“How many times do I have to tell you, kiska? I never joke.”
“So in addition to being a Bratva don, you also have a pilot’s license. Oh God, you do have a pilot’slicense, don’t you? You didn’t, like, bribe someone to give you a fake one or—”
That’s all it takes. One word. With his voice, with his eyes, with his smile, my name alone is enoughto cut through the thickening haze of panic and bring me back down to earth. Back down to him.
I swallow through a suddenly dry throat. “You better not get us killed,” I croak.
“Don’t worry, kiska,” he says as my heart does a little flip-flop just like it does every time he callsme that. “I’ve got you.”
Fucking traitorous body I’ve got here.
He hands me a pair of sound-canceling headphones and then slips one on himself. It cuts the sound ofthe roa
