He never got to surf again.
Squeezing his eyes shut even though it was just as dark with them open, Rafa remembered how Shane’s breath had puffed over his neck when he’d shoved him to the ground that day at the park, and how safe Rafa had felt beneath his weight. How Shane had held his palm tenderly against Rafa’s cheek tonight, and how desperately Rafa had longed for one more kiss.
“You’re tougher than you think.”
But he wasn’t. Oh God, he was trapped, and Shane was gone. There were so many more things Rafa wanted to say. Things he wanted to talk about. Questions he’d never been able to ask. He wondered what Shane had thought about when he woke up that morning, not knowing it was his last day. That he was going to die trying to protect Rafa. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Shane must have had dreams and ideas and hopes for the things he’d do, and in an instant it had all been taken away. It was over.
He’s dead because of me.
Rafa let the screams out and wished with every ounce of him that he could take Shane’s place.
When he opened his eyes again to the blackness, he had no idea how much time had passed. Probably only minutes, but he felt as though he was in a dream world. His throat hurt, and he choked down another swell of panic, forcing out a long, slow exhale. Concentrating on what was beyond his tiny prison, he realized the box was shifting slightly, and there was a rumble beneath him. Not buried alive, then. At least that was something.
A fresh sob stuck in his throat. Shane was still dead. Rafa pressed his lips together and inhaled through his nose. Time to be strong. Time to be a man. To be tough, like Shane thought he was.
Rafa blew out a shaky breath, the warm air making the box even stickier. Sweat dripped down his skin. He had to stop freaking out, or he’d use up all the air. How much was left? Were they—whoever they were—going to let him out in time? His heartbeat spiked, and he tried to focus.
He was in some kind of vehicle; likely a car or truck as opposed to a boat. Now that he was able to think beyond his frenzied terror, he could feel the odd bumps and sways of a road. He strained his ears, but couldn’t hear his captors. He’d seen the shapes of men, but had only focused on the gun as the bullet had taken down Shane. He supposed it didn’t really matter who these people were. What mattered was what they planned to do with him.
How had they found him? Why the hell would anyone kidnap him? Not that he wished this on his sister or brothers. Oh God, are they okay? Please let it just be me. Please let them be okay.
As he tried to stretch his cramping limbs, Rafa remembered. He knew his phone was gone from the absence of weight in his pocket, but twisting his arm, his heart tripping, he tried to dig his fingers into his other pocket. He bent his wrist back, his fingers groping for the hard little piece of plastic. But he only felt the cotton seam of his pants.
No panic button, and he obviously hadn’t pressed it when he’d had the chance, in that awful moment as he’d watched Shane jerk and drop to the ground, the gunshot so loud Rafa was sure his ears still rang with it.
The darkness overwhelmed him, and he fought down another surge of panic. His heart pounded, and he ran his hands over the metal box again. He needed light. Needed air. Needed Shane.
That he’d never see Shane again was an ache and regret choking him as he curled his cramping legs tighter to his chest. Would he ever see his family again? Or Ash?
He’d gotten what he’d asked for. Rafa had never been so well and truly alone.
The two pops echoed dully in Rafa’s metal prison, and then his heart swooped as the vehicle jerked. What—
But there was no time to even finish his thought as the box careened wildly, sliding and slamming into a barrier before tipping onto its side. Rafa scrambled to brace himself, the blood pounding in his ears as he tried to hold his head off the side of the box, which was now the bottom. He was upside down, and new panic clawed him open as he slammed himself back and forth, trying to tip the box over. His pulse raced as more gunshots peppered the night. It seemed like the vehicle was stopped. Please please please. Help me.
The weight of his body was pressing his head painfully into the metal, and his fingers tingled. Spasms of pain tore into the cramped muscles of his neck, and he started hyperventilating, kicking uselessly with his feet and crying out. The gun battle continued in a barrage of shots and muffled shouts, and he could only pray the good guys were winning.