the front of Dragomir’s shirt, but he brushed past her with barely a glance.
“Maria, fetch some of Elena’s spare clothes for my guest,” he commanded, taking a seat in one of the oversized, cream leather armchairs and buckling his safety belt. “Sit down. You can’t shower until after take off, and I am sure you’d rather have something clean to change into?” He was right; I desperately did want a change of clothes, even if they did belong to one of his mistresses or slaves.
I did as I was told, sliding into the seat opposite him and attempting to buckle the seatbelt with shaking hands. After my fourth failed attempt to make the two ends meet, he reached over and slapped my hands aside, clicking it together for me and jerking it tight. My mouth reflexively opened to thank him, my boarding school manners almost taking over before I caught myself. You do not thank the man who just murdered someone in front of you, Kit.
“Oh don't give me that look,” he snorted, sitting back in his own chair and levelling an intense look my way. “Gheorghe has had that coming for a really long time. Trust me when I say the world is a better place without men like him.”
I pursed my lips and didn't take the bait. As horrifying as it was that he had just shot a man in cold blood, my hands were hardly spotless themselves. I closed my eyes to block out his heavy stare and tried to calm my mind. I was exhausted, like I had just run a marathon, which must be thanks to my body burning through whatever was in that drug at the auction house.
Since learning that my healing ability might be applied to others, not just to myself, I had taken up meditation in an effort to try and get a handle on whatever it was that made me heal. So far, I hadn't had much luck. But the breathing exercises had really helped me keep my temper when Austin was driving me ballistic.
Austin. What the hell am I going to do about him? Goddamn, that makeout in the paintball park was hot. Even if I did think he was Caleb.
“You still awake there?” Dragomir's velvet voice cut through my quiet mind and shocked me back to the present. I cracked an eye open to glare at him. As if I could sleep while being held captive on a plane to a mystery location when a dead man's blood was crusting on my skin.
“We are at cruising altitude, if you wanted to take that shower. Unless you need assistance?” He quirked a suggestive eyebrow, and I didn't bother to hide a shudder of revulsion. Showering with murderous slave owners was not high on my to-do list.
I unclipped my safety belt and picked up the pile of neatly folded clothing that had been placed on the small foldout table in front of me. Just my luck, as I stood from my seat, still in the ridiculous stripper heels, the plane banked slightly, causing me to lose my balance and topple straight into Dragomir's lap.
“You could have just asked nicely, drag?; there was no need to throw yourself at me while covered in blood.” His dry remark held a little too much seriousness for my liking. I scrambled madly to regain my feet and quickly headed down the aisle before he could see my beet red face. I assumed the shower would be at the back of the plane.
Thankfully, I was right and didn't need to walk back up the aisle to find it. Once inside I locked the door and stared at the flimsy lock for a moment. It wasn't likely to keep anyone out if they were determined, but I guessed it was the best I was going to get.
I sighed and stripped out of the blood-splatted coat, then practically tore the slutty auction house outfit from my body. Stepping into the shower, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror that I had been deliberately ignoring and gasped. I looked like Carrie after she got the bucket of pig’s blood dumped on her. Except this wasn't pig’s blood. Holding my breath to prevent another round of vomiting, I quickly stepped into the water.
I stayed under the spray until I was confident I was as clean as I could be before stepping out and wrapping myself in an absurdly soft towel. Picking up the pile of clothing that belonged to Elena, whoever she was, I saw the hostess had even included a bra and panties for me. The idea of wearing someone else's underwear made me cringe though, and the bra was far too small, so I decided to commando it. Thankfully, I had been given sensible clothes that wouldn't make my lack of underwear too evident.
Once dressed, and unable to find a hairdryer or brush, I no longer had any excuse to stay in the bathroom. Taking a deep breath to calm my frayed nerves, I stepped back out into the main cabin and made my way back to my seat. As I walked, I could feel the leering eyes of Dragomir's security burning into my backside where Elena's jeans were just a touch too tight.
I gave the aircraft a quick glance to find a seat further away from my captor, but those were all taken by his men. Reluctantly, I slid back into the seat opposite him and buckled my seatbelt tightly across my lap. For lack of anything better to do, I picked up the emergency procedure pamphlet from one of the discreet side pockets on the wall. I was pleased to notice my hands had stopped shaking.
I took my time reading the pamphlet, committing every word to memory and then reading it again. Not because I was afraid of flying but because I was afraid of making eye contact with the intense man whose cold, cruel gaze I could feel firmly fixated on my face while I read.
“Interesting read?” he finally asked, breaking the tense silence, and I fought the natural instinct to look up and acknowledge him. I didn't respond, instead reading over the pamphlet for a third time. I think I could fairly safely say I was now well informed on all of the evacuation procedures in the event of an emergency.