Chapter 227

We get there eventually, another tense silent car ride where everyone pretends the others are invisible, and Mico just seems to be texting furiously, ignoring the brutal standoff between us. The air is heavy and dense with it and I try my best to act nonchalant and stop myself from letting anger get the better of me. I have no energy left for this and I just want to go home. I’m deflated, body aching from a night of dancing and intoxication and now I think I’m suffering the trailing effects of shock.

All I want to do is lie down on the plane and block him out until I get there and can go to bed to get the hell away from him. I’m weary as the booze wears off and the night’s events take over my shattered mind to traumatise me with visions of half mangled heads.

Exhausted and waning. I don’t want to fight anymore. I just feel all used up and suddenly emotionally fragile. Nerves frayed and on the verge of bawling my eyes out. I guess it’s because I cannot shake that image out of my head, Alexi on a violent rampage that twists my stomach up in knots.

I honestly do not know if he thought he was protecting me, or if it was fuelled by jealousy, and I doubt he will clarify it either. He’s in closed down and don’t question my actions mode. I’m too wiped out to try and care about it and just stare at the passing scenery until the plane comes into view. It’s not pitch-black outside, as night gives way to morning light but it’s still dark enough to have street lamps on and headlights in use.

Mico is just depositing us on the flight, then leaving to go back to do exactly what he said he would. Make this all go away and smooth over the family’s questions of where we are, while cleaning up his cousin’s catastrophic mess.

It doesn’t take long to get to the airfield and I don’t wait for Alexi to open my door as we pull up beside the jet on the private runway. I get out, taking my bag silently, and head straight for the stairs that are sitting down waiting for us as an air hostess runs to grab it.

‘I can manage,’ I state hoarsely, dismissing her with a hand swipe, pushing past her and head in to march down the aisle and sit in the first row that has a table for leg room. Head closed off; eyes on task and refusing to let my bubbling cesspool of strangled emotions get to me for the next few hours. I’m going to sleep, sober up and just try to get back to New York without killing him. Only way to do that is by complete avoidance altogether. I have so much anger still aimed his way that it’s better if he just keeps the hell out of my way. My insides are in turmoil and it’s not just from alcohol come down.

Alexi follows and when he gets near me I plonk my bag on the seat beside me, so he knows to leave me be, and turn my face away so there’s no eye contact whatsoever. He doesn’t stop, just walks past me silently, no hesitation and goes to sit up the back instead. Throwing himself in a seat heavily and chucks his bag and jacket on the table in front of him before pulling his phone out. I glare back at him over the top of the seats before I sit down having watched him walk back there, and turn to face the front once more.

Three hours of silence will do me just fine. He can stay back there for all I care and if he comes near me I will gouge his fucking eyes out.

* * *

I must have fallen asleep on the flight pretty quickly, a combo of booze and that it’s the early hours of the morning, as the first thing I know is a warm hand touches my arm, startling me awake in disorientation and I jump in reaction. Heart and lungs trying to leap out of my body and then slump back inwards to send my nerves haywire.

‘We’re here, get up.’ Alexi is standing over me, voice husky from tiredness, lacking venom and much softer eyes than hours ago are eating into me. He looks fed up and completely devoid of any signs of a hangover or even wrinkles from a long flight. He is leaning in, so I feel instantly claustrophobic and I shove his hand off me angrily. Chest resembling a war drum with the fright he gave me.

‘Don’t touch me.’ I’m still fuming, even though I just woke up and take a minute to grasp at my surroundings and get my bearings. He sighs heavily and moves back to let me out as I get up, disorientated, and storm past first to get off the plane before him. No mood for another him and me spat.

I’m groggy, tired and unsteady on my feet, but I am acting like a fierce little kitty cat and ready to kick him in the face should he give me shit on the ride home. I was dreaming about crazy things and it’s not made for the best of moods at all. My head and body are clammy and achy from an impending hangover, and having a short three-hour nap has left me feeling so out of whack. I think I might even still be drunk and my hands are trembling crazily.

I shiver as the night air hits me and realise it’s past dawn and achingly bright out. I have no concept of time and the noises of early morning and crisp air slap me to my senses.

Alexi strays behind me at a distance, still quiet and being sensible enough to leave me alone as I get in the car that is waiting for us—A black, sinister, mafia standard, four by four with a familiar driver from his club. I make sure I am in before he is and move across, so he’s nowhere near me when he appears at the same side after me. I immediately turn my face to the window aware that he’s carrying my bag as I stupidly forgot to lift it and curse myself irritably. He hands it off along with his to the man holding the door as he gets in, and both of us just settle into the leather seats to stare out of opposite windows.

Tension thick like smog and the air crackling with electricity that I can even feel on my tongue as it tingles. I expected some sort of Alexi backlash by now, some demonic rage or punishment at how I have behaved towards him, but he’s just sat simmering and acting like I’m not even here. This is getting to be a habit for him of late. Letting my behaviour slide, no matter how volcanic I get with him.

Not that I care

I’m blanking his presence too and I hope to God it stays this way. Last thing I need when feeling surreal and sleep deprived is an all-out screaming match with Satan.

His phone beeps and he pulls it out to deal with whoever is contacting him, nose down as he reads the illuminated screen in the now dark interior. All his vehicles have heavily tinted windows so it makes it feel like we are in a box or a roomy coffin. This one has a screen between us, and the driver slides it up slowly as the engine starts. I guess they can also feel the hostile vibes between us and are getting out of the firing line.

Alexi presses his phone screen and slides it to his ear as we set off, moving down in his seat to adjust his sitting position more casually, untypically lounging which showcases how tired he is; while I sit stiff and upright and straight as a board. I cannot conceal how much I don’t want to be in a vehicle with him. It’s written all over me for anyone to see.