“You can. You will. And this is not how I wanted to tell you this, but I love you. I am so fucking in love with you. I think I was even before I met you, as crazy as that sounds even to me.”
“Why are you saying this now? Stop staying it like it’s goodbye. It’s not goodbye.”
The door opens behind her, forcing me to let go of her hand, and she mouths, “I love you, too,” before she rotates to exit the car. I stay with her, ready to grab her if necessary. Hell, I just go ahead and do it.
I step to her side and shackle her arm, while Juan appears in front of us. “Inside the plane,” he orders.
“Is Michael here?” Myla asks eagerly.
“Go inside and find out,” Juan says, a snide taunt to his voice, his eyes meeting mine, a challenge in their depths I plan to counter with a bullet between his eyes.
My hand goes to my gun. “She’s not getting on that plane until I talk to Alvarez.”
“Do you really think you can resist at this point?”
“Do you really want to risk her getting hurt in the struggle?”
His thin lips get thinner and he pulls his phone from his pocket, punching in a number and then listening a moment. “He wants to talk to you.” Juan hands me the cellphone.
“Kyle here,” I say.
“Had you let her get on that plane without contacting me,” Alvarez says. “I would have killed you.”
“Why am I taking orders from Juan?”
“I have plans for him,” he says. “Don’t worry about him.”
“I seem to remember we discussed the opposite.”
“That order stands.”
“So I do need to worry about him?” I ask, looking directly at Juan, and making damn sure he knows we’re talking about him.
“Keep her close and him at a distance.”
“You realize what a conflicting message that is?”
“That message will become crystal clear in about four hours. Let me talk to Myla.”
“Where are we going?”
“I repeat. Let me talk to Myla.”
I hand the phone to Myla. She presses it to her ear, her gaze going to Juan, who’s staring at her, which prompts her to give him her back. “Where have you been?” she asks, eager. “I was worried.” She is silent for several beats. “Yes. I’m glad. See you soon.” She rotates forward again and hands me the phone. “He hung up.”
Juan reaches for it, yanking it from my hand. “Angry much?” I ask, with an arched brow.
“Just get in the damn plane.”
I shackle Myla’s arm and we start walking, two men, one of which is Ricardo, flanking us. Myla walks up the stairs first, with me on her heels, and I can tell she is unsteady, anticipating Alvarez might have tricked us and be inside, while I’m preparing to reach for my gun and kill him. Myla enters the plane, with me there immediately after. She turns to look at me, giving me a shake of her head, telling me Alvarez is not here.
I glance over her shoulder, eyeing several rows of leather seats. “All the way to the back,” I instruct.
“Myla, you’re up here with me,” Juan says, appearing in the walkway.
“That’s not happening,” I say, motioning for her to get moving.
Juan’s hand comes down on my arm, and I pull my gun, pointing it at him. “Touch me again and you’re dead.”
Ricardo is suddenly beside him, pointing his weapon at me as well. Myla steps to my side. “Michael hired him. He wants him alive. Pilot! Call Michael.”
“Don’t call anyone,” Juan calls out. “Holster your damn weapon, Ricardo.” Juan lifts his chin at me. “Go take your fucking seat.” Ricardo lowers his weapon, moving to sit down.
“Go sit, Myla,” I order softly, lowering my Glock.
“She’s protective of you,” Juan observes. “Michael isn’t going to like that.”
“Is that a threat?”
“I don’t need to threaten you. Not when Myla is this close to you.” He walks to his seat and claims it.
I back away, moving down the aisle with my gun at my side, re-holstering only when I’m sitting next to Myla in the seat at the back of the plane. “Sig Island, right off Long Island,” she says. “That’s where we’re going.”
I hold up a hand, silencing her, certain we are being recorded and maybe even filmed. She inhales and sinks into the leather of her chair. I do the same, hoping like hell our team heard her tell them our destination. That is the question we’ll both be asking for the next four hours in the air.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kyle
Hours of sitting next to Myla, wanting to touch her, wanting to talk to her, pretty much kills me. I manage to randomly touch her, though, trying to send her the message that we’re together. We’re okay. The plane finally starts to descend, and she takes off her seat belt. “Bathroom,” she says, standing and heading toward the back of the plane.
I follow, knowing this is one of the only locations where I can talk to her, and even if it’s bugged, we’re at the end of this trip, and it’s worth the risk. She enters the tiny room, and I catch the door before she closes it.
“Easy, sweetheart,” I say, and noting how pale she is, I add, “We’re okay. This is all going to happen hard and fast but when it’s over, it’s over.”
“You can’t know that. We can’t know our people heard our destination.”
“They did,” I insist, “which means they’re in place, and ready to attack the minute we land.”
“Everyone is in Texas.”
“Luke, and many of our men, are in New York, not to mention plenty of Feds.”
“It’s an island,” she says. “How do they get to us?”
“Water and air,” I say, though it’s a problem I too have been concerned about during our travels, but I’m not about to tell her that. “Find your zone,” I say, “and let’s get ready to end this.” I shut the door, standing guard and giving her time.
It’s not long before she appears again and gives me a nod, the look in her eyes, stronger now. “I’m ready,” she says, and I believe her. She is. We are.
I let her see the admiration in my eyes, and the love, stepping out of her way to allow her to return to her seat, with me closely behind her, both of us reclaiming our seats. It’s not even ten minutes later when we make our landing approach, near midnight if our destination is indeed an island in New York, when we approach a singular runway and tower, that seems to make that a pretty acute assumption. The fact that we hit the pavement, and top pretty damn hard and fast, also indicating an island and water, or that’s my guess.
I unhook my belt, and Myla does the same, clearly as eager as I am to get out of this metal box, that makes us sitting ducks. “Stay behind me,” I order softly, standing and waiting for her to join me, before I start down the aisle, my hand settling under my jacket to rest on my gun.
Juan stands, moving around in the front of the plane, as does Ricardo, and a couple of other men who’ve come along for the ride. Two of them line up to exit, but they’re pushed back when a stocky, short Mexican with a permanent scowl on his face and a machine gun at his hip, enters, pointing for them to sit. Whoever he is, they obey, and when I stop walking, the man motions me forward, as if he knows who I am, or simply wants me under his thumb.
There is a shift in the air then, a prickling at the back of my neck, moments before it happens. The ghost of a man I’ve seen pictures of but have never met enters the plane. He stands in the center of the aisle, his black suit expensive, his salt-and-pepper hair wavy and longish, and when his eyes meet mine, evil radiates from their depths that is like nothing I’ve ever felt, which is saying a lot considering the filth I’ve arrested and killed. His gaze shifts to the gun at my hand, a silent command that I take my hand off my weapon, and it kills me to obey, but that machine gun-wielding man beside him will shoot me, and then Myla will be on her own.
I continue forward, my body sheltering Myla’s, dread in me for the moment I will have to let her go to him, an
d I will. I may even have to let her walk off this plane with him, and I hope like hell my team is waiting when they do. I stop several feet in front of him, Juan, Ricardo and the other men in the seats dividing me from Alvarez.
“Finally we meet, Kyle,” he says. “I owe you money and appreciation for caring for my woman. We will discuss our arrangements later, but as you can understand, I’m eager for you to allow Myla to pass. She’s safe now, though we will certainly discuss your services for her return trip to Dallas.”
Every muscle in my body fights this moment, but somehow, I rotate to let Myla pass.
“Michael,” she gushes, playing her role, and hurrying past me into his arms. His hand flattens on her back, and I can almost feel her skin crawling with his touch, but he does not hold her for long. He grips her arms and looks down at her. “We need to discuss something before we retire for the night.”
“What is it?” she asks, sounding nervous, while I step just a little closer, my hand itching for my gun.
“Is it true that Juan touched you?”
“What?”
“Is it true that Juan touched you?”
“He…I….”
“Then it’s true,” he assumes.
“He said he’d tell you I invited it, but I swear-”
“I believe you.”
Juan moves into the lane just in front of me at the same moment that Alvarez sets Myla aside. She flattens on the wall behind her, and the machine gun guy is watching me, keeping me from offering her any comfort. “She’s lying,” Juan claims. “She tried to fuck me to get her freedom.”
“And you wouldn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t want to upset you.”
“That never happened,” Myla says. “Never, ever, would I do that.”
Juan goes for the gun at his hip, and afraid for Myla, I step to him and cover it with my hand. It’s at that moment that Alvarez grabs Juan’s shoulder, and then the unexpected happens. He shoots him in the cock. Juan screams, a horrific, pained sound, then falls against me, the small lane I’m in making it almost impossible to see around him, while I can think of only one thing. Getting to Myla.
I rotate his body, bringing Alvarez into profile, Myla out of my eyeshot. Juan’s screams go silent, and I shove him to the ground, while Alvarez holsters his weapon and grabs Myla’s arm.
“A car is waiting on you outside, Kyle. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He moves toward the exit, and I take a step toward Myla, but the machine gun guy exits in front of me.
I follow him, my hand back on my gun, but as soon as the machine gun guy clears the stairs, two armed guards step into my path. My gaze reaches beyond them, to where Alvarez is leading Myla across the runway toward a black sedan, but I can’t get to her without ending up dead. “Alvarez!” I call out, trying to buy us time.
That’s when the first explosion happens, shaking the ground around us, and part of the runway goes up in flames. The guy with the machine gun and the guards rotate, looking for the source. The two men in front of me do the same. Another explosion goes off, and men swarm the runway, some in FBI jackets, others in military gear. Smoke is everywhere, and I run in the direction Myla should be, hearing a helicopter coming in low that I pray is one of ours. I clear the haze, and holy fucking hell. Alvarez is climbing onto the chopper, and pulling Myla onto it with him. I run for it, burning every muscle I own, but it’s too late. They lift off.
***
Myla
I fight Michael when he pulls me to the chopper, but he is too strong. “What is wrong with you?” he demands. “Did you betray me? Is that it? Did you bring this raid on me?
“I did nothing of the sort, but they will shoot us down. We have to land.”
“We are in the air,” he says. “Calm down and we will be fine.” He shoves me into a seat and turns to talk to the pilot, and I know then that I have seconds to act.
I unzip my dress, and I waste no time, pulling out my gun. He turns back around and I shout over the engines. “Tell him to land.”
“We aren’t landing. Put the gun down.”
“Land the chopper!”
He takes a step toward me, more like a lunge, and I shoot him, not once, but three times. He falls, not forward, but out of the door. I rush forward to the pilot and hold a gun on him. “Turn around and land.”
“You can’t kill me,” he says. “You need me.”
“I can shoot your leg,” I say. “You don’t need that to land. I killed Alvarez, so if you think I won’t-”
“I’m landing, you little bitch.” He turns us and we’ve gone such a short way that we are quickly coming in low on the runway, and we are not even on the ground when the FBI swarms us. I rush to the door and Kyle grabs me, pulling me into his arms.
“Thank God,” he says, against my hair. “Thank God. You have no idea how scared I was for you.”
“I killed him. I killed Alvarez.”
He takes my gun. “I know you did. We saw him fall but I had a moment when I thought it was you that will give me nightmares for the rest of my life.” He kisses me, another helicopter coming in low. “That’s our ride out of here. Come on.”
***
Kyle
Myla starts to shake when we get in the air, in shock, but with good reason. She’s been through hell and back. But the ride is short and we land at a private airstrip off Long Island, where there’s a surprise waiting on her that even I didn’t know about until minutes ago. I get her the heck off the chopper, and Luke rushes forward, offering her a warm blanket, which I wrap around her shoulders.
“Myla, I’m Luke,” he says. “You kicked ass today and you’re safe now.”
“You look like Royce,” she says, her teeth chattering.
“But better looking, right?”
She laughs, but it’s a choked sound. “Yes,” she says, “but I’m going to tell him the same thing.”
Luke laughs now too, and looks at me. “You’re fueled up and ready to go.”
“Thanks, man.”
“We’ll see you both back stateside.” He steps around us and we start for the plane.
“Where are we going exactly?” Myla asks as we approach the plane.
“Out of the country until we’re sure everything with Alvarez is cleaned up.” I motion for her to head up the narrow stairs and follow her up.
She rounds the corner into the plane and it’s Kara’s screech of joy that tells me the surprise is now revealed. I enter just in time to find the two sisters clinging to each other, tears flowing, the two of them settling into seats just inside the door. I move past them and Blake greets me, his hands on the luggage bins, mine on the seats on either side of us. “Fuck, man,” he says, sounding emotional. “I can’t believe he’s dead. I feel…I don’t know what the fuck I feel.”
I flash back to Blake holding Whitney, rocking her in a pool of her own blood, and I know this moment is surreal for him, “It’s over,” I say, “and as pissed off as I am that you came back to the States and didn’t tell me, I’m glad you’re here now. Italy will be good for Myla. She needs a safe escape to heal. And she needs time with Kara.”
“You and Myla-”
“I love her, so if you’re going to lecture me…”
“No, man. Just don’t hurt her. Then I’ll have to pull your fucking balls out through your throat.”
“Kyle.”
At the sound of Myla’s voice, I turn and she hugs me. Kara’s standing behind her, and when her eyes meet mine, there are tears of thanks in them. I give her a nod and bury my face in Myla’s hair, holding onto her and planning to never let go.
***
Myla
We arrive in Italy to discover that seventy women were saved through our efforts from various parts of the United States and Mexico. It’s balm to my soul, but not the entire cure. It seems there is a process I must endure, and my detox begins. It’s as if Michael was a poison my body and mind are rejecting. There are nightmares and bad memories, but Kyle is there for me at every tur
n, as is my sister, and even Blake, who becomes like a big brother. And then there is Ella, who Blake and Kara were hired to find, but she’s another story. I have moments when I worry that I have no job or money, but between Kyle, my sister, and Blake, I end up with a sketchpad in my hand and they force me to design again. Royce takes the lead with the FBI to get all my designs back, but it’s like all such things. Time will tell. It’s healing and so is just getting to explore the Italian fashion world.
Three months pass and Kyle asks me to live with him in New York. How could I say no? I have two best friends now. Him and my sister.
We arrive on a hot June afternoon, our taxi pulling up to the high rise tower near Central Park. A doorman takes our luggage, and is even delivering it to the tenth floor, where I’m pretty excited to realize I now live with him. His arm drapes my shoulders and he guides me toward the sliding glass doors. “I can’t wait to see the apartment you chose for yourself,” I say.
Kyle’s hip is pressed to mine, his faded jeans hugging his powerful thighs the same way his “Italy” t-shirt hugs his defined upper body.
“Just remember we can redecorate,” he says as we enter the lobby, the cool air washing over me, seeing the fancy art deco paintings on the wall, and thinking suddenly that my sparkly black flat sandals aren’t enough to dress up my own jeans and t-shirt.
“I need to make a stop here on the lower level,” he says, angling us down a hallway, and into what appears to be a retail area. “We have shopping right here in the building?” I ask, eager to dive into the New York fashion world and find out where I can take my designs.
Kyle stops at a closed door in between two stores, and I figure it must be some sort of storage area. He opens it and motions for me to go inside. “Is there a light?” I ask, stepping into the darkness.
“Surprise!”
The light flips on and every one of the Walker clan, an extended clan I’ve met at some point in person, or by Skype, are in a vacant retail store. There’s at least twenty people. Not only are they here, but so are all the mannequins from the Alvarez store sitting around the room, with my designs on them. I turn to Kyle. “What is happening?”