AURORA
“It’s clear.” Esteban calls me to the curb in front of the hotel after a thorough inspection of the Bronco we arrived in. He opens the door for me and I slide inside, watching as he hands the mirror and flashlight back to the valet and thanks him.
A woman entering the hotel drops her luggage, and the thud of it hitting the ground makes me jump. I whirl around in my seat, holding my hand to my chest as I scan the area for anyone about to attack us. Then when Esteban opens his door, I screech in terror. He frowns at me as he gets in.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m nervous. Are you sure there aren’t any bombs on the car.”
“As sure as I can be.” His hands tighten over the steering wheel and he glances in the rearview mirror. “I’m more concerned about being followed.”
“Oh God.” I sink so far down into my seat, I’m barely able to peek over the bottom of the window.
“Sit up,” he demands. “I need you on high alert.”
“You’re scaring me, Esteban.”
“Good,” he snaps at me. “You should be scared. Maybe this will teach you to stay away from investigating criminals.”
We pull out into the darkened street and begin the drive to the airport. Though there are still some stragglers from the evening’s Dia de los Muertos festivities, it’s mostly quiet. I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse.
While the headlights of the SUV illuminate our path, showing the remnants of the parades—garlands, streamers, and plastic cups—it also casts eerie shadows on the buildings and sidewalks, making it feel like danger is lurking all around. On one corner, the strange sight of a statue of the Virgin Mary that was apparently left behind seems more like a foreboding omen than a protector. Worse. Definitely worse.
Esteban picks up his phone. “Is that you behind us?”
At his question, I turn in my seat to see that in fact there is a car trailing us. “I didn’t notice,” I say.
“Stay close,” Esteban says into the phone before hanging up. “That’s Rodrigo back there. The plane is ready for us. When we get there, we need to hurry out of the truck and get into it. No questions asked. No dallying. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” I reply. He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Anxiously, I tighten my seatbelt and peer out the window. Through the side mirror, I can see Rodrigo’s headlights, and I berate myself for not having spotted them before. Especially when they seem to be so bright. I sit up straighter, squinting into the mirror as I realize they’re not so bright on their own. “There’s another car back ther—”
I’m cut off as the other car rams into Rodrigo’s, and he’s thrown against us hard. Tires squeal loudly as we fishtail, but before Esteban has a chance to regain control, we’re hit again.
Screaming, I grasp the door armrest and dashboard, my legs coming up slightly as I attempt to find my footing.
The moment we round a corner, Esteban steps on the gas, driving at a high speed, slowing down only to make another sharp turn. I look back, and to my horror, Rodrigo and the other car are still battling, bouncing off each other as they hurdle toward us.
A loud bang cracks through the air, and I duck instinctively. “Was that a shot?”
“Yes,” Esteban says as more shots follow.
It’s been years since I’ve prayed, but I do so now. Although I’m not sure that Please don’t let us die! can be considered a full prayer. But it’s the best I can do as the gunshots continue to ring behind us.
“¡Pinche puta!” Esteban grinds through his teeth after a particularly loud crash that has me spinning around in my seat.
For a moment I believe the chase is over, both vehicles having crashed against a building. But a moment’s reprieve is all we get as the enemy is soon in pursuit once again.
“Where’s Rodrigo?”
Esteban doesn’t respond. He simply shakes his head.
“They’re getting closer!” I yell. “Wait, what? There’s more of them!”
He glances at the mirror as a second vehicle joins the first, then sharply turns the wheel, getting us onto the long road that leads to the airport.
Just when I brace for the impact against our rear bumper, both cars skid to a halt. The space between us grows as we speed away.
“They stopped,” I say breathlessly.
“I have men waiting for us at the airport, armed and ready. They’re probably aware of that.” As he says it, we approach the gate of the mostly darkened airport. Three guards holding rifles peer through the window. Esteban rolls his down to give them a better view of his face. “We were followed. Rodrigo was overtaken.”
The guard looks beyond us, searching down the road for our pursuers. “Gallo, Beto, go,” he orders, and two men I hadn’t seen emerge from the shadows on four-wheelers and head down the way we came. “If he’s still alive, they’ll find him.”
Esteban nods, then drives through the gate and down a short road that connects to the tarmac the jet is waiting on.
“Do you think he’s still alive?” I ask when he parks the SUV. “Will we wait for him?”
He turns to me, his gaze unreadable. “No to both.”
My heart sinks. Not that I liked that man much, but he was loyal to Esteban. And right now, we need loyal. “I’m sorry.”
“Rodrigo knew the risk of working with me. If something’s happened to him, his family will be well compensated.” He steps out of the vehicle and I do the same, moving quickly to the plane’s steps.
My ears protest the high-pitched sound of the turbines running, and I cup them as Esteban urges me up. I peek through the hair slapping against my face from the wind of the engines and spot the pilot and copilot already working hurriedly in the cockpit.
A gentleman I didn’t notice before is waiting for us at the top of the stairs, holding the door open as if he plans on slamming it behind us the moment we’re in. He doesn’t do it, but he does close it fast, pushing on the locking mechanism just as the plane begins to move.
Esteban’s fingers wrap around my arm to steady me when I lose my balance, and he guides me into one of the wide leather seats. He sits beside me and proceeds to buckle me in as if I’m a child.
I’m about to snap at him that I don’t need help when I see him wince as he rubs his shoulder. But more than that, there’s a weariness to him, the fine lines between his brows more pronounced and his skin paler.
He leans back and shuts his eyes, letting out a long, tired breath. Beneath us, I sense the wheels of the jet leaving the ground when we take off, my stomach sinking slightly with every dip of the plane as it ascends.
I’m tempted to peer out, but I know all I’ll find out there is darkness. So I keep my gaze on Esteban instead, wondering how it’s possible that he’s still so beautiful to me. Out of habit, I reach out to run my fingers through his thick hair but stop myself. However, as I drop my hand, it grazes his shoulder, and his lids spring open.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “We should get ice on that. I’m going to check in the back. Surely there’s some there.” He doesn’t argue. He simply nods, and it’s confirmation of the discomfort he’s in. “I’ll be right back.”
I head to the rear of the plane, past the curtain, to the area Rodrigo kept me in on the way to Michoacán. In the middle of a wall of cabinets and drawers, there’s a kitchenette, complete with a sink, coffee pot, microwave, and mini fridge. Although it doesn’t have ice in the tiny freezer compartment, I thankfully find a couple of cold sodas that will do just as well.
A quick search through the cabinets also produces a first aid kit. From it, I take some wrapping and ibuprofen, then set it back where it belongs.
With what I need in hand, I turn around, only to be startled when I discover Esteban standing less than a foot away. “You scared me,” I say, laughing shakily. “I was just coming back.”
He says nothing as he scans my face, his gaze dark and intense. Then, without looking away, he takes the items from my hands and reaches around me to deposit them on the small counter. His lips come so close that I feel his breath fan across my face. But even after he’s set those things behind me, he doesn’t move away. Instead, he inches nearer until his body is pressed against me.
Placing my palm on his warm chest, I ask, “What are you doing?”
“Giving in,” he growls one second before his mouth crashes into mine in a kiss so desperate, so full of need, it leaves no room for protest.
Instantly, every one of my senses becomes attuned to him and him alone. I pay no heed to the fact that we’re thousands of feet in the air or that we’re not alone. The past doesn’t matter in this moment and neither does the future. All that matters is Esteban. He thoroughly consumes every part of me, every thought. There is only him, his taste in my mouth, his scent, the feel of his hands rough through my hair.
I’m pushed painfully into the counter as Esteban drags his lips over my jawline to my throat. Then in a move I’m not prepared for, he spins me in place. I’m still catching my breath when he pulls my pants down over my ass until they’re around my knees.
Behind me, he fumbles with his zipper at the same time as he runs his fingers over my slit. “You’re ready for me,” he groans when he feels the wetness.
Yes, I’m ready for him. I’m always ready.
His cock springs free against my butt cheek only a moment before he rams home. I cry out from the sudden fullness inside me as well as the pain of the counter’s edge digging into my ribs. But I don’t attempt to stop him. I need this as much as he does.
I reach behind me, grabbing for his legs, urging him to slam into me faster, harder. When he complies, the sounds of skin slapping against skin increases, as well as the moans I can’t keep at bay.
As his climax approaches, his dick seems to swell more within me and his thrusts become more powerful. He wraps his fingers around my hair, pulling at it painfully, forcing me to arch my back, allowing him to penetrate me deeper.
He comes with a roar I’m sure can be heard in the cockpit, his body stiffening behind me as he fills me. When he’s done, he drops his forehead onto my back. We remain locked like this, with him still buried in me, until our panting subsides.
Finally, he pulls out of me, and I feel his warm essence trickle from me. Hastily, I grab a paper towel from beside the sink and wipe myself.
“I’d apologize, but it wouldn’t be sincere,” Esteban says, watching as I clean the remnants of our quick fuck from my legs. “I like seeing me spill from you like that.”
I’m not sure how to reply to that, though I try to think of something as I pull up my pants and button them. All I can come up with is “I know.” I grab the cold soda can and the medicine I got for him earlier. “We should really take care of that shoulder.”
He glances at it and seems almost surprised to see his injury. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve gotten used to the pain.” And with that, he returns to his seat, leaving me staring after him.