Page 92 of Corrupting Ivy

Stepping onto the plane, I nearly lost my breath. I’d never experienced such luxury before.

The spacious interior was small, with a white and a black square design running down the center of the carpeted aisle. Four plush cream-colored leather chairs faced each other while a couch sitting sideways, made of a fleece-like material, was towards the back.

Randall turned his massive body to the side and walked me down towards the couch with two thick down pillows on one side and a fluffy folded blanket on the other.

“Don’t I need a seatbelt?”

“Mr. Randall, we will take off shortly, just finishing up our checks, and we’ll taxi out,” said a man in a white shirt, black pants, and two gold stripes on his shoulders.

Randall nodded, then turned his attention back to me. “There’s a seat belt right here.” He reached under my ass and pulled on the tucked-in strap, then wrapped it around my belly, clicking it into place. “When we get high enough, then you can take it off and lay down. You need your rest.” His dark eyes shifted to my bruised, swollen lips, then caressed the marred flesh with his thumb.

His touch was gentle, barely a whisper above my broken skin. “Yet another man who got lucky,” he said, then stood and walked away to the cockpit.

What did he mean by that? Mr. Grady died a horrific death, one that I was certain would be my fate. It was only by pure luck that things happened as they did. Well, that and some country girl fight he didn’t prepare for.

A part of me felt relieved to be sitting on this plane, leaving that cursed town. We didn’t say goodbyes. I didn’t need to. On the outside, I fought Randall, but on the inside, I couldn’t help but feel like this was the right thing to do.

I thought Cavil, Texas, would be my fresh start, but it was no better than Greenville. Hopefully, a new scenery would stop the nightmares. The ones where Mr. Grady walked into my room with charred flesh, trying to suffocate me with his blackened hands.

When I’d wake up, I swear I could smell burning flesh and singed hair.

A tall blonde woman with short hair and red lips walked towards me with a small tray and a glass of water.

Her crisp stewardess uniform had pinstripes running down the black material, making her appear taller than she was. “Would you like a glass of water, Miss?”

“Thank you.” I nodded and reached for the plastic cup, then closed my eyes as the cool water soothed my swollen lips and raw throat.

The stewardess walked away, but not before glancing at my bandages wrapped around my thighs and calves. I picked up the blanket and covered my body from head to toe, wrapping it around my shoulders and tucking it under my feet.

Randall stepped out of the cockpit, took his seat in the chair across from me, and raised a brow. “Are you cold?”

I shook my head, then bit my lip and instantly regretted it. Oh, how easy it was to forget things when he was around.

“You brought me into public with clothes that were meant for the bed.” My thin flowered camisole and matching shorts showcased my pert nipples and barely covered my ass.

“Is that why?” He gave me a look that called me a liar.

I hung my head and shook it. How do I tell him that I no longer felt beautiful? That I’d never wear shorts and t-shirts again, or that I’d always feel self-conscious about the scars covering my body.

“What happens from here, Randall?” I moved my legs for the stewardess as she offered him liquor in a glass cup, not the plastic one I’d used. I tore my eyes from him, then to her, and watched her walk away.

He held the full glass with just three fingers while he took a sip. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t know where we are going. I need to find a job, a place to live. It won’t be easy to start over.”

Randall leaned his head back against his chair and closed his eyes. “You don’t need to worry about any of that.”

“I can’t rely on you forever.”

The pilot came over the intercoms and said something so fast and garbled I didn’t have time to understand him before the plane lurched backward, causing me to squeal.

Blood drained from my face, rushing down to my toes, and fought hard to come back up to my brain as I reached out and took hold of the armrest beside me.

He looked me up and down, then brought the cup to his lips, and paused before it got there. “Ivy, stop worrying about things that don’t deserve your attention.”

I watched him sip on the liquor. It caused a longing in me for a taste of that liquid courage. “Can… can I have some of that, please?” Without hesitation, he held it out towards me.

I threw the blanket off and wrapped my fingers around the dimpled glass, and took a sip. The woody liquor coursed down my throat, warming my insides. The promise of euphoria settled in my belly, urging me to take another, then another, until I’d emptied the glass.

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