“…I’m sorry?”
“Stand up. Stay low.”
The engines scream higher. The plane starts its run.
Alejandro swears, then does exactly what I tell him. He plants his feet in the sidecar, crouched, bracing himself with one hand, the other gripping the corner of his gun’s case fixed on his back. The wind is savage now, tearing at us, trying to rip him free.
I keep my hands steady on the bars, my body loose but controlled, eyes flicking between the runway and the monster behind us. The plane is coming in hot and heavy, nose down, unstoppable.
“You get one shot,” I shout over the roar. “Don’t miss.”
“Oh, Picarita,” He laughs, sharp and feral. “I never miss.”
I hold us steady as long as I can, then angle just enough to line him up.
“Now!”
Alejandro launches.
He clears the gap clean, slams into the landing gear housing, and locks on, body swinging violently, gun case banging against the housing before he finds purchase. The plane is still grounded, wheels pounding the runway, engines screaming as it eats distance.
He looks back at me, one arm already outstretched.
I gun the bike harder, chasing him, balancing on instinct alone as the Harley screams at its absolute limit. My eyes flick between him and the plane’s nose.
Not yet… not yet.
I rise, feet coming up onto the seat, body centered,patient, the bike steady beneath me despite the wind tearing at my clothes and the wig fixed to my head.
The runway is disappearing fast but I’ve got to hit this perfect.
Alejandro’s brown eyes are locked onto me with an intensity I’ve rarely seen, and he gives me one nod. He’s ready.
The nose lifts and that’s the moment. My body coils back, all muscles tense and I jump.
The plane surges upward as I launch, the ground falling away beneath me in a dizzying drop. Alejandro catches me mid-air, forearm to forearm, the impact ripping a grunt from both of us.
“Got you.”
The pressure is brutal now, wind screaming past, the aircraft climbing hard as I dangle beneath it, legs kicking uselessly.
Alejandro growls, face contorted with effort as he holds me, and I swing my free arm again and again until my fingers finally lock around his wrist with both hands.
He shifts, finds leverage, then lets go with one hand long enough to grab me properly. With a raw shout, he hauls me up as the landing gear begins to retract, massive machinery folding inward around us.
We scramble, half climbing, half dragging each other into the belly of the plane just as the doors close.
The noise drops to a muffled roar. The chaos is gone.
I toss my backpack and collapse onto my back. Arms spread, chest heaving, staring up at nothing, and alive in a way that feelsalmost offensive.
I laugh first. I can’t help it.
“That,” I say between breaths, “was fun.”
Alejandro, sitting back on his heels, hands on his thighs and panting just as heavy as I am, turns his head, wild disbelief pinching his face. “I’m never traveling with you again.”
* “Your mother is abitch,”
