Page 79 of His to Bedevil

Alejo chuckles and slips his arm from me and wraps it around my shoulders so that I’m hugging his side now. I bury my nose in his jacket and inhale. He always smells so good. Even when he’s worked up a sweat at the gym.

We board the plane and take our seats all the way in the back near the emergency exit. The rest of the men sit toward the front. He brought about ten men with us, some I know by name from the gym, and some who are new to me.

“So, what’s the plan once we get to Italy?” I ask as I buckle my seat belt.

“Well, once we get there, it will be around midnight. So, other than fucking you as soon as we get to the room, we’ll try and get some sleep. Then tomorrow I have a meeting.”

“And what will I do while you’re at this meeting?” I say, trying to ignore the blush that I know is covering my cheeks from his crassness.

“You’ll be in the room waiting for me,” he simply states, reminding me of how I have no freedom.

“So, I’m just supposed to be locked up inside a room all day waiting around?” I don’t even try to hide the acerbic bite. I’m pissed and hurt.

“Irma,” he warns.

I cross my arms over my chest and look away to sulk. He sighs like he’s about to say something, when his phone goes off. “Yeah,” he pauses. “Fuck,” he spits a second later, and I see him jump to his feet and grab for me. “Up. Let’s go,” he commands as he practically rips my seat belt off of me and yanks my arm out of the socket. He shoves me in front of him and propels me to the back exit, barking a bunch of commands in Spanish. I’m too focused on not falling on my face to actually hear anything he’s saying. All I know is the urgency in his voice is not at all normal.

For as chaotic as everything is rapidly getting, he’s able to unlatch the door and shove it open, and he pulls me to the ledge. It’s a pretty big drop, and I’m about to scream in protest, but he wraps me in his arms and launches us off the ledge, and we hit the ground, both landing on our feet. Sharp pang zings up from my heels to my ankles, but I don’t have time to shake it off as he shoves me in front of him again. “Go, Irma,” he growls. I stumble forward and keep going because he’s pushing me to. I turn back to ask what the hell is going on when a deafening boom sounds, and I see the plane burst open as we’re launched forward. Or maybe Alejo shoved me again. All I know is that I’m flying forward through the air, and my hearing is impaired. I hit my head on the ground so hard that I feel disoriented and nauseous instantly, my vision going in and out.

Groaning, I squint open my eyes with my ears ringing, and the first thing I notice is a heavy arm laying limply around me. Alejo’s arm. Trying to blink away the dizziness, I follow his arm to the rest of his body, which is mostly on top of me. “Fuck!” I yell as I see flames licking the back of his jacket. I whip off my hoodie and cover it, smothering it until I put the fire completely out. I can smell burning flesh, and I’m afraid to peel back the hoodie to see what kind of damage it did to his skin.

I’m still trying to get my bearings and fight back the effects of the explosion as I roll Alejo onto his side. “Alejo. Alejo.” I slap his face a bunch. I check his pulse and confirm he still has one. “Alejo, please,” I beg, and he finally lets out a groan. “Alejo, please. You have to get up. I think we’re under attack. I don’t see any of your men.” I want to fucking cry, but I won’t. Not the time for tears nor panic.

I start hearing gunfire on the other side of the plane, and I begin to feel myself on the verge of hysteria. “Run, Irma.” I look down at him with wild eyes, and the adrenaline has now kicked in to replace the fear. He just told me to run. This is my chance. My chance to be free. I get to my feet, and I begin to back away as I stare down at his lifeless body. Lying there helplessly on his side, he still looks so fucking beautiful. So beautiful it hurts. He’ll be okay though, right? He has to be. I turn around, and before I can take another step, I make the biggest mistake of my life. I look back.

“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath.What the fuck am I doing?I begin searching around, and wouldn’t you know it? There’s a fucking M4 on the ground just under the plane that is on fire. I sprint to it and throw the strap around me and sprint back to Alejo. He hasn’t moved at all, and I try again to wake him up. We have to move, and I don’t think I can possibly drag him more than maybe a few feet. He weighs so much more than I could ever lift.

He still doesn’t make a sound, and I hear the gunfire cease. Then I hear a male’s voice approaching, and whoever they are, they’re barking in Russian, not Spanish or English. I can’t hear very well yet, but enough to know those aren’t our men. Which means our guys are dead. Berto has to know though, right? He should be on his way with backup.

The yelling gets closer, and when a man rounds the plane, I don’t even hesitate. I hold the trigger down and watch his body seize as I pepper him with bullets. I wait just a second to make sure no one else is coming then hook my arms underneath Alejo’s armpits. But I have to quickly drop him right on his face when I see another Russian approach. I start hearing more gunfire, which distracts the guy, and I pepper his ass too.I really hope that’s our guys.Please, God.

I pick up Alejo again. “I’m so sorry I had to drop you on your face, baby,” I choke out as I begin to drag him away.

Fuck, he weighs a ton. But I have to get him over to the grass. I noticed that it dips down some, and we can take cover there. I literally strain every single muscle dragging him, and I try my best to tune out the gunfire and concentrate on moving. My entire body is screaming at me to stop, but I ignore it and let the adrenaline completely take over. Then I hear something loud enough through the ringing still going on in my ears, and it’s getting closer. But I can’t stop now. I have to get Alejo to safety. I can’t stop until I get him out of sight.Come on, Irma. You can do it. It’s like David and Goliath here. Sort of. He’s almost as big as Goliath, and I’m small like David. I’m tiny, but I am fierce. I think Shakespeare said something like that. Bottom line, I can do this.

Yes, we hit grass. It’s easier to drag him now, and no matter how badly my muscles are screaming in protest, I keep going. Because I have to. As the ground begins to decline at my feet, I take a peek at what’s going on. There’s a chopper hovering over the plane, shooting at who knows who because I’m not even sure if those are our guys in the chopper or if it’s the Russians. All the more reason to keep going.

I drag Alejo down the hill where it bottoms out into a ditch. He still hasn’t moved or made a sound. I frantically glance all around and find a bunch of brush I can use to cover him with. Out of breath and dripping in sweat, I cover him up, and I crawl up the hill. The gunfire stopped again, but I still hear the blades of the chopper going. Peeking up above the hill, I don’t see it, so it must have landed in front of the plane that is still on fire, where I can’t see it.Dammit.Clutching the rifle, I slide back down the hill and crouch protectively in front of my half-dead husband. At least I hope he’s only half dead. I don’t get a chance to look, because I can hear voices approaching. With my finger on the trigger, I hold the rifle up, ready to aim and fire. Ready to protect what is mine.

“Alejo!” A strong male voice calls out. It seems familiar, but my hearing is still muddled from the explosion. “Irma!” the same voice yells, and I know who it belongs to.

I lower the rifle. “Berto,” I whisper. We’re safe. We won. Or maybe I’m imagining things.

“Alejo!” Berto calls out, getting closer.

I stay where I am, feeling overly protective of Alejo. You just never know. I could be hearing things or just wishing it were Berto. I’m white-knuckling the rifle when I see three familiar faces appear over the hill. Berto, Lucas, and Diego. Their faces are blurry, but I would recognize their forms anywhere.

I sag with relief and wipe the sweat that’s about to drip in my eye. When I drop my hand, I realize it wasn’t sweat. It’s blood. A lot of blood. Looking down, I notice it must be dripping all the way down my face, and the right half of my body is practically covered in blood. But it could be from Alejo.

“Fuck, is he alive?” I look up in a daze and see Lucas barreling down the hill right toward me.

I look back at Alejo and lightly move some of the brush off of his face. I take a moment to study it and stroke my fingers down his cheek. “Barely,” I whisper. Berto and Diego bend down and scoop him up. I want to scream at them and tell them to be careful, but I feel something gripping my face.

“Hey,chaparral,” Lucas says, physically grabbing my attention. I can barely hear him, and I try to focus on him, but his face is all blurry, and I think he’s trying to speak to me. But it’s like I’m underwater.

I open my mouth to say something, but I’m engulfed by darkness. Falling into the abyss of nothing but blank space and nothingness.

Alejo, you better be alive, you asshole.

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