DEADLY DECEPTION

CHAPTER 25

AVERY'S POV

I stood in front of the sleek private jet, its polished body gleaming under the soft glow of the hangar lights. The whole scene felt surreal, like something ripped straight out of an over-the-top action movie. But of course, that wasn't even the strangest part. No, that award went to the absolute chaos unfolding in front of me.

Rick, standing stiffly with his hands shoved into his coat pockets, turned to Bryce, his jaw set tight. His stormy eyes flicked toward the jet, then back at Bryce with a sharp edge that could cut through steel.

"Are you kidding me?" Rick's tone was flat, cold, and laced with irritation. "I told you to book business class tickets. For a commercial flight."

Bryce, looking every bit like he'd just been falsely accused of a heinous crime, threw up his hands defensively.

"Hey, hey, don't look at me! This isn't on me!"

His finger shot out toward Thomas, who stood a few feet away with an unmistakable air of smug satisfaction.

"It was him!"

Thomas grinned broadly, not an ounce of remorse on his face.

"What can I say?" he said, his voice smooth and dripping with self-satisfaction. "Go big or go home, right?"

Rick's eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he studied Thomas like he was deciding whether he was worth the effort of a verbal smackdown. Finally, he exhaled through his nose, his annoyance barely restrained.

"You don't have to show off," Rick said, his voice calm but low enough to send a chill through the air.

Thomas snorted, utterly unfazed."And yet, here we are. Are we getting in, or are you gonna stand there sulking all day?"

Before Rick could respond, Fred and Bryce both exclaimed in unison, "Hell yes, we're getting in!"

They immediately bolted toward the jet like overexcited children, but before they could make it up the steps, George moved faster, stepping in front of them with an air of superiority.

"Excuse me," George said, brushing past them smoothly and climbing the stairs first, his stride confident and unhurried.

Fred and Bryce exchanged incredulous looks, their mouths hanging open for a split second before glaring at George's back.

"Oh, you smug bastard," Bryce muttered under his breath.

"Not happening!" Fred growled, then darted forward.

Bryce, not one to be outdone, pushed him aside, and the two of them practically shoved each other up the narrow stairs, elbows flying.

Rick, still standing at the base of the jet, pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, tired sigh. He muttered something under his breath that I couldn't quite catch, but from his tone, it was probably something that would've earned a disapproving look from a nun.

Thomas, clearly enjoying the show, turned to me with a lazy smile and gestured toward the stairs.

"After you, princess."

"Princess?" I arched a brow at him but didn't argue.

I wasn't about to let myself get caught up in the testosterone circus happening behind me. Besides, Rick's patience—or lack thereof—was practically radiating like heat waves.

I climbed the steps, feeling Thomas close behind me. Once inside, I couldn't help but pause, taking in the luxurious interior. Plush leather seats, polished wood accents, and the faint smell of fresh coffee. This wasn't just any private jet—this was the kind of jet that screamed money.