Page 5 of Exposing Adonis

The ding of the overhead speakers went off and on a comically exaggerated American drawl, Alastair’s voice said, “Uhhhh, this is your captain speaking. We have, uh, reached our cruising altitude of 30,000 feet. Consequently, that’s about 10,058 meters or, uhhh…” the radio cut out, then pinged back on. “One and half times as long as the Las Vegas strip or, uh, roughly the height of 2,750 giraffes.” There was the sound of clicking before his voice resumed. “On behalf of Caledonia Security, we hope you have a pleasant flight. Enjoy the peanuts.”

The men chuckled. I couldn’t get rid of the sinking feeling in my stomach that I had just handed myself and my brother into the hands of four very good looking, but heedless men.

“He’s putting on a show for you,” Callum whispered in my ear. “He’s not half this entertaining when it’s just us.” As if he could read my mind, he gave a small nod. “And he’s more professional than he lets on.”

“Maybe he just likes me,” I tried to return his teasing tone. But the darkening of his eyes told me I missed the mark.

“Maybe I can throw him out of the plane,” Callum deadpanned.

“We are not equipped for skydiving, sir.” I quipped. He took a deep breath, taking in a sharp inhale, and his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip as he looked down the length of my body. Was it because I called him ‘sir’?

“He won’t be skydiving. He’ll be falling.” His tone remained soft. Humorous. But there was a hard edge to it, as if it could flip any time.

“Don’t waste your chest-pounding,” said their burly Frenchman. The man was built like a brick, muscular and powerful in his movements. Like the Juggernaut. Or a shaved gorilla, leaving only his thick head of hair and prominent, black beard intact. “Alastair’s loins are obsessed with a little vixen fighter in the underground fighting circuit.”

“You mean Rose Legaspi?” I asked, pleased to possibly know something about a sport. Of course, every Filipino knew about her. She was a champion. Like Manny Pacquiao, her fights were practically a holiday for anyone of Filipino descent.

When the Bratva tried to go after her, I swear, international relations between Russia, it’s allies, and the Philippines were in a new state of tension, especially in the Philippine Sea.

“The very one.” Hugo had a very interesting French accent. It was mild, and understandable. He slipped into the seat that faced us, separated by a small table bolted to the wall, not unlike what you might find on a train. With a small quirk of his dark brow, Hugo asked, “What’s the plan?”

Geordie stepped out of the cockpit. Alastair followed with a mug in his hand, toying with the string of his tea bag.

My mouth dropped open. “Who’s flying this thing?”

Alastair leaned against the door frame and looked over his shoulder into the abandoned cockpit.

“Oh, bullocks. I’m actually supposed to fly this thing?” He winked at me, then chuckled as he sipped his drink.

“Autopilot, love,” Callum whispered in my ear. His arm getting tighter around me and I felt him glare at Alastair. Was he getting possessive? Did I like it?

“What’s the plan?” Geordie repeated Hugo’s question. All eyes were on Callum, who intertwined his fingers with mine, then placed it on the table. He was staking a claim, and ensuring everyone knew that I was his. As if anyone would have missed it.

“We pick Leo up in the Istanbul Airport.” Callum said, his voice low, authoritative. I couldn’t look at him when he spoke like that. It did terrible things to me. “Hugo and I will get past security and retrieve him. The rest of the plan is what we worked through. I’ll have to tandem him in though. Then extraction near Suruç.”

Suruç was a town near the southern border of Turkey. I had studied Kemet before. I had looked at the surrounding areas as we planned to kill the Butcher.

“Are we going to station in Alex’s house?” Geordie asked, his eyes intent on Callum. “That twig is going to owe us since this is all his fault.”

It was actually my fault. I had told Callum that, but the rest didn’t need to know. Though I wasn’t sure if he would have already relayed that to them somehow.

Geordie played with the Rolex on his wrist. It was identical to Callum’s. Silver, with a deep blue face, a black ring, and all the complicated gadgets and an engraving along the face. Men with matching watches. Was that like a friendship bracelet?

The thought made me snort, and Callum lifted one brow as he looked at me.

“Aye, phone ahead for me, will you, Geordie?” Callum ignored my little outburst, and continued their little meeting. Geordie nodded. “Hugo and I will get to know Leo …”

Hugo laughed, then abruptly stopped and gave me a sideways glance before his face turned into a mask of seriousness.What the fuck did that mean?

Callum’s hand tightened on my shoulder.

“Have you seen the latest on Chloe?” Geordie asked, bringing a tablet out and placing it on the table, clicking on it with two large fingers.

“No, what have I missed?” Callum asked, leaning forward slightly to see the screen.

Geordie flipped it over and propped it up to show us. The video playing was a news clip of Callisandra Davenport somewhere in southern Turkey, her mic with the news channel’s logo clutched under her chin.

“The latest dispatch from the Kemet People’s Liberation Army, known as the KPLA, was distributed through gaming servers. The US government has authenticated the following footage just moments ago.” Her crisp, low British accent always reminded me a of Christiane Amanpour. “The following clip is graphic, and may be disturbing to some. Viewer discretion is highly advised.”

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