Page 178 of Burn Like An Angel

“My niece can do far more damage in death than she’ll do subjugated by my side. I will not allow her ramblings to destroy what assets we have left.”

“But—”

“That’s final,” Jonathan cuts him off.

Elon sighs audibly. “Very well, sir.”

I’m roughly deposited in what feels like a leather seat. Terror grips my lungs, almost causing my act to slip. I can wriggle my toes now. When my body obeys me, I’m going to tear these monsters apart.

Noise bustles all around me. Bags being heaved. Men huffing. Pre-flight checks accompanying the hum of the engine warming up. I sense someone stop in front of me before cool lips briefly touch my temple.

“Dear, dear niece. It didn’t have to be this way.”

“Please take your seat, sir. We’ll be ready to depart soon.”

His presence moves away, taking his expensive aftershave with him. The smell of it makes me want to gag. All the things that made my uncle seem like such an impressive deity when I first arrived in London as a scared kid are laughable now.

It was all a sham.

One I swallowed for too long.

His rejection and disgust used to hurt me. Enough to leave wounds that impacted every relationship I had since. But I didn’thate him. Not fully. Not until he showed his true colours and harmed those I care about.

Now I’m ready to end this, once and for all.

Bloodlines be damned.

Holding my eyes open as slits, I can safely peer around. I’m sitting at the back of the jet, an incapacitated prisoner kept out of sight. Elon is barking at his guys, disregarding my unrestrained state.

Always so cocky. He hasn’t even bothered to cuff me or fasten my body into the seat. The wanker clearly thinks I’m still dosed to my tits on his drug cocktail. I’ll show him.

“In the distance! Headlights!”

Before I can move, shouts pour in from outside. Jonathan stiffens in his seat, sternly calling out for answers, but Elon waves him off.

“Stay seated, sir.”

“Who is it?” he demands, angrily slamming a fist down on his armrest.

“Those Sabre pricks have tracked us down!”

I don’t allow the blast of dizzying relief to change my mind. These men have harmed me for the very last time. I’m not going to wait to be rescued this time.

I carefully test my limbs. Still shaky. My legs respond, pressing my feet into the plush aeroplane carpet. Hands balling into fists, I can just about move my arms. It’ll have to be enough.

My plan is simple—I have no fucking plan. Nothing but a last-ditch attempt to escape whatever unthinkable fate my uncle has cooked up for me this time.

I finally get what Xander meant as we fled Harrowdean. I’d rather die on my feet than on my knees. Even if that means throwing myself at the mercy of a suicide mission in order to escape this jet. They can shoot me on the runway before I let it take off with me onboard.

Numb fingers latching onto an empty crystal tumbler on the beverage cart next to me, I lift the leaden weight. Elon has moved to the front of the jet to continue yelling at his men, hurrying them along for take off.

My legs are like trembling spaghetti underneath me. I can hardly hold my own weight. Each step forward towards my uncle’s occupied chair feels like running into the middle of a battlefield with a high probability of being shot.

He’s watching the exit for any hints as to what’s coming, sitting on the edge of his seat. Elon hasn’t returned. It’s now or never.

I lift the glass as high as possible, swinging it in an arc to meet the back of his head.

“Argh!” Jonathan cries out.

---