Chapter 64 - Dove
Rotors chop the wet air as a shape breaks through the green ceiling of the rainforest. I stand at the edge of the helipad, my bare toes curling against the painted ring and my stomach writhing with nerves.
Humidity slicks my skin, damp and sticky, heavy with the promise of rain. I’m standing in the steamy bowels of a jungle, so sweat is a given.
Twelve days. That’s how long I’ve been inside the cartel’s citadel.
From the pad, the fortress looks unreal. White marble and glass rise out of endless green. Bulletproof panes wrap the exterior. Cameras dot the eaves. Motion sensors click in places I can’t see.
Nothing here is decorative. Iris scanners, hidden shutters, war rooms… This isn’t a home pretending to be safe. It’s safety pretending to be a home. A vault wearing silk gloves.
And somehow, it hasn’t been terrible.
That thought still surprises me.
The cartel is terrifying the way storms are terrifying. Vast, organized, and indifferent to anything in their path. But the twenty-two in the inner circle? They’re something else. Dangerous, yes. Also watchful, protective, and affectionate in a silent-but-deadly way.
They’re a family that has meals together. Laughter that comes fast and loud. Arguments that end with hands on shoulders and knives put away.
They took me in without asking me to cower or pretend. They made room and made me feel safe.
Safe.
Not a word I expected to associate with a cartel. They’ve kept their secrets from me, but I’ve put together enough to see the truth. They’re far more complex than the villains they want the world to believe they are.
If I’m honest, really honest, I like it here. A lot.
The only thing missing is Wolf. And Jag’s constant vigilance.
The helicopter drops lower, and the wind whips my hair loose from its braid. The pad vibrates under my feet, and my nerves skitter, excitement and relief tangling in my chest. My heart thunders as the skids kiss the concrete and the engine begins to wind down.
The doors swing open.
Jag steps out first, all lean muscle and dark violence, his eyes mapping exits and angles before landing on me.
I shiver beneath the familiar, over-protective inquisition of his gaze as he scans me head to toe.
Wolf hops down next, bright as a flare, holding a bottle of vodka. One of Kody’s special reserves, no doubt.
Black eyeliner rings his arctic blue eyes. Denim cut-offs ride low on his hips, and a black leather corset cinches him tight. Over it, a sheer white lace robe floats and snaps in the rotor wash, brushing against daisy-printed rain boots that have no business being that cute on a cartel helipad.
He scans the pad, one quick pass, and his eyes lock on me.
The smile is instant.
It lifts his cheeks and tunnels straight through my ribs, electrocuting and melting everything inside me.
The mob boss Matias breezes past me, his long-legged strides eating up the distance to the helicopter. I dart forward, but he reaches Wolf and Jag first, grips Jag’s offered handshake, and stops short when he clocks the bottle in Wolf’s fist.
“Vodka.” Wolf lifts it in a lazy salute.
“We drink tequila here.” Matias accepts the gift with an arched brow.
“Not after this.”
Laughter ripples through the men nearby. Even the air seems to lighten.
Wolf passes Matias off to Jag with a flick of his wrist and turns back to me like there was never any other destination.
I cross the pad in a run, and he meets me halfway, arms opening wide. I barely have time to breathe before his hands catch my hips and lift me off the ground. I laugh a girlish sound that turns into a squeal, as he spins us, the world blurring into white stone and green jungle.
He smacks his lips all over my face, covering my cheeks, my temples, and the corners of my mouth, no aim, no restraint, just pure joy poured out in kisses.
“I missed you.” He slows to a stop and lowers my feet to the ground. “From rifles and wedding gowns to tiny pancakes and beyond, I love you.”
“I love you, my darling wolf.” I fist my fingers in the lace at his shoulders, inhaling his Alaskan scents of vodka, leather, and smoke, the familiar wildness of him untying me at the seams.
His mouth fuses to mine, and it’s a starburst of fire and light, a breath that feels like apology, and a compass needle spinning past directions that no longer feel like home. My heart knows the way, and it will forever and always point me back to him, back to the only north my body knows.
The urgency and ache of days spent apart spark between our lips. Breaths of longing stack onto heartbeats of absence. My arms wrap around his neck, and my legs lock around his waist, every muscle and tendon claiming him.
The kiss deepens, consuming my air and giving me his in return.
The noise of the citadel drops away, the helicopter, the guards, and the cartel with its dangerous secrets all gone.
There’s only this. The press of his mouth, the way he holds me with the intent to keep me, and the way my chest finally stops hurting.
When we break apart, our foreheads touch, both of us panting and smiling like lovesick weirdos.
For the first time since I arrived, the place feels complete.
“Let me look at you.” I untangle us and step back, taking in his outfit. “Love the look. It’s giving… Safe in your own skin and dangerous to anyone who underestimates you.”
“Checks out. Also…” He nudges the ground with a daisy-printed rain boot. “The forecast called for rain.”
“I fucking love you.”
“Keep saying it. It’ll never get old.” His lips quirk. “Speaking of old…”
I follow his gaze over my shoulder and land unerringly on Jag.
Our eyes meet and hold.
He stays back, parking himself a few steps from the helicopter, shoulders drawn in, and hands shoved deep into his pockets. Guilt sits in the hard lines of his face. Relief, too. And other things I can’t name because there’s so much I don’t know.
Too many questions crowd my throat. Too many years of redacted truths and fill-in-the-blanks. The cartel told me nothing, only that everything Jag has done, every choice, every cruelty, was done for me.
I don’t know what that means yet. But whatever it is, it took its toll on our relationship.
“He let you believe the worst in him,” Wolf says quietly. “Worked really hard to keep his best parts hidden.”
“Why?”
“That’s between you and him. He has some groveling to do, but when that’s done, hear him out, okay?”
“Okay.” My pulse quickens.
“Go on. Talk to him. Kiss and make up. But when you’re ready to fuck, I want to be there. To watch.” He waggles his eyebrows and backs away. “For now, I’m going to mingle and make some sicarios uncomfortable.”
“Fearless.”
“Nah. Just too stubborn to flinch.” He spins on his heel and strolls straight into the citadel, arms spread wide, like he’s greeting old friends. “Hello, darlings. Who’s in charge of hospitality? I’m thirsty and emotionally available.”
“What are the odds he’ll get us killed?”
I jolt at the sound of Jag’s voice right behind me. His breath stirs my hair, too near, too quiet, making my heart tick too fast.
Pushing back my shoulders, I turn to face him.
His gaze tracks Wolf for a half-second before lowering to me. “These people aren’t his friends.”
“They will be when he’s finished with them.”
His mouth tilts, and a nod follows.
A cloud of feelings and thoughts piles up in his expression as his eyes rake over me. I see him trying to sort through it, testing sentences in his head and discarding them, his face twitching with the effort to find the right words instead of the wrong ones.
At last, he exhales and meets my stare. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I don’t know what you’re apologizing for. The things I know about? Or the things I don’t?”
“All of it.”
“The night before the cartel took me, you came to the island to say goodbye. Is that because you joined them and agreed to move here?”
“Yes.”
“You did it for me? Because someone bad was coming for us? An enemy you and the cartel both want stopped?”
“Yes.”
“Are you…?” My breath rushes out as I look him over. “Are you okay? Safe?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll be safe here now? In this fortress? Behind your keyboard?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the extent of what I’ve pieced together. Everything else is muffled secrets and pressed lips. I’m so fucking sick of living in the dark.” I rub my face in frustration. “Will I ever get the entire truth?”
“Yes.”
“Say something else, dammit! Something more than yes. Tell me where you’ve been, what you had for breakfast, how many people you killed today.” I wave my hands around and let them drop to my sides. “I don’t know. Give me something. Anything.”
“You look… Good.” The compliment scrapes out of him as if he might trigger an explosive argument. Then he straightens and tries again. “You look beautiful.”
Well, this is awkward.
I finger the messy blue braid slung over my shoulder, twisting and tucking the loose ends back into the knot.
His gaze tracks the motion, and I wonder if he’s thinking about fixing it, unraveling the tangled mess, and starting over. He was always better at that than I was.
Out of habit, I glance at his hands and search his fingernails for blood, finding none.
We stand there, hovering too close and not close enough, stranded outside the roles we understand. We know how to be brother and sister, protector and ward, stalker and prey, and enemies with shared baggage.
But this? None of our familiar roles fit in this strange, uneasy space, and neither of us knows how to navigate it.
This could be a new beginning for us. A do-over. A second chance. But only if he opens his mouth and gives me more than one-word answers.
“Jag—”
“I don’t want to do this here.” His eyes flick past me, clocking every lens tucked into corners and ceilings. “Not in front of cameras.” He drags a hand down his face. Then he stands taller and squares his shoulders as if trying to compose himself. “I’m working very hard not to come apart.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”