Page 49 of Don't Trust Him

We’re in a limo right now. I know, what the fuck, am I indulging Eliza’s desperate addiction to luxury right now or what?

But who expects two people on the most dangerous run of their lives to be drinking Bellinis in a fucking shiny, sexy black limo?

Nobody. It isn’t like anyone knows Eliza like I do, either, because pouring peachy flavored booze down her throat in a dangerous situation does nothing but fan her flames.

She’s sucking my cock right now.

You know what they say…danger makes people horny as fuck.

That’s us right now.

We’re headed to the private airfield twenty minutes from the San Diego airport. We need to get out of town. Then we’re going to plan our offensive and hit back at our cartels.

I look at Eliza’s beautiful face, her mascara smudging up and her hair all tousled, and I fucking love her. Not just because she’s swallowing all the cum she’s unloaded from my balls.

Because at the end of the goddamn world, we sure do know how to live well.

She leans back on her knees and looks up at me.

“Don’t wipe that off just yet,” I tell her.

Eliza giggles. Actually giggles.

I love that we have this stolen moment of happiness. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Cheers, baby,” I tell her, handing her the champagne flute she sat down to service me.

Eliza gets the message, and scoops up the rest of my cum on her face and licks it up. The champagne chaser on the wildest escape yet.

The car comes to a stop and I take my thumbs and help wipe up her mascara while she smooths out her hair.

I kiss her forehead.

“No matter what happens, baby, I’ve got you,” I tell Eliza.

“I know,” Eliza says and gulps. “I heard what you said to Rafe. I’d do anything for you, too,” Eliza tells me.

That’s true. Eliza would. So don’t say I didn’t warn you, because fuck the bodycount, it’s the ones who survive the cartels that truly have the fucked up shit in their lives.

I check my tablet screen.

They really are behind

schedule on discovering us.

We call an Uber from a smartphone burner with a throwaway account, and they take us to the airport where I have a car and a go bag.

I have a go bag—the passport, ID, cash, and essentials for getting the fuck out of dodge—in so many areas in the city, and I hired people to grab all the others, except for this one. So it should keep the cartels off our trail, for a little while.

Everyone’s trying to kill us. We’re looking over our shoulders in the least conspicuous ways that we know how.

But holy fuck, it seems like we might actually make it. All our plans to keep the cartels off our trail for now are fucking working.

“Eliza,” I say, grabbing her. “We fucking did it.”

Thirty

Eliza

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