by Korry Smith
Gloria nodded, but Marcos wasn’t satisfied with my answer.
"Do you have nightmares?"
I only ever dreamed of Alex, and my nightmares involved losing him.
Nothing else.
But that’s not what Marcos was asking. He wanted to know if I regretted taking his brother's life. The same man who raped the lovely woman on his lap.
"No," I said, and my voice was strong, confident. "No, I don't."
Marcos was pleased, taking a sip from his glass, slow and deliberate. "I think you enjoyed it more than you think."
He didn't wait for me to confirm it before shifting his gears and redirecting the conversation. I was all for a subject change.
"So, Alex, have you told your Madi the good news?"
Alex cleared his throat. "In so many words."
I folded my arms over my chest and narrowed my eyes. "Tell me, what's the good news?"
He lowered his head, speaking to me in a low and rushed voice. "Please trust me."
"What?" I leaned away from him, confused.
"We're going to be business partners!" Marcos said, clapping his hands together, and startling me. Gloria smiled, rising from his lap, and taking a seat beside him. "I've wanted him and his family to come to Mexico and work with me for a while now, but he was so attached to America."
"That wasn't the only reason," Alex said, picking up his champagne for the first time since setting it down and tipping it back. He drank it all in one gulp.
"Oh, I know, you've had your own thing going in Arizona, and I've respected that. I'm thrilled you're willing to give this new venture a try. I need a man like you to help me on the expansion of my growing business," Marcos said, and the enthusiasm he expressed was contagious.
Their partnership was straightforward and explained to me, down to every detail, over the course of an hour. Alex was the front; his job was to get Marcos’ drugs across the border and distributed throughout Arizona, California, New Mexico, and Texas. He had connections in those states that Marcos wanted and needed. He couldn't get the type of money he craved through the shady Mexican cartel running around the country. They were too careless and sloppy. Marcos required precision.
There was also something else he wanted, a type of marijuana strain that Sawyer had been growing in Mexico for the last year and a half. They kept it quiet for a long time, and only the immediate family knew about it, but Marcos was a resourceful man. It didn't take him long to find out about the greenhouses in Mazatlán.
This was a big undertaking, but it was a partnership that would be beneficial for all parties involved.
Or so he wanted me to believe.
The conversation lulled after a while, and we were all watching a movie on the big screen. My mind was all over the place, and I couldn't concentrate on the story or fucking anything.
"I'm going to show Madi around the plane," Alex said out of nowhere, standing up from his seat. "She's never been on a jet before."
"Oh, of course," Marcos said, not even glancing Alex's way, waving his hand dismissively. "Make it quick. We land in twenty minutes."
"Yeah, no problem," Alex said, taking my hand, and helping me up. "We won't be long."
I followed behind him as he showed me around. We passed by a wet bar, and he pointed to where the bathrooms were. He commented on becoming a part of the mile-high club and then pushed me against the nearest wall. He kissed my lips and tempted me with his hands as he found his way underneath my shirt. I was breathless, eagerly tugging on the buckle of his belt and close to becoming a member, when Len's loud, overbearing voice and laughter boomed, echoing in the cabin.
It ruined the mood damn near instantly.
"Come on." Alex laughed, hooking his fingers into the pocket of my jeans, and yanking me away from the wall.
The tour limited to only the tail, and we reached that within a few seconds. It was disappointing and anticlimactic. I turned around to head towards the front when Alex grabbed my wrist and pulled me back.
"What are you doing?"
"Madi," he said, pressing his body against mine, leaning his head down, as if he was going to kiss me, but spoke to in my ear instead. “When this plane lands, we’re getting out of the business."
"What?! Why?" I shouted.
"Fuck!" Alex hissed, covering my big, fat mouth. He got overwhelmingly close and whispered. "Listen to me; I don’t want to do this shit anymore. I’ve got a plan, but I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"
I nodded.
"Good. I’m going to give up all my connections in the States to Marcos, and for cash, I’m going to help Sawyer with his hippy weed. We'll have plenty of money. We don't need to live that life anymore."
I couldn't say anything, but retirement sounded bland and disappointing.
"I just can’t let Marcos know this," Alex continued. "He’ll kill me, and you, if I serve no use to him. If that happens, we’ll need to kill him first. Then we’re back on the fucking run again, but this time, we’ll be running from the cartel, and that’s a fucking death sentence." My breath caught, taken back by his honesty, and he pulled his hand away from my mouth. "But none of that shit needs to go down, okay? We just need to be smart about it.”
“What does the family think of all this?" I asked.
"I didn't tell them," he said, his hard expression softening. "It's just us, kid."
He wasn’t lying, and for him to leave his family out of something this big for me? It meant fucking everything.
I leaned back and stared at him, completely awestricken.
"What?" He blinked at me confused and stepped back.
"I just can't believe you're with me. That's all. I've been nothing but a pain the ass since the first day we met. You wouldn't be running from the law or sucked into such bullshit if it wasn't for me. I'm reckless and immature, moody, and crazy..." I paused. He was smiling at me, and nothing I was saying was getting through to him. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Here, let me show you something.” Alex took my hand to put up next to his, and side by side, I saw there were two sets of bloodied knuckles. "Do you see how they match?" It was eerie how closely the wounds resembled each other. "That's all the proof I need to know you fucking belong to me."
Closing my eyes, I clutched the bottom of his shirt and tugged him into me. "I love you so much."
Alex reached up and palmed my face with his rough hands and scorching touch. “I fucking love you.”
He kissed me then, forceful, and sincere, only to pull away all too soon. Panting against my mouth, he tilted his head to the side and glanced down the long aisle, his sights set on Marcos. When he turned back to me, there was a murderous gleam in his eyes.
I gasped…Holy shit.
For the first time, I'd seen how deadly Alex was, and how close I'd come to getting my head blown off the night we met. I thought people were exaggerating about him, but they were right. He didn’t give a shit about anything and killed without remorse.
I was his only exception.
That’s when I knew Marcos would eventually make it to our hit-list.
"What do you say, kid?” Alex traced my lips with his fingers and smirked. “Are we going live happily ever after or what?"
Epilogue
The American people were fickle with short attention spans. By the time the new year rolled around, the news had stopped talking about this generation's Bonnie and Clyde. The result wasn't the expected bloody ambush, and according to everyone invested in the story, Alex Ryan and Madison Perez were a couple of two-bit wannabes. They downplayed our exploits, and it wasn't long until they moved on to the next big thing.
That was fine by me. I wanted to lose myself in the shadows of obscurity. It wasn't fame or recognition that made me do those things with Alex. It was him. It was always about him. He was the one constant thing in my life. I enjoyed the excitement and rush of being the bad girl to his bad boy.
But things change, and life evolved, becoming different.
/> Doing crazy shit on a whim and for the hell of it was a thing of the past now. Alex said we had to be smart, learn to respond and not to react. Marcos was a big fish. You can't catch a big fish by diving in and just swatting at the water, hoping to get lucky. You must plan and plot, make a sturdy fishing pole and wait for that nibble.
Patience was the key.
For the first week after we landed in Mexico, it was easy to be patient. Forgetting about Marcos and how to split ties with him was even easier. Those seven days were undisturbed and incredible. Alex and I stayed in a beautiful hotel room and toured Mexico City. I stuffed myself silly on chips and salsa. We drove out to the Gulf and made love in the surf.
Which, quickly after that, the lifeguards caught on and forbade us to step foot on the beach again.
It was our version of a honeymoon.
The law, once a burden, was no longer hanging over our heads. We didn't have to keep looking over our shoulders every two seconds, fearful that some boogeyman would swoop in and snatch our freedom away. It was like a breath of fresh air, simple and effortless. It was an uncomplicated moment in time.
We relished in it, for a while, but as the days progressed and weeks passed, no thrill or kill in sight, Alex and I grew bored of the ordinary, straight life. We were antsy, needing a release, and it was getting harder to curb our natural instincts.
Alex decided the only way to satiate the devil inside was doing all of Marcos’ dirty work, together and as a team. We would smuggle the drugs and kill anyone who caused a problem. I was the unexpected element thrown into the mix, innocent and sweet. My small and demure features would distract people from the gun tucked in my waistband.
I was a diversion, the pure and deadly Perez.
It worked like a charm, things ran smoothly, and Alex and I rarely did anything separately.
The latest trip was the exception.
It was a more significant shipment of coke, passing through the city of Juárez and up to the border, on the outskirts of El Paso. Alex and Sawyer were meeting with old contacts, but these men were paranoid and had a severe fondness for young girls. My presence would only stress Alex out and I didn't want to make things harder. He was a well-known fugitive with an unforgettable name and taking a considerable risk by crossing over into America. The last thing he needed was the extra attention on him when he reacts violently, blowing off some fucker's head for looking at me the wrong way.
I agreed to stay back with Len as my bodyguard-slash-babysitter. It wasn't necessary, but Alex wouldn't leave me without that extra protection.
He would worry non-stop, of course, but he trusted his boys to take good care of his girl. Anyone else outside of our family, especially when he was gone, was forbidden to go near me, and if some brave soul got remotely close?
“You fucking kill them, kid.”
A little later, and off the coast of Mexico, I sat on the beach with my toes in the sand. The sun beat down on me, turning my skin into a deep brown. The drink in my hand was a margarita, fresh lime, blended and delicious. It was homemade with a tinge of too much Tequila. It burned my throat and warmed my chest.
I needed the extra kick.
The three-story house that stood behind me with the aged, wooden deck was my home.
Well, mine and Alex's.
Our Spanish-style Tudor was paid in full—no checks or bank loans. We bought it with nothing but twenty-dollar bills, and some of it was in rolled quarters, dropped on the bank’s desk in a freezer bag.
It still made me giggle.
Leaning back on my elbows, I took a deep breath.
There was nothing but the smell of the ocean in the air. A cool breeze came in from the west, whirling and whipping my hair around my face. The waves were crashing and lapping at my feet. In two hours the tide would roll in, and I would have to get up. But right now, I was content, enjoying the sounds of the coast, the feeling of freedom.
It was peaceful. Damn near perfect. The only thing missing was Alex.
He left four days ago. It was the longest separation between us since Saint Louis. I thought about him every second. The daily calls he made to me, every hour on the hour, barely eased the distance, but above all else, they were necessary for our sanity. We've learned the hard way that being apart was unhealthy and dangerous — for everyone.
Speaking of Alex.
Sitting up and glancing over at my phone, I realized that Alex hadn't called me in a few hours. The last time we talked was around ten that morning. He left with Sawyer to Juárez and would be home tomorrow. The sadness of having to sleep another night without Alex put me in a mood.
After sulking for two hours, I decided to get out of the house and get some sun, anything to take my mind off him.
But like everything else I'd done since he left to help me forget, the self-imposed exile was short-lived.
I picked up my phone and opened the contacts. My finger hovered over Alex’s name as I debated whether to call him. I promised him that I wouldn't unless there was a life or death emergency. Granted, it wasn't one of those times, but I missed his voice. Even if it was just a hello and goodbye conversation, I needed that much.
"Fuck it," I said, the decision in place, pressing down on the send button and putting the phone to my ear. It rang once and went straight to voicemail. The asshole didn't even personalize the message. I listened to the automated, robotic voice for less than a second before hanging up. "Damn it!"
There was no use in redialing. Either Alex had his phone off, or worse, he chose to ignore my call. I didn't want to resort to calling Sawyer, but it was going on over four hours, and my mind was coming up with all sorts of scenarios of why he hadn't called me.
Things so horrid and twisted.
Pushing the unruly hair from my face, I scrolled through my phone and found Sawyer's number. It rang once, twice, four times, and so on.
My heart sank with dread with every ring. I chewed the hell out of my lip and tried not to overreact.
"Come on, come on, pick up, pick up," I said to no one, but someone was listening, their strong arm around my neck and a gun forced to my left temple. I froze, and my breath stilled, eyes wide and staring out into the vast ocean. The ringing of Sawyer's line was still loud in my ears.
"Not a fucking word." A deep, rough voice overwhelmed me. The man smelled like cigarettes and peppermint. I bet he tasted like sin. "You understand?"
I nodded with a knowing smile, my hand dropping and setting my phone down.
He tightened his bicep around my throat, lessening the pressure of the muzzle of the gun against my forehead, slowly moving it down towards my chest. "Where's that piece of shit boyfriend of yours?"
"Gone," I said, and peered down at the Colt as it descended across my sweat covered skin, teetering on the outer hem of my bikini top. "He left me."
"He left you?" he asked, slipping the gun underneath the fabric, and swirling the tip of the barrel around my nipple, hardening it.
My eyes closed. "Yes."
"What a fucking idiot," he said in a low, possessive growl, gripping my face, and yanking my head to the side. Breathing me in, he trailed his nose along the pulsating vein in my neck. "If you were my girl, I would bury my face in between your legs..." I reached behind me and grasped on to his thighs, pulling him closer to my back, "…and fucking lick the shit out of that pussy every second of the day."
The thought of his tongue, flicking and plunging into me, his teeth grazing and nibbling, caused my heart to race. The blood rose to the surface and rushed down to my lower lips, throbbing, and tingling with need.
"Then do it," I said, shifting my hips up, begging for him to touch me. "Put your fucking mouth on me."
"Christ." He groaned as his will crumbled. Within in the next second, I was on my back and Alex was pinning me down with his weight. He held my face in his hands, and I wrapped my fingers around his wrists, lifting myself up as he was bending down. Our lips came crashing together.
Alex's kisses were
passionate and unyielding. He was everywhere and invaded me from the inside out. I felt the impression of his touch deep in my bones. I couldn't think or speak when he devoured me and escaping his hold would be impossible.
"Damn, baby.” He rolled off me and chuckled. “If we didn't have a house full of people, I'd fucking make good on my word."
"Kick them out," I said, running my fingers through his hair, and getting a good grip. It'd grown out into a shaggy, chaotic mess. I stared up at him as the sun reflected the lightened golden hues in a few strands of his black hair.
"Believe me, I want to..." he slipped his hand under my top and shamelessly groped me, "...fuck you so hard right now..." he sighed, "...but we can't."
Jutting my lip out in a pout, I reached down between our tightly conformed bodies and tugged on the buckle of his belt.
"God, woman.” He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to mine. “Don't fucking tempt me, all right? It's all I've been thinking about these past four days." Pinching my nipple for good measure, he removed his hand from underneath my top and sat up. "It's been fucking Hell."
Rebuffed and frustrated, my mouth started moving before my brain could intervene and shut it down. "I've probably touched myself a million times since you left, but nothing seemed to make me come. Now that's Hell."
Alex was fucking with his gun, cocking it, and popping the bullet out of the chamber, but everything just stopped when I said that. He shot me a heated, almost lustful glare. "That wasn't nice."
"Yeah, well, getting me all riled up, knowing that you couldn't finish what you started—"
"Oh, I'll fucking finish it," he interrupted, putting his hand on my thigh, and squeezing.
"When?" I asked, jerking my leg away from him.
He smirked.
"Exactly."
"Okay, you're right. It was a dick thing to do."
"Yeah, it was," I said, gathering up all my belongings and stuffing them in an oversized beach bag.