To the Ends of the Earth (Stripped 5)

The SUV slows. I look out the window to see a small aircraft, only three windows across the side. “This is what we’re taking? Are you sure it’s safe?”

He gives me a small smile. “It’s safe, little bird. And even better, they don’t ask questions.”

The words are pointed, reminding me that I’m asking too many questions. But I understand the deeper point, that we need someone who will let me fly without paperwork. And hopefully no one will answer questions if someone asks about a girl with long blonde hair.

The plane takes off within an hour. I’m clinging to the seat, my knuckles white. Delilah fusses at the loud noise of takeoff, the strange feelings in her ears. Her cry is drowned out by the roar of the engines.

Only Luca looks unaffected by the rush and the noise.

He turns to dig through a small compartment on the other side of his seat. He finds an empty glass and a bottle of water. Pouring only an inch into the glass, he turns it this way and that near the window. A sliver of rainbow appears on the carpet at my feet.

Delilah quiets, noticing the colorful light. Luca entertains her through the takeoff, the incline, making rainbow shapes on the floor until our ears are clear. By the time the sound of the engines level off, I can hear her squeals of delight.

“More,” she says. “Wah more!”

It’s only a matter of time before she demands the cup itself. Not for drinking, but to play with the small amount of liquid, sticking her hand into the glass, splashing it, spraying droplets at me until I have to laugh.

I’m still laughing when I turn to Luca. The seriousness of his expression makes my smile fade. Suddenly I’m self-conscious, wondering how I look playing with a one-year-old. Do I seem like a child myself? Like a backward country girl on a plane for the first time?

Do I look like a victim?

I’m all those things, but maybe, just maybe, if we make it so I don’t have to run, I can be something more.

Chapter Eleven

The caravan of luxury SUVs that carry us away from my apartment felt extravagant. The small private plane feels extreme—but they’re nothing compared to the private jet that awaits us in Seattle. It’s sleek and gleaming, with the word Pajarita across the side. A man in a suit and dark sunglasses waits beside metal stairs. Delilah has been fussy since halfway through the drive, not at all pleased to be confined to a seat when she wants to roam.

“We have a few minutes before takeoff,” Luca murmurs.

He pulls the car seat away from me and heads up the stairs.

I follow him, my eyes widening at the inside of this plane—all wood paneling and plush carpets. The seats aren’t stacked together like the small plane. Instead they’re arranged in a casual circle, each with a large headrest and wide leather arms.

It’s a relief to kneel in front of Delilah’s seat where Luca sets her down, to focus on something mundane like stroking her hair into place, unlatching her seat belt. She springs up with a wordless exclamation of gratitude.

“Thank you,” I murmur, unable to look at Luca.

I knew that my apartment was small and dingy, but this is a whole new world. What did Luca think when he saw my broken car and the sleeping mat? I must look pathetic to him.

“Hey.” He touches my arm, and I look at him. “I know we’re the reason you don’t have a home. Because we showed up with fucking—with guns blazing. And then I took you.”

Doesn’t he understand that he saved me?

Delilah grasps the edge of the leather seat, pulling herself into a wobbly stand. She uses it as leverage to edge toward the back of the plane. A shiny mirror at the back is her goal.

“Stay here, baby,” I tell her.

Luca glances down. “Everything in here is safe to fly. She won’t get hurt.”

A flush burns my cheeks. “I’m more worried about her breaking something.”

“Let her.”

“Won’t Ivan be angry?”

“I doubt he’ll care. It’s my plane.”

I take in the luxurious surroundings with fresh eyes. I knew that there was money to be made in the criminal underworld. Otherwise why would anyone do it? I didn’t realize that Luca had this kind of wealth. Muscle, yes. Pure force.