Sugar and Spice
Chapter 10
Birdy awoke slightly disoriented. Her head throbbed, and when she tried to open her eyes, the room spun.
She let out a soft groan and tried to swallow, but her throat hurt. As she sought to regain a bit of equilibrium, the events of the day came back to her.
Breakfast in Vancouver, the awkward, but peaceful drive to the airport, the plane ride…the feel of her body pressed against his...the sensation of touching him...the ride…the adrenaline of confrontation, the excitement of firefight. Then Horror. All that blood, the rage. The fear.
And finally, despair. Those hands, strong hands, wise hands...deadly hands, wrapped around her neck. Desperation... the sheer stubbornness of survival.
When she opened her eyes, the cabin had stopped spinning. She sat up, looking around. The lights were dim, the round, porthole windows were drawn, and it was almost dark, and quiet, save for the thrum of the plane's engine. They were back in the air.
How long she'd been out, she didn't know. Victor must have brought her back to the plane. Birdy sat up and drew her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees. She was alone. But her mind was having a hard time reconciling the raving, blood-soaked beast, with the dark, brooding man who had hired her. Try as she might, she couldn't block out the images.
When they'd come in contact, when her hands had reached his face—she'd felt nothing but pure hate. Wild and unrelenting, it had enveloped her, swallowed her…images of violence, of war, of death, of destruction and above it all- satisfaction, as pure and powerful as innocence can be, before corrupted. It had come into her mind, every good and decent feeling fleeing, falling victim to an endless parade of evils.
She had seen him—the real him, and she wanted to run for her life.
What had she gotten herself into? She had gone from fighting him when he'd attacked her in the club, to cooking him breakfast the next morning. He was dynamic. A force, and she'd been pulled in to that force. She felt disgust with herself at being so blind, so naïve, so…gullible.\
You knew better…
Yes. But something about him had drawn her in, had made her accept the "job"; that something had made her say yes. Her rational mind tried to justify the illogical.
She killed people for a living. That was true. But it was a job, and she considered it as such. But him…the look of pleasure on his face, the gore of the room…the body, what was left of it…opened and shredded…
Birdy's stomach roiled and instantly she was up, dashing out of the door of the cabin and into the bathroom, the door slamming behind her as she regurgitated yellow bile into the sink. There was nothing on her stomach to bring up. And after that was over…there were just dry heaves that caused her to lurch violently.
She leaned down, on her forearms, breathing deeply. I can't do this. I can't do this. Every muscle pushed her to get out. She wanted to run. To hide. She could only hope he'd let her go, peacefully. But a different park, a darker part...the part that screamed for her attention, was showing her a chained door.
.
.
Victor sat toward the front of the plane, laid back in one of the plush, ivory leather chairs. All the window blinds were drawn and the lights turned off. The cabin was in complete darkness, save for the dim glow of the emergency lights. A red flare grew brighter, followed by the smell of tobacco, then dimmed again as he exhaled into the air.
He'd seen the door open at the end of the hall, watched her dash out followed by the muted sound of retching.
The rage was on low simmer, allowing his dormant conscience to rise up and accost him.
Listening to her ragged breathing, and soft whimpers, Victor felt…guilty. He could only image what was going on in her mind. He didn't know how to approach her. If it had been any other female there would be no talking. No convincing. It would just be. By HIS word, and nothing else. But he found he didn't want that for her.
The door to the bathroom opened and through the darkness, he could see her form clearly. She hadn't changed from her field clothes.
"Birdy. C'mere." He called out into the darkness, his voice sounding cold and hard, raspy, even to his own ears.
He saw her pause at the door and hesitate. He waited to see what she'd do. Her chest heaved as she seemed to steady herself, and then she turned and began walking toward the sound of his voice.
"It's dark, Victor. I can't see," she whispered, stopping midway down the isle.
He moved a finger on the control panel on his seat and the lights around the cabin rose gradually.
"Better?" He was trying to keep his own voice light, and non-threatening, doing his best to put her at ease. Hell, he didn't even quite know what to say to her, but the way she was watching him, those big eyes of hers wary, he could tell she was on her guard.
The cigar was nearing its death and he extinguished it in the ashtray sitting on the small table on the side of his chair. Birdy sat in the one diagonal to him, her body as far away as she could get.
Smart bird, he thought grimly.
They looked at each other. He studied her body language as she sat rigidly, looking like she wanted to bolt. He couldn't blame her. When faced with wild animals, ones first reaction was to run. Fight or flight. And he could see she wanted to flee. Seeing how uncomfortable she was, he relaxed more, trying to put her at ease. When that didn't work, he flipped his hands around, palms up, and sat up, leaning toward her and speaking directly.
"That shit you saw back there? That's what I need you to control. I'm not gonna hurt you…"
"You already did." Her voice was low, but steady and she met his eyes evenly. The sudden calmness had an effect. It made him watch her now, more intently and consider his words before replying.
"Everybody has their demons. Mine's just a bit more…obvious."
She seemed to be watching him and thinking at the same time. Finally, she stood up. "You said six hours? What if I choose to leave?"
He gritted his teeth at a sudden pang hit his chest and quickly bit back a growl.
I should just lock her ass up in the house. Then she can't leave. He closed his eyes and instantly his mind was barraged by images of her in her long, sweater and tights, curled up in the seat of the plane, the way she studied him in the car, the way her arms felt wrapped around his waist…the feel of her hands easing their way down…
He swore mentally, shaking his head as if to shake off the images that had come to him so sharply.
"If you leave... Don't let me see you."
She nodded, then rose and retreated to the back of the plane and into the bedroom.
He watched her, and, when the door closed, leaned his head back against the chair, and reached for another cigar. He was still feeling her "glow" but he could also feel the turmoil building underneath.
.
.
It was still dark outside when the plane touched down. After waiting a few minutes, he rose from his chair, and made a sweep of the plane. He paused outside the door leading to the cabin.
Would she be there? Would she be gone?
He pushed the door, not surprised, but disappointed when it opened with little effort. The room was empty.
Victor resisted the urge to yell. Instead he leaning his body against the walls folded his arms and inhaled. He could still smell her.
Well, he'd had to expect that. He'd given her a choice and she'd it.
He was beyond disappointed…a part of him was genuinely…hurt. He'd wanted her to stay. He'd needed her to stay. That he both needed and wanted her only infuriated him the more. She had done this. Who did she think she was? He'd paid her. She had a job. She WORKED for him. She couldn't just walk away! She owed him…HE owned her...
For what? The other voice was chiming in now. you'll bring her down with you…
The confession tempered the flood but did nothing to improve his mood. Victor was trying to force himself to accept her loss as he walked out of the cabin and down the isle toward the door. He stepped out of the plane and down the stairs into the airplane hanger, heading toward his waiting truck.
Damn. He could still smell her. He closed his eyes again and stopped a moment, trying to keep himself from tracking her.
His nerves were frayed, but as he opened his eyes again and resumed his path toward the waiting truck, her scent grew stronger, and stronger by the step. And he found himself walking just a bit faster. Finally, he reached the driver's side and opened the door.
Birdy turned to him, her face an inscrutable mask, but her voice clear as a bell.
"What took you so long?"
*Author's note: I've done some tweaking on this chapter so if there are comma splices and unintentional sentence fragments, please forgive me. And I am happy to see so many people starting to review. Thank you all so much.