CHAPTER 11
Travis
I wandered back into economy after a while, trying my best to not look suspicious as I headed for the rear bathrooms, hoping the cabin crew would assume the other cubicles were occupied.
I walked down the plane on the right, surveying the passengers along the way. No one caught my eye until I reached the end of the plane.
Sneaky bastards…
There were three men sitting in a row on the right near the end of economy. All three looked hard and grim-faced. Eastern European or perhaps Russian, it was hard to tell. They spotted me as I walked up the plane, trying their best to look nonchalant. But I wasn’t fooled.
The words of one of my contacts rang in my ears—the warning I’d been given about a Russian crew out to get their hands-on Scarlett’s dad’s software. Possible high-level organized crime, or even secret military.
My gut told me these guys were serious. That they were mean, scarred, and vicious.
Why would three Russians be heading to Paris from San Francisco? Flying right at the back in economy, no less. As far as possible from my seat as they could get.
I looked around. The majority of the people near me were asleep or watching a film. I approached the three men, putting my hands on the seats on either side of the aisle in front of them.
“Having a nice flight, comrades?” I said.
They looked up at me, their expressions blank. One of them smiled cruelly for a second, letting me know he’d understood. The Russian in the aisle seat waved his hand at me dismissively, saying something in Russian that didn’t sound very nice.
“What’s that, Constantine? Got a problem?” I paused and leaned forward toward him. “Because if you do, that means I’ve got a problem. And I don’t think you’ll fucking like that very much,” I said, grimacing menacingly, feeling the adrenaline pump into my muscles. I tensed my arms, gripping the seats tight.
My gaze flicked to the bathrooms on either side of the aisle. Both were unoccupied.
The Russian rose to his full height, a good few inches shorter than me. Unintimidated, he shrugged as if to dismiss me and pushed me in the chest. He turned his back and headed for a cubicle, likely thinking I was just a random angry American who didn’t like Russians.
Well, he was right about the latter, but my approach wasn’t random.
As he stepped into the cubicle, I swiftly forced my way in, locking the door behind me. In the small confines, he was no match for my brute strength. I lied into him savagely with body blows, a series of powerful punches to the chest, abdomen, and stomach with one final uppercut into his solar plexus.
He collapsed, winded and pained.
“Listen, you fuck,” I spat, my finger an inch away from his face, “I know why you’re here. I know what you want, and you ain’t getting it. If I see you or any of your friends again, you won’t be breathing next time.”
He nodded, gasping for air and clutching his chest.
I pushed the cubicle door open to find the other two Russians staring at me. They made no move, aware that now wasn’t a good time for them to show their true colors.
I snorted at them derisively and walked back to my seat, my blood boiling.
As I walked away, I heard the door of the cubicle open. After a moment of bemused silence, the two Russians started laughing heartily at their colleague, who was presumably still half collapsed on the cubicle floor.
I arrived back at my seat to find it occupied. I could see a head poking above the seat, with headphones on. I approached quietly to see who had snuck into my seat, but if I had to guess…
Looking over the top of the seat, I got a view straight down Scarlett’s shirt and found myself staring at the mounds of her breasts and the top of her frilly pink bra. The fight had made me feel alive, and the view of her cleavage rising and falling had awoken a feeling within me that I’d long suppressed.
I stood still, not wanting to move my gaze. I couldn’t tell if she sensed me. But if she had, I knew the longer I waited, the more of a pervert I looked.
Deciding she hadn’t sensed my presence, I placed a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. She jumped.
“Oh. Hi, Travis.” She looked up at me and put her hand on top of mine. I felt a tingle of pleasure at her touch. “Sorry for stealing your seat. I just came down to check on you.”
Who’s looking after who here, beautiful? I thought.
“I’m all good, Scar,” I said. “Just had to take a look around, you know. No trouble to be found.”
We locked eyes for a few long seconds, holding each other’s gaze. I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to kiss her…
“How are things up there?” I asked, gesturing towards first-class and trying to redirect my attention.
She gazed into my eyes for a few long seconds. I got the impression that the minutiae of the first-class experience wasn’t what on her mind. Each time she stared at me, I got the feeling that she was trying to see straight through me. Trying to figure me out. It thrilled me and made me want to squirm at the same time.
“It’s great,” she said, “apart from Raven and Lonette. They’re starting to grate on my nerves already.” She chuckled. Her hand still on mine, she squeezed it gently. “Why don't you come back up to first with me since there’s no trouble down here? They’ve got a bar there. Plus, we still have about three hours left until we get to Paris.”
She looked up at me expectantly, her large brown eyes sparkling.
I considered her offer, thinking about how the only trouble was those Russians, who wouldn’t be trying anything any time soon.
Fuck it, could use a drink, I thought. And I wouldn’t mind looking at Scarlett for a few hours, either.
“You got yourself a deal, miss,” I said with an attempted smile that was really more of a rough grimace. But she smiled back nonetheless.
I frowned, looking up at the curtain between us and the stairs to first class. I put on a serious, hard face, my big jaw muscles bunching. “One thing though. If they don’t let me up there, there’ll be trouble.”
She frowned for a second, and then burst out laughing.
We spent the next two hours or so sitting at the bar in first class, talking. I was amazed to find a large fully-stocked bar complete with stools and a barman. I found the barman a bit too friendly for my liking though, and he pissed me off when he occasionally thought he was part of our conversation. Scarlett had found it tremendously entertaining when, after the third try at butting in, I’d told him in no uncertain terms to mind his own damn business.
I wasn't one for deep conversation, but I found talking to Scarlett easy. She was friendly, intelligent, and sassy, which more than made up for my social ineptitude.
She had pressed me on my past, and I had reluctantly told her about my stint in the military, and even mentioned my ex-wife’s infidelity. She had merely nodded, her eyes narrowed, making me feel like I was being analyzed.
We were now approaching our first destination, the luxury hotel in Paris. Scarlett’s dad had paid for a big blacked-out Mercedes saloon to be ready for me at the airport.
Raven and Lonette complained about the quality of the bottle of champagne in the central unit between them in the rear.
Scarlett sat in the passenger's seat. I could feel her gaze on me occasionally and when I had the chance, I would look back at her, only to find her smiling at me, absentmindedly playing with her hair.
Keep it together, Travis, I warned myself.
I distracted myself by concentrating on the road. I had memorized three routes in case we were being tailed, though after leaving the plane, there had been no sign of our three Russian friends.
Still, I was starting to get nervous. My long dormant libido had been aroused, and I was developing feelings for Scarlett. Lack of emotion for so long had left me confused at the turmoil I felt. And overriding it all was a desire to keep the girl safe. To wrap my arms protectively around her and never let her go. But such thoughts distracted me from my job, which only left me feeling angry with myself.
“We’re here, gals,” I said gruffly as I pulled up outside the grand front entrance to the hotel. As soon as I’d parked, the girls’ doors were opened by attendants, and two bell boys began unloading the trunk.
“About time,” muttered Lonette. I glanced back at her and Raven, seeing that the ten hours or so of drinking had certainly taken its toll on them. They looked like shit.
Scarlett, on the other hand, still looked radiant. She’d been sensible and had interspersed her alcoholic drinks with water and the occasional coffee.
I took the girls into the hotel while they checked in, memorizing their room numbers. They were on the top floor of the hotel, presumably in a large penthouse suite.
After they’d been checked in and I was confident they were safe, I left to get my guns from the safety deposit box across the street.