Page 8 of Knox
“Scared of flying?” I ask, and he nods. “Uhh… I’m so sorry.”
His tired brown eyes go wide with horror. “Sorry about what?!”
Logan glances over at Law. “Are you sure this is smart?”
“Smart? Probably not. Fast? Absolutely.”
“Sorry about what?!” Toby asks again, but I don’t get a chance to answer because Björn looks back at us and smiles.
“Control says Westchester County is fifteen minutes away from Manhattan. So, buckle up, cupcakes, ’cause we’ll be there in eight.”
Toby’s mouth falls open, and I cover my face with my hand to hide my laugh.
“He’s kidding, right?” Toby tries to chuckle it off, but we all shake our heads in unison. “He must be—”
THRUM–VROOOOOM!
The crazy Viking lifts the helicopter off the pad, dips the nose, and banks to the left.
The poor kid screams as Björn flies at full speed, even in places where everyone else would be forced to slow down.
The whole ride is a super-fast and intense flight that cuts way too close to the buildings.
Poor Toby spends the entire time freaking out, completely unaware that he is safer now in Björn’s crazy hands than he’s ever been with any other pilot his boss has.
And I don’t blame him.
For those of us in the military or agencies like Harknett, trusting a brother’s abilities is second nature. But most civilians are terrified of placing their lives in someone else’s hands.
Especially when that civilian is an entitled asshole.
Which is exactly why babysitting a fucking rich brat is one of the most annoying jobs in the world…
“Excuse me, Sir Eriksson.” Toby’s shaking hand pats Björn’s shoulder and points out the window. “The helipad is the other way.”
“Ja, but that thing is a hundred yards away from the estate.”
“There will be limos waiting for us.”
“Tell them not to worry.” Björn gives us a thumbs-up and sings, “We are heeeere!”
“AAahhhhhh!” Toby screams as the Viking lines the nose toward a square of green lawn right in front of the mansion’s doors.
And just like Björn said, eight minutes after leaving Manhattan, we land… at the worst possible angle, in the worst possible place.
But we land.
“Good flight, everyone! I expect no less than five stars on Yelp!” Björn cheers through the comms.
The second the blades slow down, Toby scrambles for the door handle like a man escaping a burning building.
He tumbles out onto the lawn, drops to his hands and knees, and pukes into a bush of white roses.
Oops…
I shake my head, unbuckle my harness, and slide out of the chopper.
I jog and lean next to Toby, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, hey… breathe.”
