Page 19 of Crowned

Dad and I both look up at the sound of the strange voice, sleek and accented with notes of black velvet. There’s no sign of Mikhail and Dmitry. Three men have stepped into the aircraft. Tall, strong men with hard eyes and tattoos.

At the front of the pack is a man in a gray suit that matches the color of his eyes. A proud smile just touches his lips as he gazes at me. His crisp white shirt is open at the neck to reveal the edges of the tattoos on his chest; tattoos I’ve never seen despite the fact that we’ve had sex.

On his left is a man with high cheekbones and cold blue eyes, his fair hair pushed back from his face and his muscular shoulders taut beneath a tight black T-shirt. Ink decorates his throat, arms, and fingers. Prison tattoos. Words and symbols that document his brutal life. The moment he lays eyes on me, he seems to stop breathing.

On his right stands a lean, muscular figure with dark hair, menace and mischief dancing like twin flames within his even darker eyes. He jams his thumbs into the waistband of his black jeans, his expression almost flirtatious as he tilts his head in greeting, black curls falling across his forehead.

All three men are watching me, their hungry eyes filled with delight and victory. Konstantin, Elyah, and Kirill. Men who took me prisoner along with fifteen other women. Men who tortured and tormented me. Men who swore to murder me at the end of a twisted week.

Dad unbuckles his seat belt and tries to get to his feet, but Elyah pulls out a gun, and Kirill produces his telescoping baton, extending it with a vicious downward flick and pushing Dad back into his seat.

“Who the fuck do you think you all are? Get off my plane,” Dad growls. “Mikhail, Dmitry!”

Everyone ignores him. Mikhail and Dmitry are either out cold or dead.

Elyah’s gaze runs over me, and when he seems satisfied that I’m safe and in one piece, he walks confidently into the cockpit and jabs the barrel of a gun into the pilot’s neck. In his deep, clipped Russian accent, he intones, “In the air. Now.”

The pilot gabbles in panic, turning in his seat to cast a desperate look at Dad, but Dad’s too busy glaring at Konstantin to give a damn about anyone else.

Whistling like he’s having the most wonderful day, Kirill grabs the shaking and whimpering flight attendant, marches her down the aisle, and locks her in a bathroom. Then he strides back to the front of the jet, pulls up the steps, and expertly closes the door like he’s done this a hundred times before. Seeming to notice that I’m staring at him, he glances over his shoulder, pins me with a heated look, and winks.

A shiver goes through me, and I quickly look away.

Elyah cuts off the pilot’s protests by grabbing a fist of the man’s hair and giving him a shake. “Get this plane in the air or I will blow your fucking brains out.” He speaks in a deep, unflustered monotone as if he’s doing nothing more remarkable than ordering a latte.

The pilot grabs for the controls, and a moment later, the engines roar as we start down the runway. He suggests timidly, “Everyone should be seated for takeoff.”

Elyah makes himself comfortable in the doorway, leaning one big shoulder against the frame with the gun still pressed against the pilot’s neck. “I will be fine,” he replies, staring directly at me.

I can’t fathom the expression in his eyes. Fury? Hatred? It’s only when the plane lifts off and his mouth curves up at the corners that I realize what he’s feeling.

Elyah Morozov is hijacking a plane, but he barely notices because he’s so fucking happy to see me.

Konstantin takes the seat across the aisle from mine and lounges comfortably in the cream leather, a smile playing around his lips. “How wonderful to see you again, Lilia.”

I regard him in cold silence. He can’t fool me. I saw the victory blazing in his eyes as he stepped aboard the jet. The real Konstantin runs hot, not cold.

“Stop pretending, Konstantin. We both know this cool, detached attitude isn’t the real you.”

Konstantin arches his scarred eyebrow. “Own up to who I really am? You first,milaya.”

“Oh, you met her. The real me looks beautiful in diamonds, don’t you think?” I say with a smile.

Anger burns in his eyes. There’s the man I know.

“I think some introductions are in order,” I say lightly. “Konstantin, this is my father, Aran Brazhensky, aPakhanin the American Bratva. Dad, Konstantin is in the Russian mafia, too. I’m sorry, I don’t know what his last name is and where he conducts his illegal activities, but I’m sure you have a lot in common. These are his right-hand men. Enforcers, bootlickers, whatever you want to call them. Their names are Elyah and Kirill. Fun fact, Elyah used to work for Ivan.”

Dad glares from one man to the next, and then his accusing eyes swing back to me and land on the locket resting on my T-shirt. “I knew that thing was a lie.”

I frown down at the necklace, confused why Dad’s distracted by a piece of old jewelry when his plane is being hijacked. “Sorry?”

“You lost your mother’s locket down a drain when you were eleven. I know what you were really doing in the jeweler’s. Calling these men to rescue you, you vicious little bitch.”

Konstantin’s eyes narrow. “Lilia was in a jeweler’s?”

My stomach clenches. It’s been less than five minutes and Dad is already spilling my secrets to my enemies. Any second now he’s going to tell them I’m pregnant.

“Like you don’t know,” Dad growls at the other man.

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