The pain in my ankle is gone. When he takes a step, my feet drag. He doesn’t slow down for me to catch up. He guides me downstairs while he speaks on his phone, telling someone to bring a car around.
We exit via the back. The man whose bike I stole waits in the street next to a black car with tinted windows. He takes my bag from Ian and throws it in the trunk.
“Door,” Ian says, glancing up and down the street.
The man gets the backdoor of the car while Ian helps me inside before taking the seat next to me.
“Wonderboom,” he says to the man behind the wheel, rolling down his window.
“I’ve signed her out already,” the biker says through Ian’s window. “My men will hang around to make sure no one follows.”
“Good.” Ian pulls my head down onto his shoulder.
He closes the window and makes a call as we pull off, telling someone to get the plane ready.
The heaviness drags me down. Unable to fight, I close my eyes. A tap on my cheek makes me peel my eyelids open again.
“Stay awake for me,” Ian says. “You just have to make it to the airport, and then you can let go.”
Airport is the last word I register. A staccato of taps fall on my cheeks, but the rhythm fizzles out until there’s only white noise.
~ TO BE CONTINUED ~