by Elodie Colt
“Leo, we still need to get you a wedding gown,” Skyla reminds her.
“I already have one,” Leo says, and we both look at her in surprise.
“Did you go shopping with Kendra?”
“Nope, I’m going to wear the bridesmaid dress,” is Leo’s straight answer.
I huff a laugh. “You mean the green ones we bought for Sam’s wedding before Daniel shipped you off to Mexico?”
“Aquamarine, not green,” Leo snaps, and I roll my eyes. She’s very meticulous when it comes to art and colors. “And yes, those.”
“You can’t be serious!” Skyla exclaims, tossing the scissors onto the table.
“Why not? It’s my wedding,” Leo retorts.
“You’re not a bridesmaid anymore. You’re the bride,” Skyla rectifies, pronouncing each word slowly as if explaining it to a child.
Leo smirks. “That’s the point. I decide. Leave the white gown to Sam, I’ll go for aquamarine. It matches my tattoos,” she adds with a nod to the mermaid on her upper arm.
Skyla throws up her hands in desperation, all the paper hearts raining down around her. “She’s going to wear her bridesmaid dress…” she utters, gaping at me as if I can solve the mystery that is Leonara Alvarez.
I grin. “She’s going to wear her bridesmaid dress.”
And you’ll wear a half-assed smile the entire time because your boyfriend stood you up.
The tires screech on the asphalt as I take a sharp turn. I lean into the curve with all my weight, angling the bike nearly horizontal. My fingers are numb, and my ass cheeks feel as if they’ve become one with the leather seat.
I don’t know where I’m going. Wherever it takes me. The air is moist and salty, so I guess the coast is close. My watch tells me I’ve been cruising for seven hours nonstop. A few more miles, and I would have crossed the whole country…
I rev the engine, eager to feel the wind on my face and the traction underneath the tires. I’m breaking every speed limit. One wrong move and I’ll end up with my body parts scattered over the street like jackstraws, but I’m too riled up to think clearly.
Part of me wishes that I’ll lose control, to get what I deserve for leaving half of my crew to their fate, but there’s a fine line between wishing for the end and making it happen.
The detour to Acapulco was a shitty idea. I should have known better than to visit the place where it all went wrong six years ago, after… well, after everything went wrong again two months ago. I stood there on top watching reckless kids cliff diving and making stupid stunts while I prayed to God that they wouldn’t break their necks. That they wouldn’t meet the same fate as Lana. That they were smarter than us.
I slow down when I pass the Veracruz road sign. Of all the places I’ve visited (and trust me when I say, I could make the world map on your wall look like a pin cushion) Mexico is one of my favorites. The largest provider of human capital right after Silicon Valley, a cuisine that UNESCO considered an ‘intangible cultural heritage,’ and the leader in beer export. A country blessed with priceless natural resources but cursed with poverty, drug wars, and corruption.
I pull over at the curb when I reach the coast. Yanking off my helmet, I unbutton my jeans to take a piss while I let my torturous mind wander for a moment.
First Lana.
Then Deepwater Horizon 2.0.
I’ve barely processed the fact that I’m responsible for a girl being bound to a wheelchair for the rest of her life. Now, I can’t sleep without seeing burning oil, raging flames, and dead bodies.
I fish out my phone, my finger hovering over Lana’s contact. As usual, I chicken out and check in with her sister, Tara, instead.
“Hello, traveler,” Tara chirps when she takes the call, and I hear her smile. “Where are you calling from this time? Egypt? Greenland? Or, what was it last time… India?”
I smirk. “Indonesia, but close.”
“Yeah, whatever. So, where did it take you?”
“Mexico,” I say flat out, not oblivious to the loaded pause that follows.
Her voice drops to a murmur. “Acapulco?”
“I’m in Veracruz now,” I answer to sidestep her question.
“Why are you torturing yourself, Raphael? You know Lana doesn’t blame you, so why do you?” I remain quiet, and Tara heaves a sigh before she delivers her usual line whenever we reach that dangerous terrain, “She’s fine. She’s lost her ability to walk, not her ability to live. You know her. She’s strong. She’ll never lose her spirit.”
“Yeah…”
“By the way, uh… Jesse arrived today. He’s going to stay for two weeks.” The news doesn’t surprise me, but my jaw clenches anyway. Jesse’s been visiting Lana a lot over the last few months.
“Is she happy with him?” I want to know, my voice slightly strained.
Tara huffs a soft laugh. “Guess she is.” I nod to myself. I’m glad Lana has someone to take care of her other than her sister. Jesse always loved her. More than I did. After all, he’s there for her while I don’t even have the guts to speak to her. “How are you?” Tara asks after another pause. “I mean, I know you’ve been through a lot after what happened in Newfoundland—”
Fire. Screams. Blood. Fire everywhere.
“I’ve gotta go now,” I cut her off.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to… you know…”
“All good. I’ll call you next week.”
“All right. Take care. Bye.”
Just as I end the call, red and blue flashlights start to blink in my periphery, and I groan when I see a police car slowing down to stop next to me.
Talk about corrupt cops. They pull you over every time they catch a shiny vehicle just because they hope you’re a rich kid with a rich daddy to shell out some money. Doesn’t matter if you’re tanked and just drove your car against a tree. Show some cash, and you’re free to go.
I cross my arms when the guy in blue steps out with one hand hovering over his gun, strutting over to me. The mischievous grin on his fat, ugly face screams trouble.
His gaze swerves over my rented Ducati before it falls on the football logo on my leather jacket.
“Americano,” he sneers with a heavy accent. “What are you doing out here, chico?”
Of course, I’m a kid. “Enjoying the view,” I reply in a matter-of-fact tone.
Dragging his tongue over his teeth, he leans closer to check my eyes. I can smell the tequila oozing from his pores and the spicy burrito he had for dinner. “Are you sober?”
“Are you?” I fire back.
His bushy brows furrow in anger. “Show me your license.”
I consider my options for a moment. I could play good boy, or…
“Is this the part where you give me a ticket just because you’re in the mood, get my car towed, and let me spend the night in jail unless I hand over a thousand pesos?”
Mister Sombrero straightens, scrutinizing me with a cocked brow. “This is the part where I tell you that a thousand pesos won’t be enough for me to forget your smart mouth.”
“Two thousand it is, then.” I make a show of retrieving my briefcase. He follows my movement with his hungry gaze, but he’s too shit-faced to notice my other hand reaching for my helmet. With a fast strike, I bop it on his head followed by a few more punches that knock him out before he can even touch his gun. “Two can play this game, amigo.”
Trust me, I’m not a bully, but if you want justice in this damn country, you have to fight dirty. The cop doesn’t know my name, and he didn’t catch my license plate, so I should be in the safe zone.
I’m about to hop onto my bike again when a stupid idea forms in my head. Turning around, I peer down at his limp form, then glance up at the Dodge Charger. Always one for a challenge and a little thrill, I make sure the coast is clear before I hide my bike behind a tree and strip the guy of his uniform. The thing is too big as I’m far from sporting a beer belly, but otherwise, it fits. After shoving my phone and wallet into the pockets, I snatch hi
s gun and the car keys before heaving him into the passenger seat.
“Let’s go for a ride, officer.”
~~~
The grin stays plastered on my face the entire night. I’ve laid it on real thick this time.
After debating what to do with Officer Hernández, I dumped his half-naked form at the next police station, telling the guys a cock and bull story about how I had to pull that dude over because he downed a dozen Desperados in his car. They assured me he’d spend the night behind bars, not even second-guessing my authority. Unbelievable what you can achieve if you are convincing. Not sure how long it will take them to get on to me, but I dismantled the license plate and switched off the GPS. I’m not ready to end the game yet. Unlawful assumption of public authority was still missing on my bucket list.
And trust me, that list is long. I’ve had more adventures in the past six years than most people experience in their lifetime. I’ve done it all. Seen it all.
Working as a skyscraper cleaner in Toronto. Firefighter in Australia. Soybean farmer in China. Crab fisherman in Alaska. Lumberjack in Canada. Cab driver in India. Mountain guide in Austria. Oh, and my favorite, yoga teacher in Costa Rica. Nothing better than doing some stretching with a flock of desperate housewives who’d rather burn their calories in the bed instead of on the mat.
What else? Let’s see…
Hiking the Inca trail to Machu Picchu, tap-dancing in Ireland, base jumping in Greece, running with the bulls in Spain—just to name a few.
Countless amazing experiences that changed my life.
And two horrific events that made all of it worthless… Cliff diving in Mexico and working on an oil rig in Newfoundland.
With a hard swallow, I steer my mind to safer ground, focusing on the scenery of Veracruz instead. Jesse and I grew up in North Dakota. A beautiful country with acres upon acres of prairies, ranchland, and lakes. A pity I had to leave.
After Lana’s accident, I needed a fresh start. A chance to get away from a brother who hated me and parents who disregarded me. So, I did it like the guy in Into the Wild, burned all the credit cards and identification documents, and set off into the unknown.
I’ve been roaming the world ever since. Going new places. Meeting new people. Seeing new cultures. Doing all the seize-the-day stuff.
Jesse? He was all for the whole career-and-making-my-parents-proud shit. No idea if he’s still attending college. We haven’t exchanged a word ever since the incident.
Tara says I’m lost. A stray meandering the world in search of something. A goal. A purpose. She wants me to settle down, get married, raise a bunch of kids… But, come on. I stay at one place for a couple of weeks before I feel the itch to run and be off. Always seeking the thrill. Always chasing the next kick. Always hunting a new adventure.
And why change my lifestyle, anyway? With all the extraordinary jobs over the years, I’ve earned enough money to live high on the hog. Not that I give a fuck about luxury. What I need is a bike, a road, and a clean conscience.
While I cruise along, I toy with the buttons in the Dodge Charger. It sports a few nice gadgets like a three-sixty-degree, remote-control operated camera and a speed recognition device.
The rural streets are mostly empty, and the few cars passing me obey traffic rules, but suddenly, a sleek Lotus Elise whizzes by at 190 kph instead of 80. Not giving it a second thought, I swerve the car around and switch on the wailing sirens. I’ve got a uniform, a badge, and outstanding acting skills, so why not make use of them? Yeah, I know I’m a bad example, breaking speed limits all the time, but at this rate, I’d be surprised if I didn’t see the car in a ditch soon.
Handling the gears like a pro, I hit the pedal, chasing the vehicle, but the driver doesn’t seem to get the clue.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I mumble to myself.
Revving the engine, I switch lanes to be level with the car and motion for the driver to stop. The woman behind the wheel gawks at me before she finally skids to a halt on the curb, and I wince as she makes the vehicle bounce over rocks as if the Lotus isn’t worth more than a Kia Rio.
“Oh, you’re in trouble, girl…” I mutter with a smirk before I put on my best I’m-a-cop-so-don’t-mess-with-me face.
Gliding out, I hook my fingers through my belt loops and approach the car in a slow, calculated prowl. The side window slides down, and a pretty, flawless face with an innocent expression stares back at me.
“Are we in a hurry, ma’am?” I drawl in my best Mexican accent, lowering my head to be at eye level.
Her eyes widen before she states the obvious. “You’re American.” Jutting out her chin, she adds in a more confident tone, “I figured you weren’t from here. All the cops around here know me.” Translation: No one ever dared to pull me over because they know I’m rich and famous. “So, what’s the verdict, officer?” Her tone is so sultry, it nearly grates on my ears.
Resting my elbows on the window frame, I give her a once-over. She’s a Mexican beauty with ebony hair, huge eyes, and thick suck-my-dick lips. Gathering from the way she thrusts out her chest in her sleek dress, ready to enforce the law of attraction, I dare say she can handle four cocks better than four wheels.
“Considering you drove twice as fast as the speed limit, I guess I’ll have to revoke your driver’s license.” Her cheeky smile signals she considers this an empty threat.
I retreat when she opens the door to get out, presenting me with a female body dressed to the nines. She makes a show of checking me out, eyes roaming up and down. She steps closer, invading my personal space, but I keep my cool.
“Hmmm… if being sexy were a crime, you’d be guilty as charged,” she drones at last, her hand slowly moving from my collar down to my chest before giving the handcuffs on my belt a flick. Not just fast on the road, it seems. “The uniform suits you. It would look great at the foot of my bed.”
Jesus. That woman’s got the dictionary, ‘Pick-up Lines on How to Seduce a Cop,’ memorized. Frankly, I’m not for sale like the rest of the Mexican police department, but how’s she supposed to know? Aside from the fact that she reeks of champagne, she’s fuckable material, and one round of animalistic sex sounds perfect to end the day.
Spinning her around in one, fast movement, I bend her over and pin her hands against the hood. A gasp of surprise escapes her when she feels my crotch rubbing the back of her thighs. “You have the right to remain silent,” I purr into her ear. “But I doubt you will.”
She utters a husky laugh, swiveling her hips to gain more friction. “I love bad cops.” I smirk behind her back. Oh, you’ll sing a different tune when I’m done with you.
Tugging her panties aside, I slide my finger in between her folds while my other hand fumbles for a condom in my wallet. She’s already wet enough to spare me the foreplay, so I unbuckle my pants, roll up the rubber, and thrust inside her. I don’t care if the hiss coming from her lips stems from pain or pleasure. This is a meaningless quickie. The executives are already hot on my heels, and I can do without them catching me making dents into a stolen police car while pounding into a notorious politician’s daughter or whoever the fuck she is.
I was right—the woman is anything but silent. Her wails echo over the highway, and they become louder with each blunt buck. She can’t fool me, though. I can tell a fake moan from a real one. She just wants to please me, although I don’t do anything to please her. She’s a distraction, not a conquest, and I don’t give a fuck if she orgasms or not. She can take a nap on the hood, for all I care.
Still, she’s eager to show me what a good lay she is, screaming all kinds of Spanish curses as she fakes her climax right when I reach mine. I slip out of her before the last drop squeezes from my crown.
While I yank off the condom and zip up my pants, she smooths down her dress, assuring she doesn’t look poorly fucked.
“Well, I guess we’re even then, Officer,” she drawls in a silky tone and kisses me goodbye before opening the car door, but I slam it shu
t with my hips. Her expression turns into confusion as I pull out a pen and paper. “What are you doing?”
“Hand over your license,” I command, slapping the fat ticket into her hand.
She gapes at it for a moment before it clicks. “You can’t be serious.”
“Try me.” My gaze is stern, but inwardly, I’m laughing my ass off.
“I just paid you,” she protests with a scoff.
“No, you let me fuck you. This is your payment.” With a nod to the ticket, I stretch out my hand and wiggle my fingers. “License.”
She huffs an incredulous laugh and crosses her arms, going into defiance mode. “Forget it.”
“All right,” I say in a nonchalant tone and retrieve the handcuffs. “A few nights behind bars, it is then. The inmates are eager to get a little midnight snack.”
She recoils as if I’ve slapped her. “You wouldn’t dare! Do you even know who I am? My father is—”
“You could be royalty and your father the president, for all I care. You reek of booze, and you drove like a maniac. So, what shall it be… license plus the fine or jail?” I lift the cuffs for emphasis, jiggling them in front of her face.
Bristling, she yanks open the door to get her purse and rants, “Cabrón…”
“I understand Spanish, you know?” I say with a smirk.
She slaps her license and car keys into my palm. “Good. Asshole,” she hisses, translating her curse to express her irritation. I wait until she pays the fine in cash and tap my invisible police cap in thanks. “At least, let me bum a ride. You can’t ditch me here in the middle of nowhere.”
I purse my lips, debating what to do. I can’t give her a ride unless I want to blow my cover, but I can hardly leave her here stranded. “Do you have a phone?” She throws me a puzzled look but nods. “Then call daddy dearest.”
And with that, I pivot on my heels and prance toward my car. A trail of hilarious profanities follows, along with a stiletto whizzing by, but she misses my head by a mile. Mexican women and their temper…