Page 7 of The Harbinger

There was a time when I could have related to such an abysmal feeling, but it was never so powerful that I’d considered ending it all.

The plane rose from the surface of the earth at a pitch that pushed me into my seat while my only focus was on the girl who sat before me.

“Dmitri, have Mikhail pick our product up and mix it in with our imports,” I said. “And put someone onNina. I want her found.”

I never would’ve thought she’d get cold feet, especially when we were so close, and we had made preparations.

He gave a brief nod and pulled out his phone.

Ten minutes later, the plane leveled above the clouds, giving us a view only ripe for the Gods. Mia brushed a speck of dirt off her elbow, then blew a breath as she tipped her head back and glanced at the panoramic view.

I bought this plane from an innovative Brazilian companybecauseof the windows. Why fly above the clouds and not enjoy theentiresky?

She flicked another speck of dirt onto my floor, and with a harsh exhale, I tossed my seat belt off and stood above her as I crooked my finger. “Stand.” Mia glanced around as if someone would answer the questions she must have, then unbuckled her belt with shaking fingers. “Walk.” She turned on her dirty heels and shuffled down the aisle towards the back of the plane, her head swiveling as she took in the opulent decor and design. Mia’s gaze turned left, then she stumbled forward, tripping over Dmitri’s boots.

“Need help?” he asked.

“Nyet.”

I tossed open the back door to the private room. “In there.” I pointed to the bathroom, and we walked around the foot of the bed into the spacious full bath.

“What are we doing in here?” She turned around slowly in the bathroom, her shoulders hunched and her arms close to her sides as she took in the dark floors with gray themes. “I don’t have anything.”

“Strip.”

She faced me, her doe eyes widening as she wrapped her arms around her midriff and shook her head.

“Please, no.” Her chin quivered as she pulled tighter around herself.

“I’ll give you one warning.” I raised my tattooed index finger. “It’s more than I give anyone else.” I used that finger and pushed her chin up, forcing her eyes on me. “Do not make me say it again,Mia.”

She released a steady breath through pinched lips, then dug her thumbs into her shorts and pushed them down, tears welling in her eyes.

“Panties too.”

She whimpered, and the muscle in my chest jolted. She kicked her shorts and panties from her ankles, and a smile formed on my lips when they landed in a pile in the corner.

“Now your shirt.”

Her head ticked to the side as if there was a fleeting thought of disobedience, but she grabbed the bottom of her tank top and pulled it over her head.

Mia’s full, bare breasts and tight pink nipples sat high on her chest with nothing to conceal whatever she may have been hiding.

“Turn.” I twirled my finger in a circle, tucked my twitching hand into my pants pocket, and leaned against the countertop.

She crisscrossed her arms back over her chest, hiding herself as best she could, and turned slowly.

The girl had been starved. Her hip bones stuck out into painful points next to a surgical scar across her lower right stomach.

I reached out and traced my finger along the smooth faint scar. “Appendectomy?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Gooseflesh lit up her skin in a wave down to her toes.

Right.

Amnesia was rare. About two percent of women carried the diagnosis, most of them stemming from physical trauma, like a car accident or, in her case, abuse.

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