The Hunt: Bratva Blood Six: (A Dark Mafia Romance) by SR Jones & Skye Jones

Author:SR Jones & Skye Jones [Jones, SR]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-01-09T16:00:00+00:00

12

PAMELA

The flight seems to be taking forever. My nerves have started singing again. Not a nice, melodic song, but some awful, new-age jazz discordant nightmare, jangling every single cell in my body, and setting me alight with anxiety.

I hate this feeling. It’s worse than depression. At least when depression hits, I can sink under the covers for days and sleep. This, though? It’s as if I’m about to be blasted into outer space, only the countdown never ends, and the flight never begins.

I cross and uncross my legs.

The far-too-pretty for my liking flight attendant is walking by, and she leans into me. “If you need the ladies room, there’s a restroom at the back, through the curtains. There’s also a fridge through there with drinks and snacks. In the restroom, there are perfumes and make-up. Things a lady might need.”

What sort of an airplane has make-up in the damn toilets? My expression must say it all because she smiles.

“Giovanni uses this plane to ferry a lot of very wealthy and powerful men and women to and fro, and trust me, they like to look good.”

Oh, I bet they do. I also imagine there aren’t many powerful women in that category, and it is mostly rich men and their mistresses.

Her next words shock me a little. “Last week, we brought the woman who founded Second Skin to Italy, and her daughters spent the whole flight playing with the make-up. They were only five and seven, so that was some clean up afterward.”

I smile at her, but my mind is racing. That woman is a boss bitch, and I’ve admired her for years.

“I bet you had to replace all the make-up,” I say.

“Oh, we do anyway, after every flight.”

How much must that cost? Dear God. The rich and their weird foibles. “I don’t really wear much make-up,” I say, then feel as if I’ve been judgmental toward her. “I mean, I wish I knew how.” I almost say hashtag lol out loud because that’s how uncomfortable I am.

“Yes, well, you don’t need it.” She smiles at me, and there’s not a hint of passive aggressiveness there, just honesty. “I look like death warmed up without it.”

“I highly doubt that,” I say. She’s stunning.

“Weird coloring. I need some artifice to look like I’m not one of the undead.” She gives a soft laugh. “Anyway, feel free to use the facilities.”

Then she’s gone. I glance over at Cole to see how much of our conversation he overhead, but his eyes are closed, and his chest is rising deeply and evenly. I think he’s asleep. Perhaps, I will stretch my legs and try to shake off some of this awful energy.

I hope this isn’t going to last for months, or God forbid, years, the way the anxiety did after escaping the cult.

He was going to give me away to those men to be raped.

Oh, crap. I grip onto the seat rest as if it can stop the wave of terror washing over me, threatening to drown me.

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