Mexico that had no affiliations with the Five Points.
TheFamigghiahad some connections, and I’d pulled a few strings, but dammit to hell if this wasn’t a dumb move.
My plans to kidnap them from the airport had gone awry when I’d realized they’d checked in and had passed through security already.
I’d had a white, unmarked van parked outside until very recently with Chad behind the wheel. Now, I had no choice but to travel out of the country to keep their asses safe.
And despite that, and after having talked to her, I wasn’t sure what perplexed me the most.
The fact that she knew Currau and had gotten him to speak when my siblings and I had speculated over him joining some kind of nonverbal monastery while in prison.
The fact that she’d approached me and promised she wasn’t trying to marry Currau to access his wealth.
Or the fact that I’d managed to keep my cool when I’d seen her walk toward me in ridiculously high heels and a skirt so short it begged me to slide my hands up it.
She was beautiful in scrubs.
It should have primed me for seeing her in real life and in nice clothes, but nothing had prepared me for the reality.
A reality that told me just by breathing, she was in danger from assholes who’d take one look at her beauty and covet it.
Ever since Star had told me that their tickets weren’t, in fact, to Key West, a rage had been set loose inside me that I’d barely managed to contain.
Having met her twice now, with two very different personalities revealed on each occasion, I found myself curious. Enough that I experienced only relief when boarding the same flight as she was.
What made it better?
The squeak she released once she saw who was seated beside her after she’d stowed away her purse.
This woman was not a squeaker.
Angels didn’t squeak.
Yet something about me made her fucking squeak.
I recognized a compliment when it squeaked.
“Who’d have thought?” I focused on my phone because it was either that or demand who’d changed her damn hair.
The silver was gone, replaced with admittedly beautiful blonde/brown waves, but fuck if I didn’t miss that silver.
I could feel her eyes on me, and because that was right where I wanted them, I looked away from my screen to glue them in place.
Her throat bobbed as she shot me an uneasy smile but didn’t reply.
When the flight attendant handed her a glass of orange juice, I could tell that she wished it were something stronger. Still, she sipped at it and shifted her focus onto her cell, making a show of fidgeting with her over-ear headphones so she could keep on hiding.
The part of me that had killed fifteen men last night, who’d savored butchering that treacherous piece-of-shit Giuseppe, wanted to snag a hold of those motherfucking headphones and tear them apart.
It wanted her on my goddamn lap, hands sliding up her skirt, urging her onto my cock, impaling her on me as we took off so that I’d know precisely where she was and where she couldn’t go.
I.e., into fucking Mexico.
But the part of me able to calmly reproduce medicinally induced tachycardia, proceed to OD so I could calculate proper dosing for an untested drug, and sit waiting patiently for an ambulance to show up as I sprayed nitroglycerin under my tongue, wanted to take things slowly.
Some things were not a race.
Some things were to be savored.
