Page 7 of Cage

“Well, that’s too bad for you because I already told him you’d do it.” Her cheeks are stretched with how hard she’s grinning.

Motherfucker.

Of course she did.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and count to ten. Killing a CIA handler would be bad. Very bad. Don’t do it, Cage.

The mantra I repeat in my mind helps, and when I look back at the woman, I smirk. “Whatever you need, Ruthie. I’m here for you, ma’am.”

My slight digs make the corners of her lips twitch, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she gets up and glides to the door of the conference room. “She’ll be at the airfield in an hour. Don’t let me down, Cage.”

I scoff and lift my head to ask her when I’ve ever let her down, but she’s already gone when I do.

Fuck.

The only information in the file is a name. I scan it several times.

Ember Elizabeth Adams.

Cute.

If she’s the daughter of a congressman, she’s not using his last name because I don’t know who her father is based on her surname. Fucking awesome. It’s already complicated.

3

EMBER

The city passes by in a blur as I stare numbly out the window. My father has been on a call since we left the house. I’ve managed to stop crying, but now I just want to curl up in a ball and sleep. And I’m dying to snuggle Spike. I can’t pull him out in front of my dad and his guards, though. I can’t handle hearing my father tell me I need to grow up. Not again, at least.

I hesitated to pack Spike at all, but I couldn’t leave him. I just couldn’t. He’s my best friend. The poor guy probably can’t breathe being stuffed in there. I’ll have to give him CPR. Thank goodness dragons have nine lives.

What if this bodyguard is mean? Where is he going to take me? Is my life truly at risk? Why would anyone want to come after me? I have nothing to do with politics or my father’s career. I think most people forget he has a daughter because of how few times I’ve ever been seen with him in public.

As soon as the SUV comes to a stop, I blink several times to get my eyes to focus. I hadn’t noticed where we were going. Why does it matter? I don’t seem to get a say in any of this anyway.

Oh my God. Why are we at an airport?

I shake my head, my body trembling at the same time. This is not happening.

“Dad,” I whimper.

“Ember, it’s fine.”

“No. No. I don’t like planes.”

He shoots me a look of annoyance and pulls his phone away from his ear. “You don’t have a choice. It’s a perfectly safe private jet.”

My eyes burn with tears. This can’t be happening. It’s been nearly two decades since I’ve flown, and I planned never to get on one of these death traps again. I squeeze my hands together, the urge to have a meltdown simmering just below the surface.

One of the security detail opens my door and steps to the side so I can climb out. There’s no way in hell I’m getting out of this car. My entire body is frozen as I stare at the enormous, shiny, white airplane with the steps lowered. My heart races. It’s getting harder to breathe.

“Ember.” He’s using his disappointed voice, the one that always guts me and makes me feel like a terrible daughter. It won’t work this time.

I turn to him, my bottom lip quivering. “I don’t want to go on a plane.”

Ignoring me, he presses on my seatbelt release and then gets out of the car. When he comes to my side, he and the security detail look at me expectantly.

“What’s the problem here?” The deep voice comes out of nowhere, sending a shiver down my spine.