Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense)(70)

“I could have a billion dollars, but without Ellie I’d be poor. Don’t you get it?”

“You care about her that much?”

I look at him, my gaze unwavering, my eyes locked on his.

“Do you know how many times I’ve prayed since the accident? How many times I offered the man upstairs a deal? Take me instead. Change it. Let her get out of the car with the broken leg and burn my face off. Let me die in the backseat so she could go home with her father instead.”

“You would do that? If you really could, you’d do that?”

“Yes.”

“We have to get back to Philadelphia. I don’t trust her alone with Ellie. Not now. Hold on.”

My father rises from his seat and paces to the front of the plane. I hear him yelling.

“What do you mean, you can’t go any faster? Full throttle, goddamn it!”

“Sir, the fight plan—”

“Fuck the flight plan, this is an emergency. Don’t you know who I am? I’ll f*cking buy the FAA if I have to, just punch it!”

He strides back and flops in his seat.

“Goddamn incompetents, why can’t I find anybody that actually wants to do their f*cking job?”

Exasperated, he punches the back of the seat in front of him. “You really married her?”

“Yes.”

“In an Elvis chapel?”

“Yes.”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I had to get a ring on her finger before you pulled some bullshit. Maybe you’d be afraid to disappear my legal, real-deal wife instead of just my girlfriend.”

“Disappear? What, like have her killed?”

“Yeah, Dad. Like have her killed.”

He stares at me. “You think I’d do that? What kind of a monster do you think I am?”

“The kind who wouldn’t let me see my girlfriend in the f*cking hospital after her father died in a car accident where I was the goddamn driver, Dad. That kind. The kind who told me to stay away from her forever or I’d be cut off. The kind who had me watched and spied on so if I tried to leave anyway I’d be dragged back to the life you picked for me. The kind of man who doesn’t have an ounce of human empathy or emotion for anyone in his miserable life, not even his own son. If you want me to turn into you, I’d rather die first. Do you understand me?”

“No,” he says, very quietly. “No I don’t, not at all. We should be there in about two hours, this f*cking thing won’t go any faster, apparently. For a hundred mil you’d think it’d have some afterburners or some shit. Frank!”

The curtain behind us parts and Frank lumbers through the opening and sits down on one of the seats in front of us.

“You heard all that.”

“Yeah.”

“I want your honest opinion. Completely, ah, frank. Tell me what you think. I promise no matter what you say, I will not hold it against you personally.”

He looks at me, and he looks at Dad.

“Sir, I’ve been with the company for twenty years. I have a pension. I’ve been your personal security for ten of that. I’m not going to risk my retirement and my family’s future by telling you what I really think.”

“I want your opinion.”

I shudder when my dad’s voice cracks a little.

“Well,” Frank sighs.

“I’ll f*cking fire you if you protest anymore or I think you’re cupping my balls instead of telling me the truth. Out with it, goddamn it.”

Frank sighs. It’s like listening to a mountain sigh.

“He’s right,” Frank says, looking at me, and then looking at him. “You’re a huge f*ckhead. As a person, I mean. Business is good, but you’re a total dick.”

“Thanks, Frank,” my fathers says, very calmly.

“What do we do?” I say.

“When did they take off?”

“After we did,” Frank shrugs. “Couldn’t have been too long, but they should be behind us. We’ll land and then intercept them at the airport.”

“Then what?” I say.

“Then I file divorce papers and put my entire legal team and staff of private investigators on this thing with the car crash, and grease a few palms along the back channels. I’ll have somebody on everyone from the cops at the accident down to the engineer that designed the f*cking screws in the headlamps, and I will nail that conniving bitch to the f*cking wall. She tried to kill my son. I don’t care if I have to run for president and appoint myself to the Supreme Court, I’m making sure she goes to prison.”

“If you think that’s going to buy my affection…” I say coldly. “After this, we’re done. I’m taking my wife and I’m going off to live my life, and I hope all your money and all your power keeps you happy. Maybe the fifth Mrs. Marshall will work out.”

“It would be fourth. Jessica is my third wife.”

“Whatever, like I care.”

“Son—”

“My name is Jack.”

“Jack—”

“Oh please, Dad. Don’t think you can convince me that your eyes have opened with some Mister Scrooge routine. You’re so full of shit your eyes are brown, as my mother says.”