Until Death Do Us Part by Adelaide Forrest
3
Isa
Rafael disappeared from my view as he approached the plane, leaving Matteo and the other man, who’d come to collect Timofey after the first car bomb, behind him. His face lacked the fury I’d expected to see given that one of his homes had been attacked—invaded really—but his steps as he walked over the black top had been calm and measured.
Perfectly timed, the no-fuss swag that I’d come to love during our time in Ibiza showed in his gait. Even though I couldn’t see him, I imagined the slow and sensual way he would climb up the steps.
I was certain most people were quick to fear the version of Rafael that came when he sank into the place where he wanted blood. Where he accepted the violence that coursed through his veins as an intricate part of him, constant and demanding, and took pleasure in the destruction.
The few of us who knew him understood that the true version of Rafael to fear came in those moments where he went still. Where his face was calm and collected, cold and unyielding.
Unfeeling.
The devil didn’t slake his thirst for blood when he reached the deepest well of his anger, only seeking his vengeance with the kind of detachment that lacked all traces of humanity. That was the man who ruled Ibiza with an iron fist and struck fear into the hearts of his enemies.
That was the man who didn’t play with his toys before wiping them from the face of the earth without a second thought; the nightmare who didn’t care who he hurt on his way to claim everything. He wouldn’t take time to appreciate the beauty in bloodletting, but would end his enemies with a single bullet to the head and forget they existed before the corpse hit the ground.
I felt the moment he entered the back cabin, the shift in the air immediate and palpable. Even with my back turned to him, I knew each and every one of his silent steps brought him closer. Hugo only confirmed that fact when he didn’t touch me before he made his way toward the front of the plane.
Quiet whispers came in the space behind me as they discussed something I wouldn’t be privy to, and I was immediately reminded of the fact that Rafael had told his uncle he had no secrets from me.
It aggravated me more than it should have just how effectively he made that happen only when it suited him. I wanted him to be the man who treated me as his equal in truth, his partner in all things.
And yet when it came down to it, I was trapped in a bunker and drugged for my safety. Tied down to a seat on his plane for a fast escape.
I’d never be his equal, and the worst part was I couldn’t even blame him for that. Not when bullets carved through the air and flesh. Not when Rafe and his men had a lifetime of training that I would never be able to compete with.
I didn’t even want to.
Hugo’s steps retreated from the rear cabin, making their way toward the front where the rest of Rafe’s men had undoubtedly begun to gather to give us privacy. Several more SUVs pulled onto the tarmac, a notably smaller number of men than had been living with us in the house in Chicago.
My heart sank, wondering which of the familiar faces I wouldn’t see again.
Rafael distracted me by lowering himself into the seat across from me with a casual elegance that was so at odds with his appearance. Up close, the stain of blood covering his clothing was far more noticeable than it had been through the window, and it was all I could do to stare at the sheer amount of it.
There was no way the person had survived.
He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees as the sound of male voices carried from the other cabin where Hugo had left the door open. Some of the ruthless, cold expression faded from his features as his eyes met mine finally. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
I stared at him incredulously, twitching my arm against the restraint pointedly. “Untie me,” I said.
The plane doors closed at the front, the energy within the plane shifting as I watched Matteo and his men clear all the vehicles from the runway. “Not just yet,” Rafael said, holding my gaze with his. The pity and sympathy I found there drove my anxiety higher, making me struggle against the bonds that held me as the plane moved forward to get into position. He lifted a bottle of water he must have grabbed from the main cabin, uncapping it and lifting it to my lips.
I licked the suddenly dry flesh, realizing just how parched I was in the aftermath of being drugged. I’d been much more concerned with realizing I was tied down and what that might imply.
I let him pour the water into my mouth slowly, giving me breaks to swallow until I’d drained the entire thing.
“What happened?” I asked, watching as he set down the empty bottle and leaned back in his seat. The pilot’s voice came over the intercom system, instructing that we’d be taking off in just a moment. Unlike flying commercial, that meant in just a moment. The plane accelerated before Rafael could answer, but the tired expression on his face did little to reassure me. “Rafe?” I asked as soon as the worst of the takeoff was over.
The plane continued to climb, and Rafe leaned forward in his seat, having never secured his seatbelt. I imagined such things seemed foolish to men like Rafael Ibarra who stared down the barrel of a gun without fear of death.
When we reached altitude, Rafe touched his hand to my forearm. Unfastening the strap that kept it tied down, he pulled my right arm into his embrace and rubbed feeling back into the numbed limb. He was eerily quiet as he worked, focusing all his attention on his task.
I swallowed back the tears that threatened and the sinking feeling that something terrible had happened. I stared down at my arm as he placed it back on the seat and moved to my left. He repeated the process on that side while I watched.
Something inside me died when he unbuckled me and pulled me into his lap as the plane leveled off, not bothering to wait for the pilot’s instruction that we were free to roam. The blood on his clothing was dry, as if it had been there for hours, and the fact that it touched my bare skin made me immensely grateful for it.
I might have stabbed a man, but I didn’t think I was cut out to be a ruthless killer. The thought of all that blood on my skin made me nauseous. “What have you done?” I whispered, letting him tuck my face into his neck. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, he lifted me and unfolded to stand.
Making his way toward the bedroom cabin at the very rear of the plane, he carried me straight through the room and to the small bathroom off to the side. Setting me on my feet, he wordlessly started the shower before turning his attention back to me. Raising his firm, calloused hands to cup my cheeks, he leaned his forehead against mine. “Our problems will be there in the morning.”
“It is the morning,” I pointed out in a whisper.
He sighed. “Our problems will be there after we’ve both gotten some sleep. Can we just have a little while where I’m just Rafe and you’re just Isa? Without all the other bullshit and the weight of the world on our shoulders?” Something in the genuineness of his voice made me want to give him that, but the pounding dread rising in my veins made my heart race.
Rafael had never hesitated to give me bad news. To tell me things that he knew would worry me or stress me out.
Whatever had happened, had to be bad. My anxiety for Odina spiked, picturing her lying dead on the grass back at the house. Discarded, and not important enough for Rafael to bother with in his urgency to get out of the city.
I nodded in spite of my need for answers, observing his sigh of relief for the shock that it was. Whatever was bothering him, I didn't think I wanted to know.
I lifted my hands to his shirt, tugging the fabric up and over his head. It was so covered with dried blood that it crinkled as he raised his arms and let me pull it off him. Tossing it to the side, I ran my fingertips over the red stain on his skin until I reached the button of his jeans. Undoing it and shoving the denim down over his hips, I watched as he maneuvered in the small space to kick off his shoes, boxer briefs, and the pants. They joined his shirt in the corner, his hands going to my dress and raising it up over my head. His eyes dropped to my body, inspecting me for injuries as he ran his hands over me and stripped off my bra and underwear.
"Are you hurt anywhere?" he asked, the palm of his hand pressing against my belly. The meaning of the words washed over me, echoing the concern I felt.
"I don't think so. I haven't bled or anything like that, and I feel fine aside from being groggy and some sore muscles," I explained. Both seemed like they went with the territory, given I’d been hit with the blast from a bomb and drugged.
Again.
I very much looked forward to being back home on El Infierno where the night didn't erupt into an explosion and threaten to set my skin on fire.
"There will be a doctor waiting for you in New York," he said, moving to the shower.
"Why are we going to New York?" I asked, wanting nothing more than to be home.
"I have something to do quickly. We'll be safe." He stood under the spray while I watched, letting the water run red as it went down the drain. He waited it out, hanging his head and studying the swirl until it ran clear. Then he held out a hand, motioning me inside the small shower with him.
I walked forward, pressing the side of my face to his unbloodied chest. Part of me hadn't been convinced that so much blood couldn't be his, that to be that covered he would’ve had to hold the victim close. "Who?" I asked.
He shook his head, touching his lips to the top of my head firmly. "Tomorrow," he reminded me. Grabbing the bottle of shampoo off the rack hanging from the shower head, he worked it through my hair. The massage of his fingers on my scalp felt like heaven, soothing the edges of my anxiety until I practically moaned from the sensation.
It seemed like no matter what happened in our lives, Rafael would always be able to bring me to the peak of whatever emotion he hoped to wring from me. Calm, content, horny, murderous, or stabby.
He brought out the best and the worst in me.
As he rinsed the shampoo from my hair, I settled into the gentle petting of his hands on me as he helped work the suds out. He made no move to touch me sexually despite the press of my breasts against his chest, instead taking care of me in the way I hadn't known I needed. I'd missed the intimacy of it in our more intense relationship that followed the turn in Ibiza.
So while he worked the conditioner through my hair, I sank into the feeling of his hands on my scalp and brushing against my spine as he worked it through the ends. "Your hair has gotten so long," he commented, grabbing the very bottom where it brushed against the swell of my ass with my head tipped back.
"I should have it cut," I murmured, lost to the sensation of his hand on me as he grabbed a loofa and squirted body wash into it.
"Don't. I like it long," he said, twisting the length around one of his fists. Despite the efficient, caring way he ran the loofa over my body, the heat of the statement washed over me. He didn't pause on my pussy, cleaning me methodically and sighing in relief when the loofa came away without the stain of blood that might have signified something was wrong with the baby.
I took it from his grip when he finished, scrubbing away the remaining stubborn traces of blood from his skin. "How much am I going to hate you when tomorrow comes?" I whispered, watching as his face twisted with reality.
"I'm not sure," he admitted, watching me clean him. I wasn't nearly as efficient, taking comfort in what very well may be the last time I touched him so willingly. I couldn't imagine what he might have done, but I shoved it away to enjoy one last night with my husband.
Before he again became my enemy.
My body felt light, sinking into the familiar trail of his fingers through my hair as he finally rinsed out my conditioner, turning off the water and stepping out to grab a towel. He dried himself first, then pulled me free from the shower as I stumbled with the gradually increasing exhaustion that caught me in its trap.
I hadn't thought I'd be able to sleep again so soon after waking from being drugged, but the undeniable exhaustion taking over my limbs made my movements sluggish. "Let's get you to bed," he murmured, wrapping me in his embrace and guiding me back toward the bed. He pulled the blankets back for me to climb inside, sliding behind me and enfolding me into his arms.
Tears stung my eyes with the sudden realization of what might have made me so sleepy so quickly. "You drugged me again," I whispered, thinking back to the bottle of water. Only the knowledge that Rafe would never endanger the baby with a medication that wouldn't be safe gave me any comfort.
"Just let me hold you," he returned, pulling me tighter into his grip. "Tomorrow you might not."
I sucked back a sob, sinking into his warmth and trying to shove away the ominous words. There wasn't time for a second sob before my eyes drifted closed and everything faded away.
