“Why do I feel like you are not telling me everything you know?”
“I tell you everything you need to know, but nothing that will make your life harder. You’re just going to have to trust me on this. I did what’s best.”
I wish I could believe him.
“I’m probably not coming home for spring break.” I change the subject.
“I figured you wouldn’t. Your mother and I actually already talked about coming to see you instead.
“Sounds good. It’s not really too bad here once you get used to everything.”
“If you say so.” My father grins, knowing damn well it’s not the scenery making me want to stay. “Tell Mom and Scarlet I said hi.”
“I will. Be safe.”
The screen goes blank, and I close my laptop, just as my phone rings with a new message.
Rick: Your guest is being difficult today. Do you want us to take care of it? We can make her more comfortable.
I’m sure they could, but I also know “making her more comfortable” to Rick and Bruno means roughing her up to keep her quiet. That’s the only language those two meatheads speak, and though their skills often come in handy, this guest needs to be treated with finesse.
Me: Leave her for now. Don’t bring her food. I will be there in a few hours.
Rick: Got it, boss.
Being nineteen, I probably shouldn’t be used to people calling me boss but being Xander Rossi’s son has its perks. Though I am technically not their boss yet, they have called me that since I was fifteen. I guess they are trying to get used to it, knowing that I will be the head of the Rossi empire one day.
Getting up from my desk, I tuck my phone in my pocket and slip into my heavy boots. Grabbing my jacket on the way out, I leave my room.
Ren is sprawled out on the couch playing a video game while wearing his headset. He slides it off his ear when he sees me.
“Going somewhere?”
“Yeah, heading back to the airport.”
“Trouble?”
“I hope not. I just don’t trust Rick and Bruno to handle this without taking it too far. You know how they are.”
Ren only nods. I don’t have to explain more to him. “Don’t get frostbite. It’s fucking cold outside.” He slides the headset back in place and continues his game.
On my way to the surface, I text the pilot we have on standby to meet me on the helicopter pad. He meets me at the large metal door leading outside, and we walk to the helicopter together.
“Where are we heading to?”
“Blue Ridge Airport.” I climb into the helicopter after him and slump down in the seat. Ren was right. It is fucking cold. Even with my heavy clothes on, I am grateful to be out of the icy Alaskan wind as I close the door.
It’s only a thirty-minute flight to the Blue Ridge Airport, a tiny, abandoned airstrip along the Takotna River. The place was too perfect for my needs. Out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but tundra, but close enough for me to fly to on a whim.
We land smoothly despite the high winds. I pull my hood over my head and zip up my jacket.
“I won’t be long. Wait here,” I order and push open the door. I climb out of the helicopter onto the icy concrete and shove my hands into my pockets.
It’s only a few hundred feet to the hangar, but the short walk is enough to have my exposed face numb and my lips painfully sensitive. Cursing the freezing weather, I speed walk to the side door of the large building.
I pull my hands free and punch in the six-digit code on the lock. It disengages, and I push the door open. The inside is not much warmer, but at least I’m out of the elements.
Pushing my hood down, I walk into the large part of the hangar toward the backend offices. I pass the small plane that brought my two guys and guests here, wondering how that piece of shit even made it out here. Half of the wing is rusted and looks like it’s gonna fall off at the slightest breeze.
Shaking my head, I continue to where my guests are staying. As I walk into the back of the hangar, I hear my guys’ drunken laughter echoing through the hallway.
I find them in one of the old offices, throwing playing cards on a table that is covered in empty liquor bottles and half-eaten bags of chips.
“Enjoying yourself?”
“Quinton!” Bruno greets like he is seeing an old friend. I have half a mind to remind him that I am not his friend, but he technically hasn’t done anything wrong, and this is not the job you have to stay sober for. So I’m cutting him some slack.