Fall by Autumn Archer
13
I thought it would be easier to disappear, than watch beija flor fly away.
Clearly that was a foolish assumption because I can’t bring myself to look out at the maze of cabins under the flight path to civilization. The extravagant resort I’ve created from drug money. A hidden world I’ve built from dirt, grit and revenge.
I’ve left Iris in my Oasis with her injured cub and good intentions—and a grip on my violent heart.
By now she will have found out from Sal I’ve disappeared. That I’ve arranged a new passport for her under an alias name to allow a safe passage into the United Kingdom. If she honors my identity with secrecy, then I’ll wipe out the deceased files and return her life to normal.
Once the bad news of a gunfight broke, I knew I had to leave immediately. The chance of Miguel escaping is too much of a risk. I’ve waited years to sink the guy. It doesn’t matter that I want one more night with Iris, even if it prolongs the inevitable. Miguel knew my men were coming, and Iris fogs my mind. It was time to go.
Saying that one word, goodbye, would have been too intense and emotionally revealing. How could I explain the turmoil inside of me and then walk away? I’m screwed either way. So what did I do instead of spilling my heart out? I decided to fuck the woman for absolution instead. It was meant to be a quick snip of our magnetic ties. Christ, what a mistake.
The second I saw her, the world stopped spinning, and all the anger pumping in my veins calmed. When I sank into her heat, it felt like home. It took all my resolve not to crawl inside her and stay there.
Our electric connection hit a level so much higher than primitive sex. Her warm body responded to every stroke and kiss. Two hearts drummed out a rhythm of affinity. Iris owned me with every breath and genuine look of understanding.
Finding myself in her eyes was too intense for words and too meaningful for a title. I belong with her, and she belongs with me, but I have a critical undertaking to follow through on.
I breathe in to pull my shit together. The tattered inhalation only makes my ribs twinge and drives my hands into my hair. Then I punch the fuselage. My knee bounces up and down. A rush of adrenaline races through me with jitters. The headset compressed to my ears deadens sound, so all I can hear is my damn conscience. I stare out at the tropical skyline and debate giving the order to circle back.
I don’t.
Even though I’ll never kiss beija flor again.
It’s over.
She’s free.
The clean T-shirt clinging to my chest becomes awfully claustrophobic, growing damp with a nauseating sweat. Loss and grief crests over me in a tidal wave of emotions until I’m flooded in regret.
Miguel is the reason I’m flying away from her. He’s the man who killed my pregnant sister and watched as we both went up in flames. But the joke is on him. I got out alive, even if my heart turned to ash. Nothing will give me as much pleasure as taking my sweet time to kill him. I’ve existed through extreme loneliness before, and I’ll damn well do it again.
I inhale the motivation and let it free in a controlled jet of air. My feelings for a woman won’t swap out the drive for justice because the truth is, women have the potential to make the world deadly too.
That’s why Sal’s update caught me off guard. I was distracted. The heist should have run like clockwork. It was a simple extraction that escalated into a massacre. My men came under fire in the abandoned building, while I was helping my beija flor play vet with a wild animal.
The pickup team was ambushed in Brasilia. They shot two of our guys dead, and one other is bleeding out. From what I can gather, Luiz took a bullet to his thigh. Without medical attention, I’m not sure if their wounds are fatal.
Once we arrive on site, the medics will patch up their wounds and transport both survivors to the medical facility for urgent treatment. The good news is, their death wasn’t in vain. My skilled combat team demolished the enemy in the shootout. Except for Miguel. He’s cuffed and unconscious. When he eventually opens his reptilian eyes, I’ll welcome him to Hell, inject the truth serum into his heart and delve into his mind.
I’m getting closer to the truth.
I could have instructed my men to clean up the mess without me, but this is too personal. I’m too invested in the outcome. The fucker won’t know what has hit him when he finds himself in my territory and my gloves finally come off. Secrets will flow and blood will spill.
The shit show I’m heading into won’t be easy to stomach. In a last-minute rush, I hand-picked a troop of men to join the rescue operation. When we arrive in the city, I’ll need level headedness and discipline. The way my mind works now, I could easily pop a cap in his skull without all this bullshit. That rash move would be counterintuitive.
A splintering pain shoots into my ribcage, forewarning a possible heart attack.
Beija flor.
I groan inwardly, knowing this is all my fault. I knew the instant a flare lit up the dark sky that the goddess kneeling under its warning light would change everything. I should have walked away and ignored the niggle of intrigue. Blindfolding her and dumping her on a seaplane going anywhere that wasn’t near me would have been the right thing to do.
At first, I prayed she was a spy to make it easier to hate her. Then she’d be banished with a simple command. As fate would have it, the woman gave me truths, even without my serum. She was caught up in the confusion too, taking cover from the grenades of desire exploding between us. I quickly concluded she was innocent and worthy of so much more. When I was with her, or simply thinking of her, she harmonized the pandemonium of planned assassinations. Her presence had a way of soothing my distrusting mind like no one else could.
Iris Kitson unearthed the man lost in the jungle.
I fed an obsession and lost control of my senses, failing to see the real threat. Miguel. He knew the arranged meeting was a set up. I’ve studied his moves for long enough to know he usually travels with two men, not a full entourage with enough ammunition to take out an Amazonian village.
It’s a crucial detail I missed. A vital piece of information that put lives at risk and resulted in bloodshed. All because I entertained the pathetic notion of love, or lust or whatever the hell this unbalanced mania is.
I bend forward, cradling my head in my hands. Squeezing my eyes shut helps me focus on the mission ahead, except I can still taste her. A sweet sinful flavor lingers on my lips from our very last kiss.
Iris.
Beija flor.
It doesn’t matter what her name is now. Her safety is secured, and I’m back on track, flexed and ready for war. I’m thankful for the reprieve of space that traveling alone offers. It hides my obvious spiral from any suggestion of tameness. No one needs to witness my heart dying all over again and use it against me.
A fresh wave of nausea ripples over me. The chopper glides through the clouds, now miles away from my domain. My comfort zone. I stare out of the window and cut up the tough decision to consider Iris’s well-being—and put project el Fantasma first.
Growling inwardly, I retrain the agony of grief once again and turn it into wrath. Invisible shutters slam into place, and they crush my fucked-up emotions behind the barrier. Deep breaths help to center the anguish, and imagining Miguel’s gruesome death strengthens my resolve.
Populated acres of landscape undulate below. Creatures survive in the wild, breath after breath. They understand the undercurrent of life––kill or be killed––control or be controlled.
I snarl at the stupidity of my broken heart. What the hell did I expect? She deserves a future, and I’m a lost cause who can’t see past the next few hours.
Fury crowns the concept of happiness with immovable fused steel. Violence shakes the hands curled on my thighs. Retribution rolls through my blood. Hot coals turn to pellets of hail.
I sit tall and press my spine into the seat, preparing to meet my sister’s killer after all these years. A sickly necessity for murder creeps from my brain to my heart, snuffing out the humanity that no longer serves me. The vital muscular organ within my ribcage scarcely beats. It continues to pump cold blood so I’m alive, even though I’m dead inside.
This is my future.
Zero attachments to weaken my self-control.
No return trips to Heaven in a pursuit for intimacy.
Miguel will fill in the blanks.
Then I'll rip him apart.
Finally.
Justly.
That is the only certainty in my godforsaken existence.
And then I’ll move on to the next target.
Goodbye, beija flor.
