Chapter 12

Royce hated planes. He didn't used to, but since he lost his parents, he'd viewed them as giant deathtraps. The pilot announced their flight time and the weather conditions on the way to Moscow, and Royce's stomach knotted. He'd flown often over the years but had never gotten over the ache of his memories of that tragic night.

He would sit frozen in his first-class seat of the Boeing 747 and not be able to breathe. The engines would come to life and the flight attendant would walk the length of the cabin, calm and casual, but nothing could distract him from his fear. He would grip the armrest until his knuckles were white, even before takeoff.

Every time the memories of losing his parents came back, they were as dark and heavy as a midnight sea, drawing him down into their depths.

Royce grinned as he, Wes, and Emery raided his dad's liquor cabinet and sat in the den watching TV. His parents wouldn't get home until late tonight, and they could hide the empty bottle of Jack Daniel's l