Читать книгу Ancient Inheritance - Rita Vetere - Страница 13

Chapter 8

New York City – Present Day

On board American Airlines Flight 1293 connecting from New York to New Orleans, Jennifer, the first class flight attendant pushed her cart down the aisle, taking drink orders and preparing them with mindless efficiency. She paused and perused the handsome, dark-haired man in Seat 12A.

Amazing eyes. She gave him her best smile and admired his well-tailored suit. Definitely a player. He ordered a Bloody Mary. She had him pegged as a scotch-rocks man, and told him so. He only laughed in reply. As she passed his drink to him, she let her fingers brush his as if by accident.

All at once she felt queasy. The hurried breakfast she’d consumed in the city on her way to the airport churned in her stomach. She took a deep breath. “Can I get anything else for you, sir?”

Although she tried to smile, it felt more like a grimace. Without waiting for an answer, she turned and fled back to the toilet. There she relieved herself of her breakfast and then dry-heaved for another few minutes.

Sammael paid no attention to the hasty departure of the woman. He was too busy obsessing about his plans for Fairfield. The thought of torturing Alan delighted him to no end. He’d been hunting Alan Fairfield for years, ever since those fools had let him slip through their fingers in Chicago. He snorted with glee at the memory of how they’d paid for that monumental screw up. He had eviscerated them both. That almost paid for the three decades he’d spent finding Fairfield again. It grated on his nerves that the man had managed to elude him for so long. But that little problem was about to be rectified. Fairfield would be an old man now, vulnerable. He wouldn’t see Sammael coming until it was too late. This time, he would do the job himself so there would be no mistakes. He loved tormenting the elderly. They were so helpless…

With a sigh, he relaxed, settling back in the comfortable leather seat and sipping his drink. Too bad it wasn’t made of real blood.

To pass the time, Sammael donned the complimentary headphones and listened as Rob Zombie belted out Demon Speeding, going on about devil machines. Sammael laughed out loud, delighted. He made a mental note to secure more of this Zombie’s work. Perhaps he would even pay the man a visit at some point in the future. He could use some new talent, and this fellow had imagination. Filled with glee in anticipation of his imminent encounter with Fairfield, the music pounded in harmony to his mad thoughts as the plane carried him towards his prize.