go from here?"

"There is a safehouse," said Ace, "in Southern France. There is a train in Europe that leaves every two days."

"Southern France!" Isla's eyes had widened, excitement glazing her expression. "So we can eat croissants and strawberries and cheese all day?"

"You're lactose intolerant, Isla," Mavis warned.

"When has that ever stopped me?" Isla said, taking a swig of the chocolate milk Ace had bought for her.

Ace added, "There are Froot Loops in the trunk."

"Now I can die happy," Isla sighed.

Mavis shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat.

Ahead, the airport sidled into view, hidden behind a long, curving stretch of grey road. But Ace's eyes cut to her wife. 

To the tic of her jaw. The fold of her hands in her lap.

"Mavis?"

"I'm fine," Mavis said brightly.

Ace had been trained to spot signs of deception. Of anxiety. And Mavis . . . was lying to her.

Every nerve in Ace's body sparked on fire.

Behind them, a car honked.

Ace's fingers were already tightening on her gun when Mavis stopped her. A gentle hand on her bicep. Squeezing lightly.

"Please no more killing for today, alright?"

Ace relaxed slightly. Let her fingers unclench around the gun.

The drive to the airport was faster after that. In the backseat, Isla finished her Froot Loops and chocolate milk combination just as Ace parked diagonally on the airport's flowerbed.

"Are we allowed to do that?" Isla said, setting down the chocolate milk bottle onto the concrete near her foot.

Mavis growled, "Baby, don't you dare―"

Isla kicked the bottle―a twenty-foot distance, right into the trash can next to the airport's sliding doors. 

A woman with a polka-dot suitcase startled.

"Baby, we've gone over this," Mavis hissed to Isla. "No kicking things!"

"But Mama, I made the shot."

"That was . . . very good." Ace had not known Isla was athletically talented. With a kick like that, Ace would not discount the possibility of her becoming a true ninja.

"Thanks, Ace! See, Mama? Ace thought I was good."

"She's the captain of the soccer team at school," Mavis explained later, as they walked through airport security. 

"I thought she did not like school."

"She―well, she doesn't. And she likes playing soccer, but she knows the only reason she's captain is because none of the kids are very . . . good."

Ace began unloading her weapons.

Mavis continued, "Middle school starts in around two years, so hopefully by then she'll have some competition. I mean, besides this little asshole Cory."

"Cory?"

"Just a little shit," Mavis said, letting the metal detector scan her with her arms out. "An annoying, prepubescent little lemur of a child. Once, he cut off two inches of Isla's hair. And fine, kids are kids and whatever, but if I could just strangle that motherfucker, I swear I'd―"

The security guard passed Mavis her small pack of belongings with a raised eyebrow.

After using the code word―buria―Ace retrieved her guns.

"Anyway," Mavis said in a lower voice, as they walked to their terminal, Isla skipping in front of them, "he's a prick, that's all. And this South France plan . . ."

Suddenly, she sounded tentative. Soft. 

"Ace, I just . . . running forever . . . is that really any way for a kid to live?"

"We will make it work."

Mavis's voice was pleading, almost, and Ace did not understand why. "But let's say I wanted to go to Russia. Would you take me? Could we still―"

Ace turned so sharply Mavis's full mouth parted. And instead of tasting it, like she wanted to, Ace leaned in and whispered, "The Russian mob is a den of wolves, moya dorogava." My darling. "And I will never call you a sheep, but you are beautiful in such a way that they would delight in eating you alive."

Mavis blinked, her big brown eyes sliding away. Her chin tucked into a nod.

Deceit. Ace sensed it. Scented it.

Mavis tried to step back, but Ace cupped her chin with one hand. Forcing Mavis to look at her.

"Listen to me," Ace said. "I know I told you I would bring you to Russia. But I can protect you. Do you understand me? I can take care of you."

Mavis closed her eyes, and when she opened them again . . . they were wet. Bright with tears.

"Okay," she said, and that was all.

Up ahead, Isla waved aggressively at them from on top of a chair.

"The plane's boarding!" she shouted. "Stop making out and hurry up!"

Mavis blushed, avoiding Ace's eyes, and once they got onto the docking station, the flight attendant smiled primly.

"Tickets?"

"Right here," Mavis said nervously, her hands shaking slightly as she passed them.

"Perfect," said the flight attendant, clearing them. "You three may board now."

Isla dashed ahead, but Mavis's fingers brushed over Ace's waist.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she whispered. "Get on without me, okay? I'll be right back."

"I will come with you."

"No! No," Mavis said, softening her voice, "no, that's just fine. I'll just be two seconds."

And then she was gone, with one quick kiss on the corner of Ace's lips.

"Will you be boarding, Miss?" asked the flight attendant.

Ace watched Isla gallop into the airplane, a bundle of excited energy.

Mavis would be back soon.

"Yes," Ace told the flight attendant.

Europe would be two separate flights, with a stop at an airport in between. 

It had been fifteen minutes since they had boarded, and although the plane was due to leave, the announcements were still making calls for late passengers.

Out of the three tickets, one had been alone in a row near the front. 

Ace would not have minded taking the seat by herself, but Isla had said she had dibs. She took this to mean Isla wanted it.

"It's a window seat," Isla had explained. "And it's my first time on an airplane. It'll be so cool!"

The other two seats were in the middle column. Surrounded on all sides. Cramped. 

It was there that Ace waited now.

The seat next to her was still empty.

"Ma'am, I really am afraid we'll have to be leaving soon," said the flight attendant. "We can't keep holding off forever."

"She will be here soon," Ace said icily.

"We can only hold off on five more minutes," the flight attendant said anxiously.

"She will be here."

But five minutes passed, and Mavis had not arrived.

Isla, up in the front, likely was not aware of her mother's absence. But if Ace had to hold the pilot of this airplane at gunpoint, they would not be leaving without her wife.

"Ma'am, I'm terribly sorry, but―"

"I'm not sure which seat is mine," a female voice insisted hotly. "But I had a goddamn ticket! My wife is here somewhere. She's tall, blonde, legs for days. What do you mean, you're going to escort me off the plane? Go fuck yourself and your―Ace!"

Ace stood, towering over the steward Mavis had been arguing with.

He swallowed. His eyes traveling up her body.

"Oh," he mumbled, like an afterthought. "Legs for days. Yeah―um, you can―yeah, have a seat."

Mavis huffed, sitting down next to Ace. Down the aisle, the flight attendant winked at them.

"Don't ask," Mavis said, as the plane began to move. "It was a long line."

Ace's eyes could not help but linger on the nervous twitch of her palms in her lap.

Lie. 

Why would her wife be lying to her?

The plane gained speed―a low, vibrating hum. Mavis clutched the armrests with sudden, fierce desperation.

"Dios mio," she said, the colour draining from her face. "Isla and I―we've never been on a plane before―" She fumbled to unbuckle her seatbelt and jumped up. "Isla! Are you okay, baby?"

The flight attendant narrowed in on her, already saying, "Ma'am, you need to keep your seatbelt on―"

But Ace could see Isla in the front, eyes wide, giggling next to a man in a tophat.

"She is okay," Ace promised, and Mavis shakily sat down again.

"Ma'am," said the flight attendant. "You have to keep that on―"

"Shut up," Mavis and Ace said at the same time.

Once Mavis clicked in her seatbelt, the plane took off in earnest. Rising higher and higher, the air crackling with energy and height and a deepening thrum.

"Ace," she whispered. "I've never been on a plane before."

"Yes, you mentioned."

"Hold my hand, okay?"

Ace outstretched her hand, and Mavis gripped it with fierce strength―so tightly her knuckles turned white, and Ace could not feel her own wrist.

"I'm closing my eyes now. Tell me when it's over?"

Ace brushed her thumb over Mavis's knuckles. "It will all be over soon. I promise."

to Reykjavik took eight hours. 

Out of those, Mavis spent seven hours and fifty-two minutes sleeping with her head on Ace's lap.

Every time a flight attendant tried to wake her up, Ace only had to smile coldly. A threat in itself.

And so, for most of the trip, they were left alone.

Up front, Ace could hear Isla cooing over the ocean from so far below. The clouds as they drifted past the window. The brilliant blue of the sky and the warming sunlight on her face.

At one point, the first flight attendant―who had winked at Ace and Mavis―slipped a note beneath Ace's glass of water.

Threesome later? it read.

Ace crumpled the note and merely continued stroking Mavis's hair. Even the side of her face was so beautiful it hurt. The soft slope of her jaw, the delicate arch of her little nose. The shape of her plump lips, so kissable in those seven hours and fifty-two minutes that Ace could not help but gently graze her mouth over Mavis's temple. 

And watching Mavis smile faintly in her sleep, making a sound almost like a moan―

It made Ace fairly certain she would excel at self-discipline after this.

"All flights to Europe from Reykjavik―please wait in Gate 12C. All flights to Europe from Reykjavik―please wait in Gate 12C."

Now they were off the plane, and Mavis grumbled sleepily in the crook of Ace's shoulder. Even after they had exited the airplane, she was still tired.

"Mama, you're so boring," Isla complained. "Why are you so exhausted anyway? All we did today was blow up a pizzeria and kill nine mobsters."

"Maybe you should say that a little louder," Mavis groused, "and airport security will come and take you away."

"I'd charm them to death," Isla said stubbornly. "Ace taught me the art of seduction."

"Ace did―what?" Mavis choked.

"Yeah, we were hitchhiking from the cottage and there was this truck driver named Jim―oh, look! They're already letting us board!"

"No, finish that story―"

Mavis glanced sharply at Ace, and Ace―who had been making a nyet, nyet, nyet motion with her hand―quickly smoothed her face into cold, unreadable stone.

"It is time to board," Ace agreed, following Isla.

"Mierda!" Mavis gasped.

"What is wrong?"

"I lost my ring!"

"What ring?"

"My wedding ring," said Mavis desperately. "The mood ring. Remember?" 

Ace glanced down at her own hand. The mood ring on her fourth finger glowed red.

"I must have dropped it at the gate―on the chairs―"

She shoved her bag into Ace's chest.

"Mavis, what are you―"

"I'm going to go get it," she said. "Go take Isla, it's fine. I'll be fine, really. Two seconds."

"That is what you said last time."

"Come on, don't you trust me?"

"Yes," Ace said without faltering. "But―"

Mavis grabbed Ace by the back of her neck and pulled her in for a deep kiss.

"See you soon," she promised. With a hint of sadness that flickered―just for a heartbeat―in the twist of her lips.

She was gone before Ace could protest, just like the last time.

"Tickets?" asked the flight attendant, once Ace and Isla were at the docking station.

Ace pushed the tickets across the desk.

Mavis's body language―today, she had lied. And Ace did trust her, but something was wrong.

And so soon after Mavis had been kidnapped, Ace would not make this same mistake twice. 

Even if Mavis was only searching for the mood ring, Ace had promised to take care of her. And if that meant crawling on the floor of the airport, looking for a cheap plastic ring worth seventy-five cents, Ace would do it gladly.

So Ace crouched down next to her daughter and said, "Isla, I need you to go find your seat. I will be there soon. Promise me you will not let the airplane leave before I am there."

"I promise," Isla said solemnly. "Can I hit someone?"

Ace thought of Mavis. Definitely not. "No, but you may cause a diversion if you must. You are creative."

"That, I am," said Isla, grinning mischievously. "Bye, Mom!"

And she darted towards the airplane.

Ace did not wait for a single second before launching herself in the direction Mavis had disappeared towards. 

The gate where they had rested―Mavis should have been there.

Ace had expected her on her hands and knees, frantically peering at the marble tile.

Instead, Ace was just in time to catch a glimpse of curly brown hair and a round ass.

Why was Mavis hurrying towards another terminal?

Ace followed her with long, swift strides, not daring to let her wife out of her sight for a single moment.

Mavis had a ticket crushed in her hand.

But that did not make sense. Ace had already given Mavis's ticket to Europe to the flight attendant.

It would only make sense if Mavis had a ticket that . . . was not flying to Europe. 

But let's say I wanted to go to Russia. Would you take me?

Her foolish, brilliant, courageous wife.

Offering herself to the den of wolves.

Ace did not let herself lash out. Sink to her knees. Kill someone.

She only closed the distance between her and Mavis. Tightening her hand on Mavis's shoulder.

Mavis whipped around, her mouth opening in speechless surprise. Pink colour flushed her cheeks, and that was fear―fear and fury―smeared on her beautiful face.

She did not insult Ace's intelligence by how asking how she had figured it out.

Instead, Mavis only hissed, "Ace, don't you dare try and stop me."

"I will not let you kill yourself."

"It's not your choice to make."

"You do not know." Ace leaned in low to Mavis, heat flaming in her chest. She needed to make Mavis understand. "You love dancing, do you not?" 

From her pocket, she pulled out the stone figurine she had carved of Mavis. The tiny dancer. 

This was not how Ace had hoped to give it to her. But if Mavis left now―

She needed to understand. To know what Ace knew.

"The Russian Mafia―they like talent. They always have." Ace's cold accent seeped into her words, a dark undertone. "In their women, their shlyukhi―whores―they like something special. Calista was a singer. They made her sing until her vocal chords ripped. Until she coughed on her own blood. It is like that in my brother's favoured circle. If they find out you are good at something, if you have a talent . . . they will use it to torture you. You, Mavis . . ."

Her beautiful wife, with her curvy hips and the red flare of her lingerie . . . her brown skin draped in lace and her pink lips lush with sin and the temptation of sex . . . 

Yes, they would eat her alive.

And to prove her point, Ace cracked the figurine in her fist. Letting its broken pieces shatter against the marble tile of the airport floor.

Mavis's jaw dropped in silent shock.

"They will destroy you," Ace breathed. "They will make you dance until you crack. Until you bleed and break, until you are a thousand pieces tied together with nothing but the silk of your ballet shoes. That is what they are, Mavis. Once you have convinced them of Isla's death, they will be . . . merciless."

"Isla never asked for this," Mavis said, holding back the spark of tears. "She never wanted this. I brought her into this world against all odds. She deserves to live life. You'll keep her safe, Ace. I know you will."

"You do not have to do this."

"I'm her mother! Of course I have to do this! My beautiful baby girl shouldn't have to live her life afraid. Terrified of dying, of assassination attempts."

"Mavis, if you go to Russia you will die."

"I have no choice." 

Mavis was backing away. Around them, nobody seemed to notice their argument. And if Ace let Mavis go now . . . she had the feeling this would be the last time she saw Mavis whole. The last time she saw her with light, life, in her eyes.

But Ace was not ready to let go. 

"You, Mavis, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on." In the crowded airport, only a few people noticed Ace's declaration now. "I should have killed you when I first met you"―at this, Mavis choked back a teary, furious laugh―"but I didn't. Do you know why?"

"Because I'm hot?"

"You were my moment," Ace said roughly. "You are all that stood between me and hell. You are my songbird. You have always been my songbird, and I love you. Do you hear me?"

The kiss that Ace leaned in for was angry. Tongue and teeth and feverish, aching desire.

When Mavis pulled back, just a breath, Ace said, "I know we are already married, but I want to marry you for real."

"Don't you dare," Mavis said hotly. "Don't you say that if you don't mean it. That―that changes things." Her voice broke. "You can't just do that to me."

"I love you," Ace repeated, her voice brutal. Unwavering. "I love you, Mavis Griffon. It was inevitable, and I could not have stopped it if I tried. And I did―I did try. You are mine, Mavis, every inch of your violent, beautiful body."

Mavis closed her eyes. Twin tears slipped down her cheeks.