by Teagan Kade
“I will,” I laugh, “and don’t you go working too hard.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
We sign off and I hang up, sliding the cell back into my trouser pocket and walking back towards Winter, silhouetted by the low-hanging sun.
“Who was that?” she asks.
“An old Army friend,” I reply, which isn’t technically a lie.
“You seem to have a lot of old Army friends.”
I take her hand and we start walking. “What can I say? I’m a likable guy.”
She puts her hand on my chest. “Stop it.”
“Being likable? Shit, I don’t know. It’s kind of my thing,” I smile.
We arrive at the apartment building and enter through the rear because the crowd’s so thick out front. I don’t even know what the parade’s for, but that’s the thing about living here in Miami—it’s a party a minute and you rarely know why.
Once we’re inside, I direct Winter into a small alcove under the main stairs that used to be where a payphone was located but is now a quiet nook with an ugly patch on the wall where the phone used to be.
I press Winter up against the wall and bring my lips to her neck, her arms wrapped around me. “Archer…”
“I don’t know if I can make it up the stairs you’re making me so god damn hot.”
Her words are spoken directly into my ear. “You want to have me here, don’t you?”
“You’re reading my mind.”
I run a hand down her side and lift her thigh, my fingers walking towards the heat of her sex.
My cock’s a fucking rod of steel in my pants. A little more pressure and I’m pretty sure they’re going to split.
I slowly pull the crotch of her panties away and move a testing finger towards her pussy, not surprised to find it wet, but this wet? It’s a god damn pool party down here.
“Fuck me you’re wet,” I announce.
She reaches down, rubbing my cock through my pants. “And you’re hard. Isn’t that how this works?”
I tilt my hand and the finger in question is basically sucked into her body, gliding easily to the second knuckle in her heat and wetness. It’s exquisite inside her.
I start to move it in and out, lightly pushing her up against the wall, letting the bulge of my cock press against her clit. It doesn’t matter there are layers of fabric between us, that it’s not skin on skin. The sheer friction alone sends a flush of rosy red to her cheeks, her head angling back against the wall.
I bury my nose in her hair, breathing her in, the night air mixing with the sounds of the parade outside and the whole thing a heady mess of sexuality.
I can’t believe how quickly this has escalated. I press my hard body against her, add a second finger to join the first and slowly fill her out. My free hand moves over a breast, a nipple, firm, under my hand.
I know need’s building in her core, her pussy, the way it grows wetter and hotter around my joined fingers. I continue to work them in and out, watching her with eyes the color of an upturned iceberg, watching the way she succumbs to me body and soul, the tether growing shorter and shorter.
The idea of making her come in here, in such a public space, is beyond hot.
I withdraw my fingers, the crotch of her panties coming back into place. I run the two digits into my mouth still hot with her desire, take my time tasting them in front of her and watching the way she melts in return with both shock and delight.
“That’s… hot,” she moans, struggling to get the words out properly.
I groan back as she uses the butt of her hand to press against the glans of my cock. “You want to be inside me, don’t you? Inside my warm, wet little pussy.”
“You’re getting awfully good at this dirty talk thing, you know.”
She strokes downwards to my balls. “I guess you could say I’m being taught by the best.”
“And I’ve got a lot more to teach yet.”
“Like what?”
“Like the insane pleasure taking your ass is going to provide.”
“My ass?” she laughs. “I don’t think you’d fit.”
“We’ll see about that.”
If I don’t watch out all this talk’s going to make me come before I even get my cock out of my pants, but that’s the effect Winter has on me. A single word, a simple gesture, and I’m fucking putty in her hands. It’s oddly freeing, in a way.
I’m about to take out my cock, to slide it in when I hear the rear door click open and someone enter with what sounds like grocery bags.
“Wait here,” I mouth, stepping out just as one of the guys from the lower levels enters.
“Oh, hi,” he says, wrestling with his grocery bags.
“How you doing?” he asks.
“Good, man. Good.”
He gives me a smile and shifts past me, completely oblivious to Winter still with her back against the wall in the nook.
I consider finishing the job, but it’s peak hour at the apartment block, people constantly coming in and out. I don’t think one of my fellow residents finding me engaged in hot, sloppy coitus will go down too well with the building owners.
I reach out for Winter’s hand. “Come on,” I say. “We’ll finish this upstairs.”
“Only if I get to come first,” she says, peeling herself from the wall and flattening her skirt down.
I growl as she comes out into the hallway, leaning forward to kiss her, to taste that sweet mouth I’ve been craving all damn day. “As you wish.”
Giggling like a couple of teenagers, we head up the stairs.
On our way up, a door to our left swings open, a woman in her eighties poking her cotton wool head out. “You having a party or something up there, Archie?”
I stop, can’t be bothered correcting her. “Mrs. McKinsley, how are you?”
“Sounds like you’ve got a pack of elephants stomping around. You know the rules about parties and gatherings. Anything like that must…”
“…be approved by management,” I finish. “I know the rules, Mrs. McKinsley. Are you sure it wasn’t the parade outside?”
“Is the parade happening on the floor above me, wise-ass? No, it’s damn well not.”
“Alright, Mrs. McKinsley.”
She gives a sharp ‘hmpf’. “Well, keep it the hell down, will you? Some of us are trying to watch Jeopardy, you know.”
“Nice to see you too, Mrs. McKinsley,” I salute, though it’s to a closed door.
“Neighbors,” I shrug to Winter, who laughs beside me.
“She didn’t seem very friendly.”
“After the racket we’ve been making, do you blame her?”
But as I think on it, I’m pretty sure that’s not what Mrs. McKinsley is talking about. I’ve had girls up in the apartment who could shatter glass they were screaming so hard, girls you’d think I was murdering with my cock up there, but no one’s ever complained, least of all Mrs. McKinsley with her hearing aids all amped up.
It’s curious, is what it is.
“Everything alright?” asks Winter, sensing the shift in my demeanor.
“I’m not sure,” I reply cryptically.
I get a strange feeling as we ascend the stairs leading to my apartment. It deepens when we reach the hall and I see the front door’s open.
Fuck me.
I push Winter around my waist. “Stay behind me, okay?” I tell her.
Her eyes are wide and I know what she’s thinking, but I’ve got to be sure and I don’t want her downstairs or out in the open.
I move slowly past the threshold, listening for anything in the apartment, but it appears quiet.
I wait and move inside, and that’s when I know we’re in deep, deep fucking shit.
“Oh, my god,” says Winter, moving out from behind me.
The entire apartment has been trashed. Every print and painting on the wall has been ripped down and torn apart. Even the carpet’s been shredded and lifted up. The kitchen cupboards are open, plates and sa
ucers forming a demolition pile of porcelain on the floor.
Now I realize what Mrs. McKinsley was talking about.
I fight down the shock and move carefully to the bedrooms and bathroom, but they’ve suffered the same fate.
I stop and allow myself to think, Winter still standing in the middle of the lounge with her hands on her head.
So the cartel knows she’s here. They came looking for her. That’s clear. When they couldn’t find her they tossed the place, but looking for what? Or maybe they weren’t looking at all. Maybe they were just pissed off.
I know one thing is certain: They’ll be back.
“It’s not safe here anymore,” I tell Winter, trying to be as direct and honest with her as possible, trying my hardest not to freak her out.
“Don’t worry,” I continue, “I’ve got somewhere we can go, but we’ll need to leave now.”
I take her face by the chin, directing her eyes to mine when I see them shift away to survey the damage. “It’s just stuff, okay? Stuff can be replaced. You cannot.”
That gets through. I see some of that tiger spirit I saw earlier at the airfield return to her eyes. “Okay,” she repeats.
I know whoever did this could come back anytime. Hell, they might even be watching us right now, watching the building.
There’s no time to pack. As calmly as possible, I rush us down the stairs, stopping at my mailbox on the lower level and taking out my key. I open it and take the envelope from inside, the envelope containing all the notes Winter wrote about the cartel’s operation. I figured it would be the safest place for it, thought somewhere way back in my head this might happen. That’s part of being a lifeguard. You’ve got to anticipate conditions, to think ahead.
I’m about to lead us out the front doors when I think better of it.
“We’ll go out the side, through the garage,” I announce. “Just in case.”
“Are we going to be okay?” Winter asks.
I nod, opening the door leading to the basement. “We’ll be just fine.”
But in reality, I’m not so sure.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WINTER
If the threat wasn’t real before, seeing Archer’s apartment tossed like that brings it into perfect, terrifying focus. They were so close.
The first thing Archer did was leave his cell there. He bought another from a service station, said he was lucky he had a head for phone numbers.
Day has turned to night and everything somehow seems sharper, more dangerous. I keep checking the side mirror expecting to see a suspicious car there, the cartel come to claim me back.
Have I thought about going to Archer’s police friend? Of course I have. After all, Archer said I could trust him, but back in Cuba the police were as corrupt as the cartel members themselves—often worse because they were already in a position of power, basically untouchable. The whole thing makes me sick to my stomach.
Archer has been quiet as we drive. From time to time he’ll reach across and stroke my cheek, squeeze my leg in reassurance, and while I do feel safer with him, losing this second skin of unease I’m wearing is proving impossible.
Two hours of driving and the lights of Miami are left behind for a complete sort of darkness only the countryside can provide. But this is unlike any countryside I’ve known. The foliage is thick, an earthy smell creeping into the cabin of the truck as we work our way deeper into what Archer tells me are the Everglades.
Finally, we turn down a narrow single-lane dirt road flanked by tall, twisting trees, moonlight flashing between them. Another ten minutes bumping and rolling along, what sounds like a stick stuck in the undercarriage, we reach our destination.
Archer brings the truck to a stop, the headlights illuminating a small log cabin that looks direct from Deliverance. Without the sound of the engine and tires, you can hear the swamp—the calls and whistles of strange creatures in the night.
Archer’s still holding the steering wheel, staring at it. “It’s not much, I know, but it’s completely off the grid. We’ll be safe here.”
“Is the cabin yours?” I ask.
“It was my grandfather’s, actually. He lived here for almost thirty years after his wife died, went walking one day out in the swampland and never came back. They think the gators took him, but no one knows for sure.”
“That’s not helping.”
He attempts a smile, switching off the headlights. “You’re right. I’m sorry, but it has a bit of hillbilly charm to it, right? It’ll be like an adventure.”
“But we can’t stay here forever, hiding,” I protest.
“Just until I can come up with a plan,” he says, opening his door and starting to step out.
I pop my door open and join him outside. The air is thick and muggy, heavy humidity that feels like a blanket wrapping around you wherever you walk.
He points to the cabin. “You can go on. It’s unlocked. There’s a gas lantern just as you walk past the door, a bunch of firewood out back if you want to get it started.”
I smile and try to remember his words: It will be like an adventure.
I look around and realize he’s right. There’s no way the cartel’s going to be able to find us here. It really is the middle of nowhere, so deep and far in the sticks not even a satellite could find it.
Archer squats down next to the rear wheel of his truck, looking under the wheel arch. “I’m just going to see if I find the damn stick we picked up on the way.”
“Sounded more like the whole tree,” I note.
I leave him to it and head inside, finding the gas lantern and turning it on. It slowly lights what is a small but cozy space. It’s not going to win any interior design awards, but it’s far more well-furnished than it appears from the outside.
I’m about to head out back when the front door bursts open, Archer standing there, his face white.
“What is it?” I ask, whipping around.
He holds up something in his fingers. It’s small and black, looks a bit like a garage door remote with a single, blinking red LED. “We’ve got to go.”
“Is that a…”
“I think it’s a tracking device, yes. Someone planted it under the wheel arch. If it wasn’t for that fucking stick… but we need to go, and we need to go now.”
We just got here, I want to say, almost too tired to move again, but I know every second counts.
I nod and we both race back to the truck, Archer throwing the tracker into the scrub.
We both swing inside the truck cabin simultaneously, Archer turning the engine over and a rooster-tail of dirt flying up from the back of the truck as we do a full one eighty and skid back towards the one-way road we came in on.
Archer’s breathing harder than normal. “I don’t know how good the signal is. It might have dropped out around here. Still,” he says, “we’ve got to move.” He slams his foot down, the truck fish-tailing down the road.
That safety net is gone and familiar dread worms its way right back into my gut.
We’re five minutes down the road when I spot lights in the distance, coming the other way. I point. “Look.”
Archer slams on the brakes, clouds of dust washing forward, lighting up the headlight beams. “Shit. It’s got to be them.”
“What do we do?” I ask frantically. “We can’t go back. It’s a dead end.”
I can tell Archer’s thinking, tapping into that well-practiced calm his job demands. “Hang on,” he says, throwing the truck into reverse and turning the wheel hard, the truck leaving the road and crashing through the scrub to the side.
I look out the window and see the lights getting closer, moving fast.
Archer settles the truck about ten feet from the road, moving back until the truck won’t go any further, and cuts the headlights, the din of the swamp returning.
All we can do is wait.
They’re going to see us, I think. They’re going to see us and we’ll be dead. My father is going to lose his only child.
As if reading my thoughts, Archer reaches across and takes my hand. “We’re going to get out of this. You understand?”
I nod.
The lights get brighter and then suddenly overpowering, but when the vehicles arrive, plural, they blast right past where we’re sitting in the scrub, hidden from the road.
Archer waits until they’re gone, an excruciatingly long time. “Okay,” he says, turning the key and engine rumbling to life ahead, “I figure we’ve got maybe five, ten minutes to haul ass out of here.”
“And then what?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’ve got no fucking idea.”
I’m thrown back against my seat again as the truck drives out of our little hidey hole, swinging back onto the single-lane road, a steely determination settling on Archer’s face as we make our escape.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ARCHER
I look over to where Winter’s asleep against the passenger window, passing cars illuminating her on and off.
It’s tearing me up. I’m doing my best to keep her safe, but it seems like a losing battle. It seems the more I try to help the further I’m digging us down into the shit.
If I’m honest with myself, I don’t know a way out of this. It’s us, the two of us, against one of the biggest drug cartels in the world, and they don’t fuck around when they want their property back.
Did you really think you could take them on? I ask myself. One guy against an army?
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and concentrate on driving, just focus on the lines of the highway. Billboards and signs pass by, but I still don’t know where we’re headed. I keep a tight eye on the rear-view. I expected us to be followed, but so far I can’t pick up a tail.
I consider, for probably the tenth time in an hour, driving us straight to the police station and getting Liam involved, but I know if I did the trust Winter has so carefully placed in me will be lost. I’m not willing to put what I have built with her at jeopardy just yet.
There’s not going to be a relationship if she’s dead, my head interrupts bluntly.
The thought is too terrible to consider.
I check my watch. It’s just past midnight and I still don’t have a plan of action.