Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Again, she pulled the mask away from her face. “He’ll run out of oxygen before we do. Just wait a few more minutes.”
Only then she’d correct whatever she’d done to depressurize the plane.
I knew all too well what a dangerous game she was playing. Knocking someone out by depriving them of oxygen was risky. If Gio went too long, any chance of the CIA gathering intelligence on the terrorist cell would die with him.
Goddamnit. I’d come too far to turn back.
I dug in my pocket and pulled out the knife, flipping the blade open. She was smart enough to know I couldn’t threaten her life. But I could make the empty threat of harm and try to intimidate her. Her knuckles went white on the wheel as she eyed the sharp blade.
“Fix it,” I half-ordered, half-pleaded, and set the edge against her forearm.
She looked down at the blade pressed against her skin, the steel flashing with each warning light above her head. “I will soon, I promise.”
How long did Gio have? What if the asshole had taken his mask off—
I released her, pulled the knife away, and stood. Don’t think about how stupid this is. Just get it over with.
“What are you doing?” she asked, alarmed.
I took a deep breath, yanked at the clear tubing that was connected to my oxygen bag, and wrapped it around the blade, showing her what was about to happen. Only the constant, repetitive warning alarm blared from the panel before she reacted.
“No!” She reached up to try to stop me, but it was too late.
I sliced easily through the rubber, severing my lifeline, and tore the mask off my face, throwing it across the cockpit in pure frustration. I fell back into the seat, so angry that she’d forced me into this. Now she’d have to choose which was more important, exacting her revenge on Gio, or letting me continue to breathe.
It was a huge gamble and, shit, I’d never been so worried about guessing wrong.
But Olivia . . . I’d kissed her, I’d slept with her, I’d told her my real name. I had done things with her I wasn’t allowed to while on an op. She meant something to me, and I was banking on her feelings being similar. I hoped.
“You stupid asshole! Why?” she yelled. I opened my mouth to say something, but she shook her head. “Don’t say a thing, save your air.”
She leaned over, flipped a switch, and shut off the warning, although the light continued to blink like a sickening strobe.
She tried to take off her mask, looking intent on sharing with me, but now it was my turn to shake my head. No one could afford for her to pass out. Her horrified expression was unsettling, so I stared out at the blackness beyond the windshield.
Well, what now?
Should I continue to sit beside her as my lungs began to demand air? I could stumble down the cabin aisle and grab one of the free masks hanging there, but if I left her, she’d shut and lock the cockpit door. I couldn’t trust her. And I wouldn’t be able to keep her safe either.
Ironic that I still wanted to protect her, even as my body screamed inside.
It was the lack of oxygen; that had to be the cause. My hand closed around Olivia’s, and I tangled my fingers with hers like a goddamn high school boyfriend. I clung to her, seemingly the only thing keeping me present in the moment, and when I was no longer moderately concerned I was going to die, I’d try to examine this action more clearly.
“Pressure’s climbing,” she said, squeezing my hand. My head was full of cement, and my neck was slow to respond when I wanted to look at her. “It’s coming up, just hang on.”
She blurred until I could no longer see and the pounding in my head crushed me with every thud. Okay, the pressure was coming up, but where was the fucking air? Something warm and soft brushed my cheek and I lolled my head into it.
“Ethan,” the lyrical voice whispered.
I blinked. The cockpit sharpened slowly back into focus. Olivia’s oxygen mask was gone, and her lips were beside my ear, whispering my name a second time so softly I thought maybe I had died.
She drew back, appearing concerned. “Are you all right?”
How long had I been out? She was gripping the yellow oxygen mask in her lap, so hopefully it had been momentary. I considered her question. The pounding in my head had dulled but persisted, and I was queasy. Yet I felt steady enough.
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Her expression went cold. “Then get the fuck out of my cockpit.”
The pocketknife was still in my hand, so I shifted in the seat and leaned over her, bringing the knife up. She gasped, cowering beneath me. She feared punishment, but I hadn’t raised the knife for any other reason than to cut down her oxygen mask. Gripping the rubber tubing, I tugged it free from her and flung it away.