What are we going to do? Where are we going to go?
T W E N T Y - S I X
Ben—Present
Isla Culebrita, Puerto Rico
TWO DAYS LATER, exactly one month after we got to the island, I begin the process of uncovering my boat from its hiding place. The sun has begun to set. Nina and I agreed it would be safest to travel at night, to keep a low profile. Removing the palm fronds, I toss them to the side and pull the boat down to the shore. I jog back to the lighthouse and grab the duffel bag, which Nina diligently packed this morning.
We have a plan. After two days wracking our brains for a solution, we have something that might actually work. It’s complicated, but hopefully we won’t have to use it. I’m putting all of my faith into my relationship with Sandler. He was my mentor for eleven years. He was very close to Henry Cosway. If I could spin this in a way—a way that wouldn’t totally be lying—we might have a chance at getting away scotch free. It wasn’t desertion. It was love…
And if it fails, I have a contact—one guy, to be precise—who lives in San Juan. He doesn’t exactly deal in legal things, per se, and I only know this because our team has been tracking him. He doesn’t officially work for the cartel, but he makes their lives easier in certain ways: fake passports, boats built with hidden compartments, tunnels, and most importantly, bribery. If Sandler is pissed, we will contact Fernando.
We’re going to sail to Isla Culebra and stay in a small, local motel for the night. The next day, we’ll lay low as I make contact with Sandler. We’ll put the wheels in motion, Nina will make her calls, and then hopefully, with Sandler’s blessing, by this time tomorrow night we’ll be on our way to Copenhagen. From there, we’ll figure out where to go next. I’m trying not to think too much about our Plan B.
I’ve been going over what I’m going to say to Sandler. There’s a good chance that I’ll be fine—as long as I tell him the truth. He’s always been big on honesty—it’s gotten him to where he is today—so I’m hoping by telling him about Nina and laying everything on the table, he’ll at least accept my resignation without a price on my head. Hell, he might even fire me. I’m fine with that.
If we have to use our Plan B, on the other hand… that scares me. I’ve pissed a lot of people off in Puerto Rico. Black Operation is usually given permission to kill in any way possible. We get the details, and then we kill—no questions asked. We’re the good guys, in a roundabout way. We kill the bad guys. But the bad guys have family and friends who hate us. If any of the bad guys were to find out I was Black Ops, I’d be dead in a heartbeat. We have to be really careful until we’re out of the country.
To be honest, I’m more worried about Nina. I didn’t have a plan when it came to her, and I still don’t really have a plan when it comes to her, but it’s obvious that she doesn’t want to return to her old life. I’m glad she wants to stay with me—for very selfish reasons, of course. I try not to think about it too much, because if I do, it consumes me. This morning, for example… we made love and then she turned over, her skin dewy and pale, and she whispered into my ear. “I can’t wait to start over with you,” she said, and I couldn’t help but frown. I almost wish she wanted to go back. She’d be safer. And yeah, Copenhagen will be safe, if we get there… but there’s always a chance someone from my past will find me. There’s a big chance that my selfishness will hurt her at some point, and I’m not sure I’m ready to risk her life for my happiness.
As I walk down the stone steps to the boat, I spot Nina standing next to the small metal vessel, watching the sunset with her hands on her hips. The aching feeling I’ve been experiencing for weeks—the same one that stops me dead in my tracks and renders me unable to breath—paralyzes me. I’m bewitched by her. Everything about her causes my senses to go wild. The smell of peppermint toothpaste. The feel of her cool, soft skin against my own burning skin. The taste of her sex—it drives me mad. I don’t know how we’re supposed to move on from here, but she’s right. We have to try.
“Do you have everything?” I ask, eyeing her backside for a second before her head turns.
“I didn’t exactly pack a suitcase,” she retorts, her face deadpan. She has this untamable gumption, like a wild horse being held captive… free-spirited and fierce. The woman loves to talk back, and she always thinks she’s right. I never tell her otherwise, because I’m pretty sure she gets off on arguing. Maybe that’s why I trust her judgement. She’s a woman not easily swayed by a man.
I smile and slap her butt. “Let me just grab a few things. I’ll be back.”
I turn and walk up the stairs. Inside the lighthouse, I do one final sweep, ensuring everything is put away. Luckily, the tourists from Isla Culebra know that the lighthouse is a private residence. That doesn’t stop the thieves, but I doubt there’s anything worth taking left.
Closing the door, I lock it and walk down the steps. Nina is already sitting on the metal bench in the boat. Eager little kitty. I do a double take.
“Are you… wearing makeup?” I ask incredulously.
She shrugs. “I keep my makeup in my purse,” she says, grinning and patting her green bag next to her feet. “I wanted to feel pretty.”
“You don’t need makeup to look pretty. You’re a fucking Goddess as is,” I say under my breath, bending down and securing my bag and the supplies I’ve brought for our short journey. When I look up, she’s watching me with mixed emotions. Her eyes blink quickly, and a pink flush rushes to her pale cheeks.
“Thanks,” she mumbles. “You’re not so bad yourself, Harry.”
I roll my eyes. “Enough,” I growl, wincing at my new nickname. She’s been calling me Prince and Harry all week, much to my chagrin. The sun begins to dip below the horizon. “We can leave in about an hour.” I climb over the bench and plop down next to her. She takes my hand without saying anything. Once it’s fully dark, all I’ll have to do is push the boat out. We both face the lighthouse, and Nina sighs contentedly.
“I’m excited,” she whispers.
When I look over at her, she’s watching me with adoration and awe. “Nina,” I start, wincing. “Look, in case anything happens, I want you to do one thing for me. Okay?”
She averts her eyes and looks down at the shoes she’s wearing. “Nothing’s going to happen. To either of us.”
I sigh. “Just… if we do run into a predicament, we might have to separate. You might have to run. If I tell you to run, will you?”
She glares at me with screwed up brows. “I won’t leave you.”
I squeeze her hand. “Just in case,” I whisper. “We’re not leaving until you promise.”
She blows out a frustrated breath of air. “Fine. I promise.”
I have to suppress the start of laughter that threatens to bubble in my throat at her petulant statement. “Thank you, Nina. I’ll protect you, but in case anything happens…” I trail off, not wanting to think about the possibilities.
“I can protect myself, thank you very much.” She crosses her arms and gives me a wry smile.
I throw my hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine.” I bend down to kiss her gently, my lips grazing hers. It ignites the same fiery thread between us—the same one that causes me to fall into bed every night from exhaustion. Constantly fucking wears me down. “You ready?”
The sun has long since disappeared below the horizon, and the stars are starting to come out. In ten minutes, we’ll be cloaked in darkness.
“Yeah.” She looks back at the island. “Bye, Isla Culebrita,” she whispers.
We push the boat down the sandy beach, nudging it into the water. By the time we get going, the sky is a deep, navy blue. “Anchors aweigh,” I joke, sitting down opposite of Nina and grabbing the oars.
“Remember when you handcuffed me to the metal over there?” she asks, pointing to a spot near my right foot.
I scowl. “I do. And I can assure you, if I ever use those handcuffs on you again, it’ll be for a very different reason,” I say, my voice gruff.
I think I see her blush, but I can’t really tell because it’s so dark.
“Mmm, I’d like that,” she answers, her voice low and smoky.
I watch her in the dark. “Don’t tempt me.”
“It could be our very own mile-high club, except instead of an airplane, we fuck on a boat.”
I love it when she uses the word fuck. It’s vulgar and sexy. Kind of like her. “The mile-out club?” I suggest.
“You should patent it,” she murmurs. I can feel her watching me in the dark.
“Don’t distract me or we’ll get lost at sea.”
“YOLO,” she breathes, moving over to where I sit.
I stare at her, confused. “What’s YOLO?”
She giggles. “You only live once,” she answers. I hiss when I feel her hands on my jeans.
“Nina,” I warn. “What are you doing?” I can barely make out her shadow. I see her head bow down and I feel her lower my zipper. With her teeth. “Nina,” I repeat, but it’s no use. I’ve been hard since she mentioned the handcuffs.
She doesn’t say anything as her tongue grazes the tip of my erection. I thrust up into her instinctively, the jolt of forceful pleasure all-consuming. I feel her soft hand begin to stroke me. With as much willpower as I can muster, I continue rowing, the oars in my hands barely grazing her head in my lap. There’s something so hot about gliding through the water while she’s down on her knees. If I’d known boat sex was a thing, I would’ve tried it a long time ago. Then again, I’ve had many firsts with Nina: first time having sex in the lighthouse. First time having sex in the ocean. First time having sex without a condom.
“Ben,” she moans, and my eyes snap back to reality. I’ve adjusted to the darkness, and I can see her other hand wildly pleasuring herself underneath her shorts.
Fuck. Me.
“Who are you, and what have you done with my childhood best friend,” I rasp, trying my best to keep my eyes focused and open as the sweet feeling of her tongue flicking the head of my cock overtakes me. Jesus, she’s going to make me come soon.
She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she makes her own small noises of pleasure. I’m rowing so slowly now—unable to concentrate on anything but the feeling her mouth is driving out of me.
“Oh God,” she moans, and her voice sets me off.
“Fuck,” I whisper, closing my eyes tightly and feeling the ripples of an orgasm tear through me. “Holy fuck, Nina,” I say, my voice hoarse. I sit there with my eyes closed as my body comes down from the high. When I open my eyes, I see that we’re completely still in the water. I languidly start rowing again, my breathing heavy.
“Now we can say we’ve joined the mile-out club,” she says, sitting up and wiping her mouth off.
I laugh. “You realize that’s not actually a thing,” I say, my voice light.
She laughs too, and I feel my heart warm with something so familiar, so powerful, it almost causes me to fall over. I want this. I want a life with her. She makes me happy—happier than I’ve ever been. I smile when I feel her zip my pants back up, taking care of business like a goddamn champion.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice sounding weak against the vastness of the ocean.
“You’re welcome,” she replies, coming over and sitting across from me. “Are we almost there?” she asks, the lightness gone from her voice.
My chest begins to collapse—the bubble has to burst sometime. There’s always a reminder of where we’re going and what might happen with us. We’re rowing a boat in the middle of the fucking ocean. We’re in the middle of step one of a covert operation. As much as I want it, our life cannot be all laughter and blowjobs. It’s risk and murder and kidnapping. It’s darkness and hiding. Maybe tomorrow, everything will be different.
We stay quiet for the remainder of the boat ride. About an hour in, I begin to see the dark outline of land and small, dotted lights. My arms are burning from the rowing, but I push us there faster. One step down, a million to go. If I can get us there safely—if I can get us into the motel I remember from my last time here—we will be okay. For tonight at least.
Isla Culebra is like a larger, populated version of Isla Culebrita. There’s no lighthouse, but there is a restaurant with patrons dining on the beachfront patio. I pull the boat to the right of it, trying to act nonchalant as we hop out and drag the boat up to the sand. I tie it to one of the pillars on the small jetty. Nina cleans her sandy feet off in the water, watching the people at the restaurant.
“Did they see us?” she asks, biting her lip and clutching her purse.
I shrug. “If they did, I doubt they care. People often travel by boat around here. It’s the easiest way to get from island to island.” Looking her over, my eyes flick to the people eating two-hundred feet away. “Here,” I say quickly, reaching into the duffel bag and grabbing my baseball hat. “Just in case.”
She places it on her head and tucks her hair inside. “Good?”
I smile and kiss the tip of her nose. “Still cute.”
She wrinkles her nose and stands on her tippy toes to kiss me. Our lips barely meet when someone interrupts us.
“¿Está usted en su luna de miel?” a woman asks, walking hand in hand with a man along the beach. I jump at her words. I didn’t see anyone when we pulled up.
I smile and nod. “Sí.”
“Felicidades,” she replies, and they continue walking away from us. When I look down at Nina, her face is white.
“That was close,” she says, letting out a long breath of air.
“You speak Spanish?” I ask, eyeing her with wide eyes.
She snorts. “It’s kind of prerequisite for my job. And just so you know, I also speak French and Italian.”
I pull my head back and look at her. “I’m impressed,” I say, my voice in awe.
She smirks. “Why did you say we were on our honeymoon?” The tone of her voice changes from self-assured to timid.
I shrug and pull her toward the restaurant. “It was easier than explaining our situation,” I tease.
She relaxes. “Do you think anyone will recognize me?”
I stare at the white sand ahead of us. “I hope not.”
I feel her eyes on my face, but I continue looking forward. Ever present. Ever aware. I have to protect us.
“You don’t sound very sure.”
“Because I’m not sure,” I answer, squeezing her hand. “Just trust me, okay?”
She doesn’t respond for several seconds. When she does, her conviction assures me that we’re doing the right thing by being together.
“Always,” she whispers. “Always, Benny.”
The sweat is what wakes me up first—the sticky, damp feeling of a soaked-through shirt. I open my eyes, letting them adjust to the darkness while I steady my breathing. My heart is still racing a mile a minute. I reach out and I’m surprised to find Nina’s hand—her small, warm hand. Right. I’m at the Cosway’s house tonight.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Nina stirs next to me. Her chest finds its place against my back. She must be sleeping. I hope she’s having good dreams.
My father… that’s who I was running from in my dream. The fear was all too real.
Nina’s arm drapes over my body, and I’m overcome with a strange sensation.
Comfort.
I grab her hand and clasp mine around it, saying a silent prayer for Nina Cosway. She stirs, and I will my body to become still. I want her to think I’m asleep—I don’t want her to worry about me.
“I hear what you say in your nightmares,” she whispers, startling me. “Every night you stay over, it’s the same thing. Don’t hurt her. Oh, Benny…” she pulls me closer into her, wrapping her small body around mine. “No one is ever going to hurt me. I have you.”
I swallow thickly. “I know.”
“And I’ll never leave,” she adds, quieter this time. I’m embarrassed she heard that part, too.
“I know,” I repeat, trying to be brave. For her. For us. “We’ll always be fr
iends,” I add, gripping her hand tighter. She responds by nuzzling her face into my neck. She smells good—like honeysuckle and lime.
“Always, Benny.”
T W E N T Y - S E V E N
Nina—Present
Isla Culebra, Puerto Rico
I SUPPOSE BECAUSE of the baseball cap, no one stares at me for too long as we make our way past the restaurant and onto a small strip of motels and bars. People are out and about. It’s not nearly as busy as San Juan, but this island is definitely way more populated than I expected. I keep my head down as Ben leads us through the street. He’s carrying his duffel bag close to his other side, and he has a small bag filled with dinner, breakfast, and water for us. I’m carrying my purse, and I hope I don’t look too out of place. I tried to make my outfit as trendy as possible, with one shoulder of the grey t-shirt hanging off and black boxers. If I saw myself on the street, I don’t think I’d bat an eye. Beach clothes.
“It’s just up there,” Ben says quietly, pointing to a small motel at the end of the street. It backs up to a small hill, and old lampposts guide us along. It’s called Motel 16, and it reminds me of a typical American motel. “Why don’t you wait out front while I run in. Okay? I don’t want them to recognize you. And chances are, every hotel and motel in Puerto Rico was faxed a picture of you.”
I nod, swallowing the nervous lump in my throat. I have to wipe my hands on my shorts every few seconds, and I can feel my skin prickle with cold sweat. On the island, we were safe. We didn’t have everything we needed, but we had each other. Here, anything is possible. Here, everything could be yanked away from us in an instant. I sit down on the curb of the sidewalk as Ben walks into the motel lobby. I see him point to himself, and then he hands the burly man behind the desk a twenty-dollar bill, enough for a night of luxury in Puerto Rico. Not a minute later, he has a key in hand, and he gestures for me to follow him. I’m careful not to look suspicious.
“I told him my wife was feeling sick, and that you were waiting out here in case you needed to throw up.”
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