Chapter 77

**Torin POV**

She spots me and she starts thrashing wildly. A searing bite in my shoulder alerts me of the bullet that nicked the skin. A flesh wound. With supersonic speed, bullets whistle past to execute two headshots that drop the men holding her. Hadassah sprints into action, running towards me as my men provide cover fire and Rufus picks off anyone who tries to grab Hadassah. She’s so close and the surging anticipation, the nail-biting suspense seems to stretch the distance between us…
In a moment that traverses the bounds of time. Everything slows and crystallizes and Hadassah raises her arms before I dash to expel the great distance between us—the moment we collide, color bursts out—a surreal vibrancy encompasses the world around us in an instant, varnishing the landscape in a green-gold radiance. She clings to me as I spin her away and out of the crossfire so we’re safely tucked behind one of the armored vehicles. A symphony of sensations sing through the air at the searing tingling of our touch that makes it feel like I reached for the heavens and caught a shooting star in my grasp. It is as if the cosmos have conspired to bring us together at this moment.
I pull away to gently hold onto her face, my breaths suddenly short and few.
“I thought I had lost you.”
“*You came from me*,” she utters, her voice low and fragmented.
I withdraw to slip away, not before I lock an arm around her waist to ensure she’s never again beyond my reach. Santos and a gaggle of his men manage a slim escape, but that is because they were prepared only for federal impediments. He was not expecting me at all. But today is hardly a win. If Santos had succeeded, he would have taken her back to his fortress that makes Gaza’s old compound look like a peasant village. Santos has ample men and resources and now that I hit him—he will hit back twice as hard. And I have to be ready to withstand the magnitude of that retaliation.
But for now, we’re safe.
Today, the feat is mine.
“Rufus, are we clear?”
“All hostiles are neutralized. Those that survived ran out with Gaza.”
I send a smile back at Hadassah before I take her hand in mine, leading her out and towards the jet. The boys strap their rifles to their backs as they begin the extraction. We don’t have cleaners on standby anymore, which is why they begin to dig out bullets, bullet fragments and casing. The bodies we will leave to the feds.
“Where’s my birdman?”
First comes Rufus who struts by with the length of his sniper rifle resting on his shoulder. Shortly, two of my men wrangle in a pesty and spindly man still in his pilot’s uniform.
“Were you keeping him in the trunk?” Her voice is raspy, like she had spent a long time screaming.
I yield a small nod. “I killed two birds with one stone, ain’t that right, birdman?”
He spits a glob at the ground and one of my boys launches an air-whooshing blow at his gut that makes him double over. Hadassah grips my sleeve and I raise a halting hand. The boys relinquish their hold and the moment they do, birdman sinks to his knees with his head bowed, still coughing harshly.
I gesture grandly to him. “He plays an important role, isn’t that right, birdman? So since my plane was repossessed by the authorities. We need a new way to get around the world and I also had to get you back. So I have you and a new jet, not quite the standard I’m accustomed to but it will do.”
“Let’s get to the part why you kidnapped him?”
I wave it off flippantly. “Cutting costs, love. Do you think it’s cheap maintaining an elite squad of decorated veterans? Not to mention other logistical expenses.” I turn around with a flick of my fingers. “Bring him aboard.”
The boys snatch and haul him to his feet.
My hand finds the small of Hadassah’s back as I guide her to the entrance. The jet itself is a sleek, painted in a sophisticated livery of matte black with subtle gold accents. Hadassah goes to the back where a compact but fully stocked bar features an assortment of fine liquors, crystal glassware, and cocktail tools. Her fingers brush against a whiskey glass longingly before she decides against it and carefully seats herself on a plush chair.
Eventually, the jet starts filling up fast and to the brim. An intense swarm of black against the light cream interior with loads of black duffel bags. I check on the shaky-fingered pilot. Inside the cockpit, he performs final checks, ensuring all systems are a go, conferring with the sophisticated avionics display data. I retreat and I move down the aisle to sit opposite from Hadassah.
The engines, now roaring to life, emit a potent, low rumble. With a gradual increase in throttle, the jet begins to roll forward, picking up speed rapidly. The tires kick up gravel from the packed dirt runway, but the jet's powerful engines easily overcome the rugged surface. As it accelerates, the sound of the engines grows into a deep reverberation.
The nose of the jet lifts gracefully as it reaches the optimal speed. The landing gear, robust and well-maintained, absorbs the final bumps of the runway before the jet smoothly leaves the ground. For a moment, the jet seems to hang in the air before it fully commits to its ascent.
As the jet climbs, the dense forest and the clearing quickly shrink below. The view from the windows changes from the greens and browns of the forest to the vast expanse of sky. The landing gear retracts with a mechanical whir, tucking neatly into the body of the aircraft.
The jet ascends smoothly, piercing through low-hanging clouds with ease. The sunlight streams through the windows, casting a warm glow over the black-swathed interior.
My eyes lock on Hadassah as the jet levels off at its cruising altitude.
“Stop staring.”
I shrug hopelessly. “I really can’t help it.”
“I don’t want you to look at me,” she says with a rough edge in her voice. Gentler, she adds, “not like this.”
“For what reason would I choose to disregard such a significant triumph? What you feel ashamed for is testament to all you endured; a show of force that you are not easily broken. Look at all you have a survived.”
Her eyes fall closed and a tear leaks from her good eye.
She keeps her head turned from me and asks, “Calum?”
“We’re tracking him,” I say, as even toned as possible. “But your attention should be on yourself right now. Your recovery.”
Her head turns eerily like a character from a horror film.
She fixes me with a cold and unyielding stare. “He is how I recover. If he dies, I follow, it’s that simple.”
Venom fills up a smile and I say, “If you’re trying to make me jealous. It’s working.”
“Don’t be,” she says, almost reassuringly. “You can’t compete, where you don’t compare.”