He gasped as a sound that had to be an explosion rocked the air. Pushing with all his might, he used the momentum to tip the box over. At least now he wasn’t on his head, and he wriggled around until he was on his side, feeling the seams of the box with his fingers again. He couldn’t even tell which side was the top, and an iron band squeezed his chest as he tried to breathe. He kicked uselessly with his bent, cramped legs.
My coffin. Going to die in here.
His throat and mouth felt like they were coated in sand and glass, and sweat dripped down his forehead. More shots, closer this time. If they’re going to kill me, just do it!
Then the box was moving, and he was rolling with it, on his stomach now as it was heaved over. The rush of cool air hit his back, and strong hands grabbed around his waist.
“Rafa!”
The voice sounded just like Shane, and the man hauled Rafa to his feet, lifting him out of a van, which had crashed onto its side. Rafa jerked his head over his shoulder, sure he was hearing things. The surge of relief as he blinked at Shane’s wet, bloodied face brought tears to his eyes.
“Shane.” His voice was barely a hoarse whisper, and he couldn’t get his legs to work.
But Shane held him up, tossing aside a pair of shattered goggles as he spun Rafa and hauled him near, wrapping him in his arms. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. Got you.”
Rafa’s knees wouldn’t hold, his leg muscles cramped and numb. He sagged against Shane’s chest, burying his face against the wet cotton of his shirt and clinging to him with every ounce of strength he had, gripping the leather of his holster. Rain poured down in torrential sheets now, and it felt so good after the confined heat of the box.
“I’ve got you.” Shane held him so tightly. “Safe now.”
Rafa’s legs trembled as he tried to get his footing in the mud. He lifted his head, meeting the glimmer of Shane’s gaze in the flickering orange light. “They shot you in the head. You were dead.”
“Only nicked me. I was lucky.” Shane turned his head, showing Rafa the wound. The rain washed the blood from where it had coated Shane’s ear. Rafa gently wiped it clean with his sleeve.
As Rafa took in their surroundings, he realized the orange light was fire coming from a burning vehicle that was likely the Suburban. He blinked at Shane. “Now what?”
Shane brushed his hand over Rafa’s head, his eyes searching. “Did they hurt you?”
“No. Just put me in the box. I couldn’t move. It was so small.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “Are they all…?”
“Dead.”
When Rafa looked around, he saw bodies strewn in the mud. They were on a dirt road, hemmed in by trees and the shadows of mountains. “Alan? Where did he go?” Rafa’s heart sped up as Shane’s expression tightened.
“He was shot.”
“Oh my God. Is he okay? Where is he?”
“The rest stop. They should find him soon. He might…” Shane broke off, his voice thickening. “You never know. He’s tough.”
Rafa’s knees gave out, and he would have dropped into the mud if not for Shane’s powerful grasp. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come out here. Oh my God. You should have stayed with him. Saved him. Let them take me.” He sniffed as tears flooded his eyes.
“You know I’d never let them take you.” Shane brushed his thumbs over Rafa’s cheeks.
“I know it’s your job, but…”
“It’s more than my job,” Shane whispered hoarsely, taking Rafa’s face in his hands.
The kiss was wet and hard, their mouths opening as they met in a desperate rush, the wind howling and the rain streaming down. He was kissing Shane, and Shane was definitely, a hundred percent kissing him. But it was over in a heartbeat as Shane pulled away, still holding Rafa’s face.
“We have to get back. Can’t…” He exhaled sharply, rubbing his thumb over Rafa’s lips. “We can’t.”
Before Rafa could hope to argue, the roar of an engine and slash of lights cut through the din of the downpour. Lunging for a weapon that looked like a machine gun, Shane tugged Rafa into the trees, shoving him roughly as they slip-slided their way down a hillside.
“What if it’s the police, or other agents?”
“Then we’ll find out in a minute, and no harm done.” Shane urged him on faster.
Rafa’s hair was plastered to his forehead, and his oxfords squelched with mud. His legs shook, and he was about to argue when shouts in a foreign language exploded in the night, lights glaring into the murk. Oh shit. Rafa forced his legs to go faster, his pants harsh in his ears. Shane guided him, not seeming to even breathe hard at all, the big weapon in his hand and his expression calm.