I, Porn Star(51)

My senses clang and I turn round. Before I can make a dash for the door, the steps lift and slide home, sealing me in the world’s most expensive tube.

Panic cloys through me.

“Wait!”

The pilot bolts the door and turns. “I’m sorry, Miss, but we have to take off now or we’ll miss our slot.”

I eye the shut door. “Open the door. Please, I have to get off.”

His eyes remain steady on mine. “I’m sorry. It’s too late.”

Although I hear the whine of an engine powering up, courtesy of the co-pilot, I know the pilot isn’t just talking about the door. My thudding heart echoes the message in his gaze.

Somewhere in the last twenty-four hours, I’ve crossed an invisible line into the point of no return. Q may have chosen me a week ago, but everything that has followed has been a further test.

A test which I’ve passed if the sudden ramp up of activity indicates. And now he’s decided, there’s no going back.

“Take a seat, Miss. The attendant will be along shortly with your pre-flight drink.”

He heads off to the cockpit, and I hear the definite click of the door.

I turn around. The attendant is pouring a glass of champagne, but I sense her attention on me. I have no doubt if I attempt anything foolish, like open the door to the airplane, she’ll be on me in a second. I can probably take her, but then what would that mean for me?

At least one thing is certain. If I don’t make it out of whatever this fucked up situation is that I’ve got myself into, Clayton won’t get his hands on the secret. My fingers tighten around the handle of my backpack.

As I release the lock on my legs and head for the cream leather sofa in the middle of the plane, I let my fingers drift over the secret compartment I sewed into the bottom of the backpack. Perhaps it’s foolish to carry the letter and document Ma gave to me with me. But it’s only one half of the puzzle. I memorized the other half before I burnt it in the hope that it’d buy me further time should Clayton catch up with me.

Thinking about him weirdly settles my panic. The fire I jumped into after escaping him hasn’t consumed me yet. So while I still have breath, I still have hope.

…surrender to the journey.

I set the backpack aside, buckle myself in and hold my breath for my first ever ride on a plane.

Soon after a slightly dizzying take off, I accept a glass of champagne and the offer of grilled shrimp.#p#分页标题#e#

True to Fionnella’s promise, the shrimp is divine. As is the paté served on crackers and the mini burgers and accompanying sweet potato fries. When I return from using the lavatory, I curl up on the sofa and stare outside the window.

Geography fails me again, and with the outside shrouded in night, I have no clue where we’re headed.

I try to blank my mind to what lays ahead so I accept another glass of champagne. A few sips in, I notice a subtle difference in taste, but really, what the fuck do I know about vintage champagne?

The bubbles are pleasantly tingly and the alcohol is easing the stranglehold fear has on me. I take a few more sips, and stare at the light blinking on the jet’s wing.

It grows strangely hypnotic. I’m not sure if we dip, or if the swaying is just in my head. I try to take another sip, but my limbs feel heavy, lethargic.

My eyelids droop of their own accord. Just before they shut, I see the attendant lunge toward me.

Oops. I just dropped the glass.

***

A dull headache throbs at my temple. It’s not bad, but it’s uncomfortable enough for me not to want to open my eyes in case there’s more pain lurking at my periphery.

Also, I sense sunshine. And wherever this headache stems from, I know it won’t be a fan of bright lights. So I keep my eyes shut, breathe through it and attempt to orient myself.

The limo. The airport. The plane. Champagne.

I’m hung over? From one glass of champagne? Or had it been two?

My mind gives up on unraveling the hazy memory and moves on.

I’m in bed. The scent of crisp sheets and sea air register through my slightly foggy senses.

But how did I get here? And where the hell is here?

I suck in a breath and crack my eyes open. Yep, wall to wall sunshine. A bed wide enough to sleep a football team and a room large enough to accommodate their fans.

I drag myself onto my elbows, kick away the comforter and glance down at myself.

The clothes I wore to the airport are gone. I’m wearing a crisp white T-shirt and my panties. No bra.

My heart lurches and I feel sick. I close my eyes and concentrate on the part of my body that would surely know if it has been violated. I feel nothing untoward. I don’t allow myself to be relieved just yet.

I shift to the side of the bed. Besides the need to ease my bladder, I’m hoping a self-examination will enlighten me as to whether I’ve slept molest-free.