Page 23 of Hostile King

“Christ…” he mutters, dragging a tattooed hand down his sleepy face. “That was quick.”

“We’ve been in the air for well over an hour,” I mutter.

The helicopter swoops over wild terrain, its thwapping engine whipping up the hazy mist clinging to jungle dense hills. Skimming the forest, we break through clouds where an azure ocean stretches to the horizon, dotted with tiny far-off boats with colorful sails.

Pure white sand hugs a rugged coastline and proud palms stencil the tropical landscape.

With my forehead pressed to glass, I take it all in—every sweeping sandy crescent and frothy white wave rolling to the undisturbed shores. Up here, I feel like a spoiled goddess watching over the earth from her first-class seat.

For the Souzas, this is an everyday occurrence, an unplanned flight path of many. They must travel to unreachable destinations on a whim, flitting from one beautiful retreat to another, places that are unknown by mere mortals like the working class.

But what they don’t know is how I’m used to helicopters and flying under the radar. Even though I’d only flown over the Amazon rainforest, it was still a breathtaking adventure. I’m well-aware of jungle hideaways and secrecy.

My stomach lifts when we tip right, moving inland a few miles until the aircraft levitates over a remote colonial manor house with dome-shaped structures on its silvery slate roof. Giant evergreen trees screen the epic circumference of real estate making it the ideal hideaway for any smooth criminal.

A boundary fence comes together where a set of mammoth iron gates sit closed at the end of an extensive driveway.

“Who owns this place?” I ask weakly, utterly exhausted and broken from the recent events. “It’s miles away from where I’m supposed to be.”

“It’s a family safe house.” André unclips his seatbelt as the chopper sinks lower to a private helipad adjacent to the house. “You’ll have room to move around here. It’ll be more comfortable. Better than being stuck in a stuffy hotel. I know I’d go fucking mad being cooped up there.”

I glare at his side profile. “Who lives here?” He stays silent, refusing to answer my alternatively worded question. “Is Tomás…”

“Nope.” He interrupts, his grin wolfish. “He has no idea you’re here.”

I look to my left at a barricade of bowing branches, then right to a picture-perfect clearing that reveals the Caribbean Sea blending with the wispy blue heavens. There’s no way out of this paradise by foot.

Every muscle tenses. “Why did you bring me here, André?”

“You’ll see.”

Adrenaline kicks my veins. I’m suddenly very aware of the seclusion, the risk, and the foolish decision I’d made to board a helicopter on the rooftop of a city hotel. What if Andrécan’tbe trusted? What if he’s conspiring against his brother? What if he’s the one who killed Elias?

“Carina…” André frowns at me like I’m insane. “It’s only a temporary precaution until the wedding is over. You’re a guest here. Come on.” He jumps out of the chopper and starts walking, fully expecting me to join him.

“You can’t keep me here as a hostage. I have a life to live, André—a family who worries about me,” I yell out at him, frustration hacking at my tone.

Glancing over his shoulder, he slows his pace and stops briefly. “You remind me of a girl I once knew. She was just as gutsy as you are. Pretty as sin. Strong-willed and feisty as fuck. You even have the same hair color. She trusted me, like you should do. I love my brother and I’ll do whatever he asks of me. Babysitting included.”

“Oh yeah, and where is she now? Did you push her off a multi-story building?”

He shrugs. “I’ve no idea where she is. I fucking hate the bitch. If she showed up tomorrow, I’d most definitely consider murder.”

“Oh wonderful, if that was meant to make me trust you, it failed!” I yell after him when he marches away.

I sigh heavily, unclip the safety harness and eye the pilot still in the front seat. “What would it take for you to start the engine again?”

Spitfire chuckles. I don’t. “Run along kid. I’m not stupid. If I took to the sky without Souza permission, André would shoot the chopper down with both of us in it.”

In a temper, I chuck the headset onto the leather seat André had occupied and scrabble out of the small cabin. These people might pretend I’m a guest, or think their honorable actions are for my benefit, but I see them for who they are.

Those qualities are a flimsy film covering something far more sinister. I sense it in the warm breeze blowing through my hair, how the winds have changed and the decay of devilry is at work.

Why would André bring me to a Souza safe house without telling Tomás?

I storm up behind him, my hands curling to fists. “Tell me why I’m here! I should be in Bogotá.” My pace quickens to keep up with him. “I want to go home, and Ineedto call my brother. Tomás promised me.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” he murmurs, casually strolling towards a pathway where flourishing purple flowers edge neat paving.

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