Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
I was passed on to another man—scratch that, two. They gripped my arms tightly, yanking my restrained wrists in different directions. Another thing that shouldn’t hurt so damn much, but they’d been cutting into my flesh for over two weeks. The cowards kept me cuffed even when they wanted to go up against me to assert themselves. Cuffed in the front during a fight, cuffed behind my back all other times.
My head was killing me. I couldn’t relax for a second. I had Reese in my mind, reminding me to keep my cool, to be strong, to analyze everything going on around me, and to use my other senses to predict what was next. I breathed in the stuffy air inside the bag. I heard forest sounds—fucking monkeys.
Yesterday, I’d been welcomed by a raspy voice to Mexico City.
We weren’t there anymore.
We hadn’t been there long. They’d hosed me off, taken off my old swim trunks and tee, and given me a pair of sweats. Someone had checked me for injuries too.
Every step I took, River and Reese followed. I saw them so clearly. River didn’t speak, but he observed me carefully. His ghost presence centered me, and Reese’s voice kept me sharp.
Unfortunately, Reese’s voice made me miss them so fucking much that I wanted to cry all the time too. ’Cause his protectiveness came out in full force with every murmured sweetheart and baby boy.
I’m okay.
I was lying.
I wasn’t fucking okay.
Part of me had died when I’d been forced on to a plane. Nobody had stopped them. How did my country have unsupervised airstrips? How did that fucking work? Weren’t we supposed to control our own airspace?
Then again, I wasn’t actually sure we’d boarded the first plane in the US. I’d been locked up in the backs of trucks and vans too. Especially after I’d been separated from Blake and Marisa.
My pulse spiked as I was shoved sideways, just a second after I’d registered the sound of a car engine and doors opening and closing. Before I knew it, I was in a car, and someone pushed my legs in before slamming the door shut. The sound reminded me of my first car, an old Nissan my dad had helped me restore. I was in the back seat, not some hidden truck bed, so…unless the windows were tinted, I was supposed to be visible, right? People could see into the back seat of a car.
At least, if there were people around.
I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, and my stomach tightened from hunger. I’d eaten…the day before yesterday. They gave me plenty of water, usually through the bag, but I could feel that I had lost weight and strength from the lack of food.
I closed my eyes, my cheek smashed against the seat cushion, and we took off.
Don’t cry.
Music in Spanish flooded the car, along with the pungent smell of weed.
It brought me back to all the nights River and Reese had shared stories about their operations in South America. Just the three of us in bed, cuddling, hands wandering, sleepy smiles, kisses and absent-minded foot rubs, limbs locked and intertwined. My kind of nighttime routine, with the excitement of their stories.
Reese was the best storyteller. I knew they censored what they told me; I knew they skipped the parts that’d kept them living on the fringes of society for so many years. Belize, Colombia, Venezuela, El Salvador, Peru… They’d been all over Central and South America, and they had favorites and they had locations they never wanted to set foot in again.
River didn’t like to talk about El Salvador or Brazil.
Reese had a love-hate relationship with Colombia. They’d been there a lot. He’d said it was one of the most beautiful places on earth, with the best food, the most vibrant culture, but decades of drug wars and corruption had ruined too many lives.
God, I hoped we were still in Mexico somewhere and not in Colombia. How would they ever fucking find me in South America? And where were Marisa and Blake? It made me see red to think about them being treated like this. Blake was so fucking scared. The first two days after we’d been taken, she’d cried almost nonstop for her daddy. Marisa had tried to be stronger; she was stronger. A fierce woman. She’d acted as my interpreter too, ’cause she knew Spanish.
But I hadn’t needed any language skills to understand she lived under another threat. Before they’d thrown a bag over my head, I’d seen the way some of the men had leered at her. How they’d taunted her, sniffed her hair, and lifted her dress.
I clenched my jaw.
Stay strong. Keep fighting.
Crew Finlay
Check green, check red.
It’d been a while since I’d sat in the back of a C-130, preparing to jump…
For me, it was like riding a bike, but Adrien…? Oof. He’d grown accustomed to flying first class as Rafael Delgado, while wearing a bespoke suit. Now he was geared up like a Marine, like me, and he’d been trying to keep his nerves from showing since we’d been told we couldn’t land.