The Viking Funeral

Chapter 33

VICTORY'S BACK ON steroids," Shane said, just loud enough to be heard over the whine of the starboard engine. He was seated in a plush Gulfstream that was owned by All-American Tobacco. The jet was parked at the Peterson Aviation private jet terminal in Van Nuys. "You're dreamin', Salsa." "Hey, Jody, I blew this guy's thigh to shit just under two weeks ago. Look at him… He's already walking without crutches. Only way he could be healing this fast is if he's slamming steroids."

"Get off this, will ya?" "The guy is fixing. Once his leg is solid, he's gonna try for me. I can't do what you want and be watching my back at the same time."

"We got less than three days and this thing is done. You'll never see him again. Don't make a problem now."

"Why don't you just go ahead and admit you can't handle him, that you're afraid to confront the guy."

Jody spun and glared across the narrow aisle at Shane. "Get off my jock, for Christ's sake. I told ya I'd take care of him, and I'll take care of him, but I don't need you all the time in my ear about it."

"You planning on doing that before or after he makes another play for me?"

Just then, a pretty young blond woman dressed in a blue uniform with shoulder boards came up the stairs into the plush jet. "Hi, I'm Lily," she announced happily to the Vikings, who were spread out in the comfortable club seats. "I'll be your stewardess. If any of you want to order a special meal, I can take care of that now, but it will delay departure. I suggest the selected menu on the embossed cards in the back of each seat."

"We're fine," Jody said, his voice still tinged with anger.

They heard footsteps on the jet staircase, and Lisa St. Marie came aboard, followed by Jose Mondragon.

"Okay, Lily," Lisa said. "Tell Matt and Carl we're all here." She was the only AAT employee on the plane and seemed to relish being in charge. She had chosen tropical colors for the flight, an off-the-shoulder Hawaiian print dress and matching sweater that she tied around her waist like a sash. Jose, in his trademark black Armani and glittering links, poured himself a drink from the chrome-and-crystal bar, then settled into an empty seat as the stewardess disappeared into the cockpit. Momentarily, a hydraulic mechanism hummed and the staircase came up, air-locking tightly into place.

The port-side engine wound up as Lisa walked down the aisle, pausing at Shane's seat. "I thought I'd sit back there," she said, pointing to the sofa in the aft compartment. "It's more private, and I'd love the company."

"Sure," he said, shooting a look at Victory as he unbuckled his seat belt and followed her to the rear of the plane, where they both sat on the champagne leather sofa.

She took his hand and smiled. "It's a long flight. We generally cruise at around forty-five thousand feet, and you know what that means…"

"No, Lisa, what does that mean?"

"You're about to become a satisfied member of the Mile-High club."

"I am?"

"We can be brave and do it here after everyone's dozing, or we can go to the lav, but once they're asleep, I'm planning to screw your brains out."

"Do I have any choice? Or is it always your call?" He could already feel the effect of her… Her scent, her vibe, her wanton sexuality.

She reached down and felt his erection. "Look who's ready to go," she purred.

When she smiled at him again, he turned his face away. He promised himself he would not make love to Lisa again. But even as he made this pledge, he could feel lust beginning as a warm, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, growing inside him, spreading to his loins like deadly poison. They took off and climbed quickly to their cruising altitude.

It was going to be a long flight, and Shane's resistance to her brand of spiritual darkness was low. After the stewardess served dinner and collected their trays, Lisa started in on him… Teasing at first… Reaching out to him, feeling him, pulling her dress off her shoulders, exposing herself, pulling his face down, her nipples already hard with passion. Shane glanced nervously at the others sprawled out in the forward cabin, sleeping in their reclining chairs.

What was it about this woman, whom he didn't even like or care about but couldn't seem to resist? Why did she have this carnal hold on him? Like an addict, he was no longer in charge of his impulses.

Suddenly, she was unzipping him, leaning down and placing her mouth on him.

"No… No… Please, no," he mumbled feebly. She was dangerously close to his core, close to destroying the last valuable remnants of him, and yet he desperately wanted her.

She glanced up, delight twinkling in her jade-green eyes. "What do you mean, no? This is my gift. Everything else I do just fills up the spaces in between."

"No," he said weakly, pushing her away and zipping up.

And then, filling in for his faltering resolve, brutish Victory Smith was towering over them, stooping slightly in the six-foot cabin. "He giving you a problem, Lisa?" the steroid jockey asked softly. "'Cause if he is, just say the word and I'll take care of it."

"Excuse me." She got up off the sofa with no further comment and, swinging her hips, walked all the way to the front of the jet, passing through the small door into the pilot's cabin.

A strange sense of gratitude for the weight lifter swept over him.

"Check it out," Victory said as he did a slow, deep-knee bend. Pain registered on his face, but Shane was shocked to see that he could squat all the way down and then rise up again. "Pretty good, huh?"

"Looks like the old abductor canal is back in business."

"Jody ain't gonna be here to protect you forever. I'm gonna pick a time when it's just you and me, no witnesses. This is your last day on planet Earth, pretty boy. Try and enjoy it." He turned and lumbered back to his seat in the front, and never looked back at Shane again.

Seven hours and three time zones later, they landed on the small Caribbean island of Aruba.