Page 142 of The Devil's Thorn
He looked like he belonged there. Like the jet belonged to him. Like the sky would bend if he told it to.
My stomach twisted—something cold and hot at the same time. I pushed the door open before either of the boys could say a word.
This wasn’t a vacation. This was war.
The air was crisp with that faint scent of jet fuel and the kind of money that didn’t blink when bodies dropped. I stepped out of the car slowly, my heels clicking against the smooth tarmac as I took it all in.
The sleek jet, dark, and silent like a predator waiting to strike. The metal gleamed under the morning sun, and I narrowed my eyes at the sight of a few of Rafael’s men loading what looked like large black crates into the cargo hold.
They were heavy. I could tell by the way the men grunted, how two of them had to steady the ramp as the others guided the crates in. Thick, bolted, unmarked.
Definitely not souvenirs.
I circled toward the edge of the lot, my gaze scanning the men, noting details. Two were armed visibly. One had a knife strapped along his boot, the other a barely concealed handgun tucked into his waistband. The rest kept their weapons out of sight—but I could still feel the weight of them in the air.
Kellan and Ash stayed behind, leaning casually on the car like they weren’t memorizing the positions of every man here. I didn’t need to look to know they were. That’s what made us different.
We didn’t let down our guard. Not for anyone. Not even him.
Especially not him.
As if summoned by the pull of my thoughts, Rafael ended his call and turned. And his eyes—those calculating, soul-piercing eyes—locked onto me like he’d felt me arrive long before I stepped out of that car.
Not even a minute passed before he started walking towards me, and god, he moved like he owned the ground. Like every inch of space was his to command. And maybe in his world—it was.
But I didn’t flinch. I didn’t shift. I stood exactly where I was, letting him come to me.
His voice was smooth, but laced with something sharp. “I didn’t think punctuality would be your strong suit.”
My eyes raked over him once. “And yet you’re still surprised when I exceed your expectations. That’s on you, not me.”
He smirked. “We’ll see if you keep that energy once we land.”
My gaze flicked to the jet behind him, then to the last crate sliding in. “What are you bringing?” I asked, eyes cold.
“A few things we might need.”
“Like enough firepower to take out a small country?”
He tilted his head. “You wound me. It’s barely enough for a hostile dinner party.”
Kellan approached, stepping just close enough to be heard. “We good to board?”
Rafael’s gaze cut to him, unreadable, then nodded once. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
Ash didn’t say anything—just followed, his hand brushing briefly against the small of my back as a silent check-in. I gave a tiny nod. I was fine. For now.
As we ascended the stairs into the jet, the hum of its systems vibrated under my feet. And when I stepped inside?
Yeah. This wasn’t a jet. This was a declaration of power.
Cream leather seats. Gold accents. A full minibar. Hardwood floors that gleamed like they’d been polished with intention and wealth. The windows were wide and curved, and the entire interior smelled like dark cedar and expensive cologne.
Rafael didn’t sit across from me. He sat beside me. Of course he did.
I slid into the seat, crossing my legs, eyes forward. Kellan and Ash sat opposite us. I could feel their eyes on him—and his on them—but none of them said a word.
Until Rafael leaned in slightly and murmured just low enough for me to hear. “You keep looking at the crates like you’re trying to guess what’s inside.”
