Also, there's a link in my bio for an app for interactive stories. So if you're interested go check it out, it's free. And if not, then you obviously don't have to check it out. Up to you.

Now before everyone starts judging me, they left the front door wide open. It was like an open invitation. It was the equivalent of them saying, "Yes Nicky, please leave. I'm begging you."

Who could ignore a request like that?

Certainly not I. That'd be rude. I suppose in some ways I'm considered a guest, and when they blatantly ask the guest to leave, who am I to object?

Also, I was in no mood to stick around. Agent Asshole was being even more intolerable than usual.

Smug bastard. Let's see how smug you are when you realize I walked right out of that safe house, in broad daylight, while you were on the phone, in the main room, with a clear view of the door.

Who's laughing now?

I adjust my backpack higher on my shoulder as I walk through the automatic doors and into the airport.

I already bought my boarding pass online, using a fake name of course, and an untraceable account number. So, I skip past the lines of people checking their baggage and buying their tickets and I head straight for airport security.

This was the one time I was thankful I didn't carry weapons around in my backpack. Those were hard to explain to airport security. Of course, usually, it was a fifty-fifty shot on whether or not they'd spot the tasers. Both were disguised to look like portable phone chargers and nothing more. But, in going through the security, if they decided to check them out, they'd realize that they were not, in fact, portable phone chargers.

That would be unfortunate. And land me in some trouble.

Well, some more trouble.

Luckily it doesn't appear to be a problem and I'm able to quickly zip through airport security. I mentally cheer as I pick up my backpack and start walking through the airport, down to the gate.

Thankfully I had time to do some shopping before scheduling a flight out of here, so I'm no longer forced to wear the awful Hawaiian shirts and khaki shorts. Instead, I was now in a pair of red shorts, a royal blue V-neck t-shirt, and my tennis shoes. I also managed to pick up a phone.

I unlock the phone and dial one of the many numbers I had memorized. I put the phone to my ear and wait, eventually, I hear the robotic voice telling me to leave a message.

"Hey, Quinn. It's Nicky," I say into the phone. "I need a place to lay low for a while. I wanted to ask if I could use the castle. I don't know how long I'll need it. Call me back, or rather, I might have to get a new phone. I'll call you. Bye."

I slip my phone into my pocket and let out a long breath, shaking my head as I continue walking through the airport.

I take a seat in the waiting area and drum my fingers on the armrest of my seat, my eyes scanning the crowd warily and picking out patterns. I pull my laptop out of my backpack and set it up on my lap.

My fingers glide over the keys as I retrace all my steps before coming here. Screens pop up and close rapidly and soon all trace of myself leading up to the airport is deleted from any security cameras, photos, or anything else that might have briefly picked me up while I was wandering through the city before arriving at the airport.

I then go and check to make sure all my tracks were covered when I originally purchased the ticket online. Satisfied that I can't be traced here, I let myself relax as I lean back in my chair, my gaze still scanning over the crowded airport.

I hear the call for my flight to start boarding and I stand in line with everyone else, waiting for my turn to board the plane. My excitement at successfully getting away growing with every step closer to the plane.

I can't keep the smile off my face as I take my seat on the plane. I slide my bag under the seat and lean back. I close my eyes and let a blissful smile grace my face.

He said I wouldn't be able to run. As if.

I'm vaguely aware of someone taking the seat next to mine, but I pay no attention to said person.

"So where we headed?"

I choke on my own spit as my eyes fly open and whirl around to face the owner of the familiar voice.

His eyes are hidden behind those damn sunglasses and a rather smug smile graces his face.

I continue choking and he does nothing other than flip through a magazine. That smug smile never leaving his face.

"You still haven't answered the question."

"To hell." I finally manage to choke out.

"Awesome," He flips a page in the magazine, "It's about time I returned home. You know, bodies to burn, lost souls to torture, I've missed it. It'll be fun."

I want to kill him.

As a matter of fact, I would kill him if it wouldn't end up getting me kicked off the plane, but alas, it would. Murder tends to be frowned upon. I can't imagine why.

Ok, so there is a slight chance I might be a violent person.

"You know," He starts as he continues flipping through the magazine. "I distinctly remember telling you there was no way you could run away from me. And yet you still insist on trying. I don't know why."

"I thought it was obvious. I want to get away from you," I reply.

I reach my hand to my side to release the seatbelt across my lap and his hand closes over my mine. He holds my hand down to keep me from unlocking the seat belt and attempting to get the hell away from him again.

And the fact that his hand is firm but gentle and warm over mine is making me angrier because I shouldn't like the feel of his hand on mine. I shouldn't like the way his hand closes over mine almost perfectly and how his touch is warm.

I'm sure the devil's hands are warm too.

"You'll have to try harder than that to get away from me."

"How did you even find me?"

"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," He pauses as he appears to think this over. "Huh, I guess I should tell you then."

I glare at him but the smug smile never leaves his face. I pull my hand away from him and cross my arms over my chest, letting out a huff of annoyance. He ignores me and goes back to his magazine. I imagine setting fire to it.

"I don't know why you're so angry, matchstick. You're getting your way. We're going where you want to," Ryder says.

I continue to glare. "That's the problem. I wanted to go by myself."

He scoffs at me as he places the magazine aside and leans back in his seat, putting his hands behind his head. "You can't always get what you want. And besides, I want to do my job. If you're halfway across the world without me, that makes my job a lot more difficult."

"So, you get to have what you want, but I don't," I clarify.

He smiles widely at me. "I knew you'd understand."

I scowl at him. "I don't. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Just pretend I'm not here."

That's a little hard to do, considering his presence is suffocating and demanding all attention from everyone in the room. It would be a lot easier if he was just damn ugly, but no. Oh no, that's too much to ask.

I continue to glare at him, silently wishing that this was just a bad dream and when I opened my eyes again, he'd be gone. Like he never existed. Like this all some figment of my imagination.

Unfortunately, I know that's not the case. My imagination isn't that great. I couldn't have come up with all the shit he's done to me.

Nope. This is real life. I'm not lucky enough for it to be anything else.

"If you're trying to pretend I'm not here . . . you suck at it."

My glare doesn't let up. He gets a sneaky kind of smile on his face as the plane starts to pull out toward the runway.

"I have a fantastic idea," He says as he begins to rummage through a backpack at his feet. He pulls out a long rectangular box.

My glare turns murderous and a scowl permanently etches itself across my face. "No," I say firmly.

His smile gets wider. "You afraid you're going to lose again?"

"No. I'm not convinced you didn't cheat last time."

He holds the chess game out to me. "When did I get the chance to cheat? Your eyes never left the board for more than five seconds."

I turn my glare to the back of the seat in front of me and hear him let out a small laugh. My arms are crossed across my chest and my hands are clenched into fists.

"Damien said you could never beat him when you two played and I beat Damien every time," I tell him.

Ryder shrugs. "Damien is a really sore loser. Since I don't tend to like dealing with him after he loses at something, I purposely let him win." He looks up at me from the board he's setting up on the table he unfolded from the seat in front of him. "Do not tell him that. He'll be pissed."

"I'm pretty sure he's figured it out himself after that last game."

Ryder says nothing to this and instead turns the board toward me. "Come on, what have you got to lose? It's a long flight and it's either this or you can continue to pretend I don't exist."

"That definitely holds a lot of appeal," I reply. "It would be even better if you really didn't exist."

"Sorry. Can't help you out there." Ryder looks amused as he gestures to the board. "Your move," He says.

I narrow my eyes at him before reaching over and moving my piece. He moves his.

My fingers linger on one of the pieces as I look up at him. "How are you so good at this game?"

He shrugs. "My sister and I were very competitive. You're competitive too, but with you it's different. You don't expect me to win. You don't expect anything from me." He takes off his sunglasses and slips them into his jacket pocket. His gaze on my face. "You underestimate me."

I narrow my eyes at him once more. "I won't be making that mistake again."

He smiles, his eyes lighting up with mischief. "I don't expect you to." He moves his piece. "When you look at me, you see what everyone else does. A big bad FBI agent, who looks like he was probably a jock in high school. And what are the stereotypes about jocks? All muscle, no brains."

"And were you? A jock in high school?" I ask as I move my piece, my eyes carefully scanning the board and watching his moves.

"Yes," He says, a smile on his face. "But that doesn't make me stupid." He takes one of my pieces.

"No," I agree. "You've proved otherwise."

He nods as he watches me move my piece, taking one of his. "You're smarter than me," He says. "I'm not implying that I'm smarter or anywhere near your level of intelligence. But I tend to think in a way that's similar to the way you do."

"Oh?" I question, briefly looking up from the board to him.

"You see patterns in everything, like a puzzle. I see things as a puzzle that needs to be solved. We both think in very similar ways." His lips twitch as he looks up from the board to me. "I just don't make a habit out of counting houses with the same basic architecture out loud."

I stare at him and can't help but smile slightly. "You've managed to somewhat convince me that you're not a complete idiot," I tell him. "But it's going to take a lot to convince me that you and I think the same."

He shakes his head. "I said similar, not the same. You tend to over think things and as I said, you're at a much higher level of intelligence. In some aspects at least."

I move my piece. "Checkmate," I tell him.

He smiles slightly and goes to reset the board. "This time you were concentrating."

"I was concentrating last time. As you said, I was expecting to play a total idiot."

"And? Was the reality the same as your expectations?"

I stare at him thoughtfully. "You're not completely . . . useless."

He smiles recklessly. "I told you you'd change your mind."

I can't help but smile back at him. "That has yet to be determined in the long run." I watch as he moves his piece.

"I'm sorry, I can't have heard that right. The long run? Does that imply that you're going to stop trying to get away from me?" He asks.

"You'll have to wait and see."

He looks up from the board to me. "You're not half bad when you're not insulting me, rusty."

I narrow my eyes at his use of yet another stupid nickname. "I wish I could say the same, Agent Stevenson."

He smiles recklessly back at me once more as he twirls my queen around in his hands for me to see. "Call me Ryder," He says.

I move my piece, taking one of his. I hold up his queen for him to see, wagging it back and forth in front of him. He scowls at me.

"Only if you call me Nicky." I look back at the board. "Checkmate," I tell him.

"Whatever you say." His eyes spark with mischief. "Gingersnap."

Where's the nearest emergency exit? I'd like to shove him out of it.

Maybe then-when he's screaming for help as he falls thousands of feet through the air-he'll actually call me by name.

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