Hot for His Hostage (14 page)

Shay muttered the
f
word while yanking down his mask and bolting into the aisle behind Bash.

It was show time.

“Mmmpph.” Zoe followed the grunt with an irritated moan. With a soft piano tune layered
over the sound of ocean waves in her ear buds, along with the lulling motion of the
plane, she was almost asleep. Every mile they flew closer to home meant another mile
further from Shane Burnett. Thank every saint there was.

She wasn’t so grateful for Brynn’s urgent grabs at her elbow. Or the rapid-fire shoulder
whacks that followed.

What the hell?

She yanked her buds out and cracked one eye open in a purposeful glare. “
Corazón
, please; can you ogle the guys by yourself? I had a crap night’s sleep, and—Brynn?”

Her friend’s face wasn’t fixed in the rapture of spotting new man candy. It was frozen
in what looked like pure terror. “Zo.” Her lips trembled. “Oh, my God.”

She opened her other eye. Silently followed Brynn’s stare toward the front of the
plane. From that same direction, a woman shrieked. The sound was a detonation switch
on the air, arcing fear through the cabin. Then complete terror.

Okay, she was awake.

Zoe sat up, heartbeat hammering, gaping at the scene ahead in terrible disbelief.
Seven men in ski masks. Unconscious flight attendants.
Dios
. It seemed surreal. Too far away. This couldn’t really be happening. Not to
her
life.

Wasn’t that the familiar refrain by now? Last night, she’d wondered if her time with
Shay had been a movie happening to someone else—but it had all been so warm and wonderfully
real. Now, in this moment of insanity and dread, she clung to that reality instead
of this one. Reaching out to Shay and his strength, and rewarded by practically feeling
his power on the air again. If she breathed deeply enough, she even caught hints of
his woodsy scent…

Brynn cried out, along with half the women on board, as one of the men knocked another
unconscious. The guy on the floor must’ve been the air marshal, because his aggressor
pulled a gun from the middle of the man’s back before turning it over, barrel-side
up, to a person she assumed was the gang’s leader. Her estimation was validated when
three of the men followed that guy to the middle of the plane. Two of them moved around
him to march deeper into the cabin while he grabbed the intercom handset and clicked
it on.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. As you’ve likely discerned, our flight plan for
the day has been altered.” The man spread his arms with the gun still in his hand,
making the passengers at the barrel’s end cringe. “There is no need for alarm. We’re
not here to hurt anyone; merely to borrow you all as insurance for arrival at our
final destination. Please sit back, relax, and enjoy the journey.”

As he said that, a small flash erupted at the front of the plane, as if explosives
had been set off. A bunch of men joined bellows with the women’s screams but Zoe frowned,
confused. There had been no sound from the blast; there was still no smell.

“You’re cracked wider than a cheap rubber, asshole.” The eruption came from a man
seated a couple of rows back. Zoe closed her eyes, asking her favorite saints to lend
the guy some good sense, but the
idioto
wasn’t listening to anything but his own fear, manifesting itself as stupid bravado.
“No need for alarm, yeah? Forgive me if we don’t buy a line of your bullshit.”

The “asshole” narrowed his eyes. Fury flashed so brightly in them, Zoe could see his
aggravation even from where she sat. But when the man spoke, his voice was all talk
show congeniality. “We only want the jet, my friend. All of you are simply our insurance
of getting it to our desired destination. As far as trust? I cannot force you to give
me that, buddy—but I guarantee that your day will proceed better if you simply hand
it over.”

Shouts and exclamations filtered out from the cockpit. The pseudo explosion had been
a tricky device intended to blow the door, and it was successful.

The outlaws now had access to the plane’s controls.

Zoe wasn’t the only one to reach that horrifying conclusion. More women screamed.
Some, like Brynn, broke out into sobs.  

The dimwit from two rows back erupted with a new string of profanity, all involving
their hijackers with goats, dildos, and their mothers. Zoe tried to pray for him again
but the moron was intractable. “What the hell’s your name, asshole?”

The man cocked his head. “Does it matter? You’re doing such a good job on all those
inflections of ‘asshole.’ Maybe we should leave it at that.” He followed it up by
strolling farther back in the cabin, motioning a pair of minions to follow him—though
the term “minions” was up for interpretation. Both men were the size of small houses.
Zoe supposed that helped when a guy was tasked with hijacking a plane without any
weapons though their teammate, leaner than both by at least fifty pounds, had just
knocked out a flight attendant and the air marshal with his bare hands. 

“You coming back to intimidate me,
asshole
?” the idiot sneered. “Because you don’t.”

The leader sighed. “Sit down, my friend.”

“No.”

“
Sit down
.” The goon who’d stopped in front of Brynn and her unfurled it in a low, threatening
growl—immediately causing trembles down Zoe’s arms and legs. Quivers that unexpectedly
turned hot…and sensual.

What the hell
?

She scrubbed her palms against the tops of her thighs. She had to be in some kind
of crisis shock. Feeling like this was
loco
, plain and simple. The fact that she’d just had the best sex of her life, with a
man possessing the same dark panther quality to his voice, didn’t help the cause.
And yeah, there was that little burr in her brain, too—the continuing memories of
him with all his clothes
on
. The recall of what they’d shared when they weren’t blowing up the hotel room with
their passion. The longing that made her practically feel him in the air, so close
and big and powerful, all over again…

Are you actually fighting wet panties at thirty thousand feet, because of a hijacking
cabrón
who happens to have a voice with a little resonance to it?

Crap.

He also happened to have long, strong fingers. And a high, defined chest. And a proud,
firm stance that practically bellowed a dominant nature…

“You’re a bunch of goddamn bullies.” The obstinate ass was at it again. “And I like
to eat bullies for breakfast. Come on, everybody. Let’s take down these bastards!”

The guard next to them growled lower than before. His leader told the man, “Effective
‘take downs’ rely on a little something called surprise. And a bigger element called
a brain. Since you clearly have neither, shut the fuck up and sit down.”

“Listen to him, gumby.” The goon in front of them again.
That voice
again. Zoe dug her knuckles into her thighs and fought back a moan.
You are being utterly ridiculous. And completely pathetic.

“You want me to sit down? Make me, dickhole.”

The next sound out of the man was his tormented wail—a second after the single
pow
of the fired pistol.

Zoe surged to her feet alongside Brynn. The guard with the growl shoved them back
down, but not before they saw the man who’d dared the rebellion against their captors.
His right knee was nothing but a bloom of blood.

“Shit!” Brynn dissolved into tears. Zoe pulled her friend close, acknowledging her
own need for comfort in the gesture. She shook worse than a krump dancer on three
energy drinks, though was pretty certain Brynn would never notice.

“You—you—” the
idioto
stammered. “Dear Christ. My knee! I’m—I’m—”

“Damn lucky I’m in a cheerful mood.” Though the man with the gun leisurely rolled
his neck, he sounded like he’d just snacked on the remaining bullets in the pistol.
If they only got so lucky. Zoe was pretty sure the air marshal wouldn’t have boarded
with a less-than-prepared weapon. Her suspicion was confirmed when the man lifted
the gun, ensuring everyone took note of the barrel, still leaking a little smoke.
“Anyone else in the mood to play cowboy? Come on up; I’ll slide on my spurs.”

Other than the soft sobs weighing the air through the whole cabin, everyone fell into
silence.

“He’s bleeding badly.” The interjection came from Harmony, the member of their cast
who matched her name the most perfectly. The woman was a peace accord on two legs.
“Mister, I can see you’re devoted to your plan, but do you really want a man to bleed
to death for it?”

The minions shifted uncomfortably. The guard toward the back of the plane, with a
chest that needed its own zip code, muttered, “Can’t hurt to ask if there’s a doctor
or nurse on board.”

Zoe swallowed hard, pulled free of Brynn, and raised her hand. “I can do it.”

“No, you
can’t
.” Brynn yanked her back.

“No, you can’t.” Mr. Growl’s concurrence, in a dungeon-worthy command with its fair
share of vocal lead, rose her hackles. It wasn’t just his arrogance. It was the way
his presence wouldn’t leave her libido the hell alone.

“Yes,” she snapped at him, “I
can
.” She swung her sights to his boss. Though the guy was significantly shorter than
Growl Man, he emanated vibes that freaked her the hell out. Nevertheless, she jerked
up her chin and stated, “I’m the captain for our troupe. I can wrap any part of the
body. It’ll at least stop the blood until we land…wherever we’re landing.”

The man rolled his head again, considering her offer. It gave her arrogant guard an
opportunity to pin her with a tight, unreadable stare—well, as much as he’d let her
see. The guy wore his mask differently than the others, yanking it into slits around
his eyes and tucking the fabric around his lips, making his mouth indistinct, as well.
He was so strange. And unrelenting. And infuriating.

“The authorities will be kinder about your sentencing if you don’t allow him to bleed
out,” Harmony interjected.

Zoe caught her friend’s eye through the gap in the seats. “
Corazón
, he’s hijacked a jet with hundreds of people on board. I’m not sure how ‘kind’ anyone’s
inclined to be right now. On the other hand, murder in the first never made anyone’s
life
less
complicated.”

The man’s laugh was, unnervingly, not a blow. “Aren’t you two a lovely surprise?”
He nodded. “Fine. Tell my boys what you need then wrap the jerkass up. After that,
I’m taking a couple of you lovely ladies to the cockpit to help your new pilot on
the radio.”

Brynn gasped. Zoe barely heard the sound. Ice consumed her chest so fully, the freeze
extended to her ears. She breathed deep to summon any shred of warmth, finally succeeding
enough to gain her voice again. “Wh-why? We’re dancers, not air traffic specialists.”

The man slid her a patronizing smile. “Thanks, honey. I’m aware of that already. But
you’re also one thing that my boy Kamikaze can’t be.”

“Oh?” She managed it past gritted teeth.
Damn
. The man and his boys were sharp, using radio call-signs instead of proper names
with each other. It meant she’d have to work at paying attention to other details
about them—a skill that, ironically, Bryce had helped her hone.

“Women,” the man supplied to her query.

“Excuse me?” she returned.

“I need a woman’s voice,” the man explained while helping her into the aisle. But
once she stood next to him, he didn’t let go of her hand. She shivered, battling the
sensation cockroaches were skittering down her spine as he raised his grip to her
nape. His ice-blue eyes glittered from behind his mask. “The boys running the show
at military command are going to be more patient with their guns if a woman is pleading
for the souls on board.”

The insects in her bloodstream were replaced by sluices of alarm. “Their guns? Isn’t
that an extreme assumption to make?”

“Not when one wants to land an airliner at Area Fifty-One.”

She plummeted her jaw. “Area Fifty-One?” Then narrowed her eyes. While she was no
expert on all the urban legends and speculation about the base, she was more than
aware of its main fact. Nobody entered without the most high-level security clearance.
And no commercial aircraft
ever
dared a flight plan into its airspace. “Have you lost your damn mind?”

His loose chuckle defied his iron grip as she tried to wrench away. “Oh, you
are
a delight. So much spirit and passion. We’re going to have fun together, aren’t we,
mi chiquilina
?”

“I’m not your
chiquilina
. I’m not your anything. Let go.” She swallowed, glancing to the pistol in his other
hand. “Please.”

To her dread, he raised the gun’s barrel and slid it along her cheek. “I like the
way you say that word. Do it again.”

Her breath, what she dared to take of it, left her in uneven spurts. The man’s order,
a slimy parody of Shay’s sensual commands from last night, made her throat clench.
The weapon was a cold taunt on her flesh.

Until it was suddenly shoved away.

She gaped as Growl Man’s fingers twisted around his boss’s wrist. In seconds, the
man was forced to drop the weapon. Before she could regain the composure to step back,
her savior clamped a steely arm around her middle, swept her behind him, and didn’t
let go until she fell back into Brynn’s lap. He followed her down, low enough to lean
over both of them—ensuring she should just write off breathing for the foreseeable
future. His proximity gave her a close-up of the brilliant gold shards in the depths
of his gaze.