Chapter 111 Chapter One hundred and ten
ARA
I dialed one of the hostesses with the in-jet line the same second I grabbed the nearest piece of clothing, a soft black hoodie from Thayne’s open bag.
My hands shook so badly I fumbled the zipper twice before I got it closed over my chest. I didn’t care that it hung past my thighs or that I looked ridiculous.
All I could think about was the bubbling green wound on his back and how fast it was spreading.
I was about to yank the bedroom door open when a hand clamped down on my shoulder.
I screamed like a banshee. Thayne spun me around and pressed his palm over my mouth,
“Shh, baby. It’s me.”
I stared at him, unable to comprehend how he was on his feet. Standing.
I’d seen him collapse. I mean, I'd felt his weight go dead on top of me. I’d seen the poison eating his skin from the inside.
Yet here he was, standing in front of me. What was wrong with this man?!
His hand slowly left my mouth and I didn't waste time in talking.
“Thayne,” I whispered urgently. “You need to lie down. I called a hostess, and she’ll be here any second. We need help.”
He shook his head once firmly.
“The only hands I want touching me are yours.” His voice was low, rough from pain. “I don’t trust anyone else on this plane. Not after Munroe.”
I looked past him at the bed. The sheets were stained dark red where he’d been lying. The smell of blood hung in the air.
“Your back looked raw,” I said, stepping closer. “We need to clean it. It’s… it’s bubbling, Thayne. The skin is turning green. That’s not normal.”
He exhaled through his nose, his jaw tight.
“You can do it. I can guide you.” He met my eyes, his gaze steady despite the sweat beading on his forehead. “I don’t trust anyone else. Not when we’re this close to home.”
I searched his face. He wasn’t bluffing. He would rather let the poison keep eating him alive than let a stranger, even one of his own crew, touch him.
I swallowed nervously.
“Okay,” I said. “Sit on the edge of the bed. Don’t move.”
He obeyed every motion stiff with pain. When he sat, he hissed between his teeth but didn’t complain.
I grabbed the medical kit sitting idly on a short table, I hadn't even noticed it earlier. It contained gauze, antiseptic wipes, antibiotic ointment, medical tape, and scissors.
I laid everything out on the nightstand like a battlefield. Thayne watched me, his eyes tracking every movement.
“Turn around,” I said softly.
He shifted so his back faced me. The wound was worse up close. It was enough that I could see muscle underneath.
The edges were blackened and blistered, the green discoloration spreading outward in ugly tendrils. Pus bubbled in places, thin and yellow-green. The smell was worse here, rotting, metallic, and chemical.
I swallowed bile.
“How are you even standing?” I whispered.
“Adrenaline,” he said through gritted teeth. “And sheer stubbornness.”
I tore open an antiseptic wipe with shaking fingers.
“This is going to hurt.”
“Do it.”
I pressed the wipe to the wound. Thayne sucked in a sharp breath, his body going rigid, but he didn’t pull away.
I cleaned as gently as I could, wiping away blood, pus, and dead skin until the raw edges were visible. The green seemed to pulse under the surface, like something alive was moving beneath.
“Poison,” I said, my voice trembling. “It has to be.”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Took me a second to realize. Felt like fire at first, then nothing. Then fire again.”
I reached for the antibiotic ointment, slathering it over the worst parts.
“You need a hospital,” I said. “Real medicine. An antidote.”
“We’ll be in New York in six hours,” he said. “I can hold on that long.”
I taped fresh gauze over the wound, wrapping it tight.
“You shouldn’t have to hold on at all.”
He turned his head just enough to look at me over his shoulder.
“I’d take a thousand poisoned bullets if it meant you and the babies were safe.”
Tears stung my eyes.
I finished the bandage and rested my forehead against his back, careful of the wound.
Thayne fell asleep minutes later. The bandage on his back was already spotting red again, but the steady rise and fall of his chest told me he was finally resting.
I waited until his hand relaxed completely in mine.
Then I moved. My instincts had been screaming since the moment Munroe pulled that gun on us. It'd been screaming to grab a weapon, to be ready, to stop being the one who always needs saving.
I didn’t know how to shoot. I’d never even held a real gun before today. In movies it looked simple. Point, pull the trigger, right? Just point and pull.
In reality I didn't know where the safety was, and even if I knew, I couldn't tell whether it was on or off, or if the thing would even fire if I needed it to.
But I couldn’t sit here helpless anymore. Quietly, I moved to the back of the cabin where Thayne kept his go-bag.
The zipper was loud in the hushed jet, but he didn’t stir. I reached inside, past spare shirts, a grocery bag sized first-aid kit, a tactical flashlight.
I nearly gave up the search but then my fingers closed around cool metal.
A pistol. Finally.
I lifted it carefully, my heart pounding like that of a first time robber. It was black, heavy and compact.
The grip felt foreign, too big for my hand. I turned it over, searching for markings. There was a small lever near the trigger, safety, maybe? But I had no idea which way was safe and which was ready. I didn’t dare test it.
Still, I couldn’t leave it behind.
I tugged the hoodie down longer so it covered my hips, then stepped into the jeans I’d worn earlier.
The waistband was loose enough now that I could slip the gun into the back, right at the small of my back. The metal was cold against my spine and I shivered.
I tugged the hoodie lower again, making sure nothing showed.
I sat back down, my pulse racing, my palms damp with sweat.
Thayne didn’t wake. I spent the rest of the flight overthinking everything. Every possible way this could go wrong.
Every scenario where I’d have to use the gun. Every way I could fail him, fail our babies, fail myself and my sisters.
I was tired of being the helpless one. Tired of standing behind Thayne while he took every hit.
He needed someone he could trust to fight beside him, not just someone to protect. I was going to be that person. I was going to help end this ugly drama once and for all.
Jimmy Ackerfield? Slade Senior? They were both going down.