Page 95 of Twisted (Never After)
His question irritates me, although it’s a valid one to ask, and I snap at him. “Nowyou focus on finding that fucking lamp so you can come home. And then you wait to see what I decide to do.”
“What’s there to even decide?” he asks. “You have the will, you married the girl, so either wait until the old man croaks or kill him yourself.”
“Watch your mouth. You know better than to say ridiculous things over phones.”
“Of- of course, boss. I’m sorry,” he stutters.
“I’ll see you in a week. Try and stay out of trouble until then.”
I hang up the phone, fresh annoyance rushing through my veins from talking to Ian and having him ask so many questions I can no longer answer. And then my mind goes back to her.
Yasmin.
She’s all I can fucking think about.
I breathe through the tension in my back, rolling my shoulders and trying to ease the sharp, throbbing pain as my phone vibrates, a text flashing with my driver telling me he’s out front. Opening the right-side drawer in my desk, I drop in the papers,slamming it closed and walking out the door.
My stomach is in knots, wondering if Yasmin will choose to stay here with her father or come to see the boy.
I’m under no illusion it would be for me.
Forty minutes later, I’m on the plane, the engine rumbling beneath me as I sit in one of the four oversize chairs on the left-hand side.
It’s a gorgeous aircraft, one that I’ve been using for the past five years after I bought it for Sultans. An upgrade from the last one, and it made travel much more comfortable with the bedroom in the back— not that I’m ever able to sleep on planes— and the long cream couch on the opposite side of the chairs with a large flat- screen TV hanging in front.
Travel isn’t something new with my position, and I’ve made flying almost like a second home, despite the fact that it’s not something I really enjoy.
I nod at the flight attendant who brought me a club soda on ice and glance at the text from Razul saying they’re on their way.
She’s coming.
Part of me is surprised she’s willing to leave her father when we both know he could go any day. He’s been extra reclusive the past month, especially with the business side of things, but I was almost sure that she’d be too afraid to not be here in case things went south.
I suppose I was wrong.
Selfishly, I’m glad.
And this will be good. She’ll reunite with the boy and I can witness them together, the puppy love in her eyes and the heartbreak aching to be soothed in her soul, and watch him sweep in and erase whatever weird thing has been happening between us.
It’s what I need. A slap in the face, a cold reminder that even if I was able to trick her into staying with me—force her into it— nothing when it comes to Yasmin and me is real.
Even if it feels like it is.
Even if she’s the only one who’s seen my darkest parts and still decided I was worth a shit.
Or maybe even that was an act all forhim. To ensure the boy’s safety when she knew I had the power to kill him in an instant. I have been hanging him over her head, and even though we haven’t spoken about my blackmail recently, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s there, like a concrete wall directly between us.
A heaviness settles in the center of my chest, and I clink the ice cubes in my club soda, wishing it was something with alcohol to wash away the ache.
A car door slams, muted outside the thick windows of the plane, but my heart jumps anyway, knowing who it is. Foreboding wraps around the base of my spine and spreads through my limbs, but I ignore the way it feels.
This isexactlywhat needs to happen. I’m getting too lost. Too soft. Too unfocused.
It’s preposterous, really.
Yasmin walks through the door of the aircraft and around the corner, her footsteps faltering when she sees me. Her gaze swings from the large TV and living area to the hallway that leads to the bedroom in the back.
“Wow, this is nice,” she breathes, moving toward me and sitting in the chair directly across from mine, her camera plopping in the seat at her side.
