Lash (Club Sin #7)

20. Firefights, Nicknames, and Sore Vaginas

firefights, nicknames, and sore vaginas

Tatiana

I don't think I've ever had sex as many times as Nicolae and I did in the forty-eight hours we spent in that hotel room in Rio. We order room service and eat it naked on the bed. We shower together and make love in the shower—Nico turns me to face the wall and frames me from behind, slides inside me, and fucks me roughly, with delicious power, his strong hands gripping my hips and jerking me backward into his thrusts.

We drowse in the bed watching an old action movie badly dubbed into Portuguese, and wake up in the middle of the night, restless and unable to get back to sleep.

We crack open a bottle of whiskey from the bar and get tipsy together, and I push him onto the carpet and ride him until my breasts ache from bouncing so wildly, edging us both to the verge of climax and then stopping with his cock buried deep, teasing us away from the edge, and then fucking him to the edge again—when he finally comes, it fills me and surges out of me and coats us both in the sticky smear of our mingled essences, requiring another shower.

We make love slowly and sweetly the next morning, order breakfast, sip coffee, and make plans for the future—mainly the logistics of migrating my business to America.

That day is much the same as the one before, full of sweet cuddles and kisses, rough and indelicate fucking, slow and deliberate lovemaking, whispers and cries, shouts and wails, groans, whimpers, moans, laughter, tears…

By the time we fall asleep late on the second night, I am thoroughly sore, sated, and happy. And if I'm not pregnant, it'll be a statistical miracle, considering we never used a condom again. Some may say it's foolish, reckless, even irresponsible to throw myself so fully into love with Nico when we've only really known each other as adults for a handful of days, but I don't care.

As I told him, I know my heart. I know what I feel, and I know it's real. I know that giving Nico a child would be the greatest privilege of my life.

I don't need months or years with him to know that he is my life, my future, and my everything; I don't need to wait to know that I will marry him, that I will bear his children—now or weeks or months or years from now—and we will be deliriously happy. We will argue, of course, and I'll want to throttle him for something stupid, and I’ll make him angry and we'll sort it out and have wild makeup sex.

For the first time in my life, I know that I'm where I need to be, with the person I'm meant to be with.

I know things may not be totally over yet, but no matter what happens, Nico is my everything.

I'm almost glad Filip did what he did, that he brought me to that hangar. I'm not glad that so many people I care about died for the idiotic plans of selfish people, but I am happy with how things turned out.

I mourn my father, of course. I mourn Ana and Katya and Georg and Tata. I will miss Zagreb and the beauty of the Croatian seaside. I will miss Low Town and High Town, and trains across Europe from one pop-up to another. But in exchange for all that, I gain friends—brothers and sisters. I gain a family, a big one, and a wild and strange and dangerous one. I gain a home. I gain a husband.

We wake early on the third morning, my head on his chest, his heart thudding steadily under my ear. Sunlight shines on a few strands of my hair that I shed last night, draped across his chest. On a whim, I make sure he's awake and watching, and then I twist the strands of my hair, wrap it around the ring finger of his left hand, and knot it.

"Be my husband, Nico," I whisper, holding his eyes. "As soon as possible. I don't care about rings or churches or anything. I just want to know you're mine forever."

He doesn't reply immediately, but the brilliant hot joy in his eyes says all there is to say. When he does speak, it's to whisper "Yes" into my ear—first in Croatian, then English, then Romani, and then in every other language he knows.

And that is how I find myself engaged to Nicolae Dragos.

Minutes later, there's a knock on the door. I tuck the sheets in my armpits while Nico shrugs into a hotel robe and answers the door.

The whole crew barges in, bringing with them several room service trays piled high with bagels, croissants, muffins, bacon, scrambled eggs, hard-boiled eggs, steaks, sausage, fruit, yogurt parfaits, and several silver pots of coffee. And just like that, our quiet engagement is suddenly a noisy, raucous, impromptu gathering. Everyone talks over everyone else, laughing, teasing, and telling more of those ridiculous fables. Someone flipped the lock to prevent the door from closing and latching, and at some point in the festivities, Inez shuffles in, wrapped in a robe, looking bleary-eyed and irritated. She stands behind the couch, breathing heavily, both eyes black and blue and green and yellow and swollen, nose crooked, lips puffy, cheeks cut and scabbed, standing stiffly with one hand bracing her ribs.

For a moment, no one speaks.

"Well?" she demands. "One of you assholes pour me coffee.”

It's Nico who moves first, filling a white mug for her. “Here, Inez, sit on the bed with Tati."

Inez nods, shuffling carefully over to the bed and gingerly slides in beside me. I toss the blankets over her lap and wedge a pillow behind her, and she settles back with a sigh.

“Thanks,” she says with a sigh. “I forgot how much torture sucks.”

"No shit," Rev growls.

"Facts," Solomon adds.

Has everyone here been tortured?

"Would you like some food, Inez?" Kane asks.

She sips from her mug, nodding. "Please. I'm fucking ravenous. Fucker didn't feed me."

Slowly, the noise level returns to where it was before Inez arrived—loud. She sips and nibbles, taking it slow while she watches the men—and Scarlett—joking and ribbing each other.

After a while, she turns to me. "So. Tatiana Juric."

“Inez," I say. “Or is it Sophia? Lorenzo only referred to you as Sophia, but in this group, I know old and new names are a sensitive topic."

She snorts. "I have not decided yet. I am Sophia to Lorenzo because he has never known Inez. I am Inez to them because they never knew Sophia. And the two are not…it is a hard thing to know how to merge them." She smiles at me, a quick tilt of her lips, so brief I almost miss it. "Let's just go with Inez, for now. I will need time to learn how to be Sophia again."

Scarlett overhears us and leaves the group of men to climb up on the bed, sitting cross-legged facing us with a bagel in her teeth and a slice of bacon in one hand and coffee in the other. She balances the coffee on her knee and sets the bagel on the other, nibbling on the bacon.

"Not again," she says to Inez.

Inez frowns. "Hmmm? Not again what?"

"You're not ever gonna be Sophia again . That's what I’ve come to realize since we talked last, on that boat." Scarlett must be referring to a conversation I know nothing about. "I am not Maria again. I'm not Scarlett anymore either. I may take up the name Maria again, once I take the brand, but it'll be…" she shrugs, shakes her head. "A bit of both, I guess."

Inez nods, sighing. "You're not wrong, of course." She peers out the window for a moment, frowning. "I think…I think Lorenzo and I have some…unfinished business to attend to before I can go there. Before I can see Sophia in myself."

A long silent moment passes between us three women.

"And before that can happen," Inez says, "Rafael Sousa must die."

Scarlett rests her hand on Inez's knee. "And for that to happen, you need to heal."

Inez's eyes blaze. "Fuck that. He won't rest and neither will I. I'm not going to just go back home to the club and act like things are back to normal when Lorenzo is in some safe house and Rafael is out there plotting my death—all of our deaths."

Our conversation has caught the attention of the men, and Solomon leaves the couch he was lounging on and enters the room, leaning against the doorway with a mug in his hands.

"But we can't just hang around Brazil waiting for him to show up, either," he says. "We have no fucking clue where he might've gone."

Inez rubs the bridge of her nose between forefinger and thumb, sighing. "Yes, yes, you are right. We have to find him. Or bait him into finding us."

Chance stands in the doorway next to Solomon, resting a thick forearm on Solomon's shoulder. "And not for nothin', boss, but some of us, like Sol, here, have been on the go for fuckin' weeks. This whole goddamn shitshow started when Sol went missing, it just…blew up into something a fuckuva lot bigger than any of us expected. We aren't saying give up and go home, but…maybe go home and catch our breath. See our ladies, reassure them we're all alive and in one piece. Regroup and come up with a plan."

Inez nods. "You are right, the both of you." Her eyes harden. "But I do dearly wish we could destroy his compound before we leave Brazil. He is dangerous all the time, and while I recognize that angering him might be foolish, I think to destroy that place would infuriate him to a degree that he might start making mistakes."

Solomon grins, sliding his cell from his pocket and dialing a number. He puts it on speaker and moves to perch on the edge of the bed next to Inez. It rings twice.

"Sí, Solomon?" Lorenzo's voice says after a couple of burbling rings.

"Hey, bud, you're on speaker with the whole gang," Sol says.

"Hello, everyone." His voice drops. "Sophia, meu amor .”

Inez winces. "Ren."

He just chuckles. "Still shy about it, eh? No worries. I will be bold enough about our love for us both."

"Ren," she starts, and her tone suggests a scolding to come.

He interrupts. "I know, I know. It's okay, amor . I understand." A sharp, short sigh. "So. What do you need? Your flight leaves in a few hours—I have a driver from the embassy coming to pick you up soon."

"We were wondering if you had any favors left in your pocket," Sol says. "Big ones."

Lorenzo sighs. "I have leveraged most of my connections and resources, unfortunately. I could maybe start owing someone favors, I suppose. What is it you need?"

Inez takes the phone. "I want to blow up his house, Ren. We burned down the other estate, and now I want to destroy his. I want him to know it was me."

Lorenzo whistles low. "That is a big ask, amor ."

"I know."

He clicks his tongue, a thoughtful noise. "Hmmm. It would need to be done off-book and in a way that does not put those who do the destroying at his mercy." Another musing click of his tongue. "It would be simplest to drop a bomb on it, of course. But a flight and munitions of that sort…it is a big expenditure. Hard to write that off."

"I do not care how it is done, Ren. All I care is that it sends a message that he is not untouchable. Drop a bomb, send a team to blow it up or set it on fire, what-the-fuck-ever." Her voice drops, becoming vicious and intense. "He must suffer before I kill him, Ren. You know the monster he is."

"I do."

"If you could see me, what he did to me…"

Lorenzo's voice is thick and shuddery with emotion. "Be glad I cannot. I would drop everything and hunt him down."

"I know, I know." She sighs. "I need you where you are, Ren. Protecting my—protecting Little Lorenzo."

Ren chuckles. "It is funny that we have all been calling him Little Lorenzo in English. His mother, Beatriz, she calls him Reninho. Basically it means Little Ren." He pronounces it Ren-IHN-yo .

"Guess who just got a new nickname?" Solomon says, laugh. "Reninho and Big Reninho."

Lorenzo cackles. "That is stupid. Big little Ren makes no sense. I thought you were fluent in Portuguese."

Solomon just laughs again. "I am. But it's funny. Big Reninho."

“No." Lorenzo says it flat—no discussion necessary. "I will do some thinking and make some calls. Sophia, meu amor —"

"Ren, stop," Inez snaps. "Not now. Please. You must give me time."

"When you have watched Rafael bleed out, you mean," Lorenzo says, not without some bitterness. "Then you will let yourself love me."

Inez sighs. "Perhaps I do mean that. But also, I am a very private person and this is not a private situation. You are on speaker phone."

Ren sighs. "Of course, you are right. I'm sorry, meu —Sophia. I understand. Do what you must. I will see that Rafael's estate is destroyed even if I just go there and burn it down myself."

"I know you will," Inez answers. "I trust you."

"At least there is that," Lorenzo says with a sigh. “It is a start."

"Lorenzo," Inez snaps.

He just laughs. "I have loved you since the moment I saw you, Sophia Bruna Santos de Silva. I have waited a very, very long time to be reunited with you, and yet you keep slipping out of my fingers. You must indulge me at least a little bit."

Finally, Inez's voice softens into something like tenderness. "I know, Ren. I know. Soon, okay? I promise, you will have me to yourself very soon."

Silence. "You do not make promises, Sophia."

"This, I do."

Another silence. " Eu te amo. Conversaremos em breve. "

Inez's eyes squeeze shut, hard, and she shakes her head, clutching the phone until her knuckles turn white. " Te —" her teeth click together. "Talk later, Ren. Goodbye."

She tosses the phone to Sol, levers awkwardly and stiffly off the bed, and limps out of the room—I think under other circumstances she'd have stormed out angrily, but in her current state, a pained, limping shuffle is the best she can do. She does manage to slam the door so hard it shudders, hitting the lock latch and shivering back open.

"Sophia?" I hear Lorenzo's voice say from the speaker.

Solomon clears his throat. "She's gone, man. Thinkin' maybe it was too soon for ‘I love you.’”

Lorenzo just chuckles. "She knows I love her. She has fought it from day one. Even as a teenage girl, she was prickly and difficult. But, much like the cactuses of your Southwest deserts, beauty blooms among the thorns."

Solomon snorts. “Well, now that poetry hour is over, we gotta get ready to go and you gotta call people about blowing shit up."

"You are just jealous that you do not have my sensitive nature," Lorenzo teases.

"Yeah, I'm just a brutish American," Solomon drawls. “Talk later, Ren."

He taps the screen to end the call and shoves the phone into his pocket. "Alright, then, boys and girls. We've got a plane to catch back to the good ol' U-S-of-A. Get your shit together and meet in the lobby in thirty." He points at Nico and then me. "That means the fuck-fest is over, you two."

I blush furiously and duck my head, cheeks burning, embarrassment blazing in my gut. "Sol!"

He chuckles. "I'm teasin', babe. Mostly. Our ride is gonna be here soon, though."

"You didn't—hear us, did you?" I ask.

Kane splutters a laugh. "Half of fuckin' Rio, heard you, darlin'. And I gotta say, it's good to see a smile on our boy's face."

I look, and Nico is grinning—beaming, really. "Nico, they're teasing me!”

He comes over to the bed and kisses the top of my head. "Yes, they are. In this group, you must give as good as you get. It is meant with love."

I glare at Kane and Solomon. “You two are just jealous. You do not have your girlfriends here to have a two-day fuckfest with."

Solomon smirks at Scarlett. "Oh, I dunno. I wasn't exactly twiddling my thumbs."

Kane snickers. "You would be correct in my case. But you oughta know, Anj and me's room—" he pauses, frowning. "Anj's and mine? Anj and my? I don't fuckin' know. Fuckin' bullshit grammar. Whatever. Point is, our room is next to his, so you'll get an earful when we get back—trust that, baby girl."

"Anj's and my room," Silas says. "It would be Anj's and my room. Split it up—Anj's room and my room. Anj's and my room."

Kane flips him off. “Thanks for the lesson, Professor Cabot."

Silas returns the gesture. "No problem, dropout ."

“You dropped out too, dipshit,” Saxon snaps.

Kane's eyes narrow, and I think the exchange could have taken a turn for the ugly, but Solomon steps between them. "Okay, we have officially spent way too long in close quarters. Let's get our shit and get home."

He shoves Kane and Silas for the door, one hand on each of their backs. Silas reaches around Solomon's back and slugs Kane in the arm. Kane returns the favor, but he's so much bigger than Silas that his playful punch sends Silas stumbling sideways.

Silas rights himself, laughing. "Oh, yeah? Wanna play it that way, you big gorilla?"

Once they're out in the hallway, he launches himself at Kane and puts him in a headlock, and the two men wrestle their way down the hallway…until a door opens and someone shouts something in very loud, very angry Portuguese.

I hear Solomon scolding them before Nico moves the latch to let the door close and lock.

"When did Solomon become our leader?" he muses out loud as he comes to sit on the bed near my feet. "It just sort of…happened, and no one seems to question it."

I shrug. "You are all army men. You look for a leader by nature. With Inez having been a prisoner, you all needed someone to lead. Solomon assumed the role."

Nico nods. "Yes, this I know. It is more curiosity that it was Solomon who assumed the role. We are all capable of leadership. We have been leaders at one point or another. But in this, Solomon seemed to just naturally take the position. There wasn't any discussion, either. It is curious." He tugs at the sheet tucked in under my armpits so it comes loose, baring me for him. "Now. We have thirty minutes and nothing to pack. What shall we do?"

I laugh, playfully trying to drag the sheet from his grip. "Nico, no. I am sore. I hobbled to the bathroom like an old woman."

He laughs as he yanks the sheet away entirely, crawls onto the foot of the bed, and grabs my ankle, hauling me to him. "Sore? Where?"

"You know where!"

He raps his knuckles against his temple. "I must be suffering from amnesia, because I seem to have forgotten. Perhaps you fucked the brains out of me, hmm?" He kisses my ankle. "Is it here?"

I fake glare down at him, playing along. "No."

He kisses the inside of my knee. "Here?"

I shake my head. "No, not there either."

He kisses up my thigh, and I find myself breathing hard in anticipation. His lips touch the silky flesh just beside my sex. "Here?"

"Nearly," I breathe. "But…not quite."

"Mmmmmm," he hums. "I seem to remember…ahhh yes. I know—it is here!" He kisses my pussy, tongue slithering in, breath hot.

"Yes," I gasp. "There."

"Then if you are sore, I shall kiss it all better."

And he does. Slowly, as if we have all the time in the world, he brings me to orgasm using nothing more than his lips and tongue, making me cry out loud as if I was not just teased for having woken half of Rio de Janeiro.

When I’m left panting and limp, he rises from between my thighs, wipes his mouth on his forearm, and then presses a kiss to my lips.

“There. All better?"

I nod, delirious. "Yes…all better." He slips off the bed, removing the robe as he reaches for his clothes, discarded and forgotten for the last forty-eight hours. "Wait, where are you going?"

He grins. "Getting dressed. We have a plane to catch, my love."

I roll off the bed, stumbling on jelly legs, and then lurch unsteadily toward him. "Perhaps I am not as sore as I thought."

He groans as I caress his hard length. "Tati, we really do have to go."

I grin at him, bracing my arm around his shoulders as I lift on my toes, notch him at my entrance, and lower myself onto his cock. "But Nico, sweetheart, we both know how fast you can be when you want to."

He frowns at me, or tries to. "Are you implying that I am not lasting long enough for you?"

"No, darling," I whisper, wrapping one thigh around his hips—he catches my intent and lifts me. "I am saying exactly what I said—we both know that you can finish quickly." I put my lips to his ear. "Which is what I want. How fast can you finish, Nico?"

He walks with me to a bare stretch of wall next to the bathroom, presses my back to the cold hard wall, kisses me so thoroughly I’m left gasping, my lips swollen. And then he nails me to the wall, fucking me with delicious, ravaging, powerful thrusts—relentless, almost savage. He's done in a matter of a couple of minutes, filling me to the brim with his hot release.

Panting raggedly, he slumps against me, breath hot against my chest, holding me pinned against the wall, his cock still buried inside me.

"There," he growls. "What about that?"

I scratch his back, nibbling his earlobe. "Perfect," I whisper. "But you may have to carry me to the lobby."

He pulls away to gaze at me, love written in every line of his face. "I'll carry you to the ends of the earth, my love."

I cup his face. "I know." I pat his arm. "Let me down. I need to clean up and get dressed."

When we arrive in the lobby, Kane, Silas, Saxon, Chance, and Rev are already there, sipping yet more coffee from lidless paper cups, standing in a circle, all in the exact same pose: burly arms crossed over big, hard chests, coffee cups resting on a bicep, legs planted wide. Noticeably absent are Solomon and Scarlett.

They arrive only five minutes before the driver is scheduled to be here, both of them not exactly hiding the glow that I'm sure Nico and I must also be sporting.

Solomon and Nico get coffee and join the circle of men, and Scarlett and I take seats on a nearby couch. We both sit down somewhat gingerly.

We trade looks and then burst into laughter. She leans close and whispers in my ear. "Walking bowlegged?"

"What is bowlegged?" I ask.

She stands up and pushes her knees apart as if she is sitting a horse. "Bowlegged."

I flush. "Oh." I snicker. "Yes. Very ."

She holds a fist to me, and I tap my knuckles against hers, feeling awkward and silly doing so. "Same, girl." She sits beside me and whispers again. "Sol and I have had a lot of sex over the years, but the last two days?" She wipes pretend sweat from her brow. "Girl, my cooch is gonna need a minute . We were busy .”

A strange warmth fills me, a frisson of excitement or happiness, and it takes me a minute to understand what it is—where it comes from.

Scarlett, being extraordinarily perceptive, notices. "What?"

I shrug. "I just…nothing."

She bumps me with a shoulder. "Nah, nah, nah. None’a that shit. Out with it."

"I just…I've had employees I was close to—" I swallow hard. "Ana and Katya. They were killed at the beginning of this, when I met Nico. But I've never had…friends. A girlfriend." I look at her. "You are my friend. It is…a new feeling."

She blinks hard, looking away and up at the ceiling, shaking her head. "Shit."

"Scarlett, what? I—"

She bites her lower lip, scrubs her eyes with the heel of her hand. "No, I'm good. I'm good. I just…" she gives me a bright but watery smile. "I've always been one of the guys, you know? Dick jokes, roughhousing. Coed locker room because I’m the only girl, not just in the unit but the whole fuckin' section. I've never had a girlfriend either."

"Oh." I swallow. Look at her. "So…girlfriends, then?"

She wraps her arms around me and squeezes me with such sudden strength that I have to gasp for breath, and then return the hug.

When we break, she holds me by the arms and looks at me. "I'd like that. Sol says I'll like the other girls, but…they haven't hoicked their asses all over fuckin' South America with me. We're blood sisters, Tat." My nickname, Tati, is pronounced Tah-tee , but she shortens it further to Tat, like the first half of the English word tattoo. "We've been through firefights and slogged through jungles together. Can't get any fuckin' closer than that."

"Tat." I grin. "I like that."

She passes a hand through her loose, chin-length black hair. "Used to be I'd tell you to call me Scar. You know…” she taps her scar. "Plus it's short for Scarlett. But I think you oughta call me Maria. I'll try it out on you before I let Sol call me it."

"Maria."

Sol glances over at us, leaning back from the conversation among the men. "What're you two into over there?"

Scarlett—Maria—grins at him. “Oh, nothin' much, baby. Just bonding over firefights, nicknames, and sore vaginas."

As if on cue, the whole lobby seems to go suddenly silent right as she says this, and I feel a host of eyes on us. I hold it in for a moment, but then laughter bubbles up and spews out of me, and Scarlett…it'll take time for me to adjust my thinking…Maria, I mean, laughs with me. The men look at us, curious, but we just laugh all the harder, and they shake their heads and go back to whatever manly things they were talking about. Guns and beer and weightlifting, probably.

The ding of an elevator is a faint sound, swallowed by the ambient din of the bustling lobby. It announces, however, the arrival of Inez. We all see her approach at the same time, and no one seems to know how to react, how to greet her.

She's wearing a new pair of dark blue jeans, a plain black V-neck T-shirt, a pair of calf-height combat boots, and a black ball cap with the logo of a prominent sports clothing company, her hair pulled into a ponytail through the back of the hat. Her black eyes are in the shadow of the cap's pulled-low brim, making them somewhat less noticeable. She also seems to have applied some basic makeup to lessen the severity of their appearance. She walks with a slight limp and a shuffle, favoring her left leg, one arm braced across her middle to protect and support her injured ribs. Her face is carefully blank, as if she's working overtime behind the scenes to chide the pain she's in.

When no one greets her, she snorts sarcastically and rolls her eyes. "You all need to get your shit together. I was tortured, not raped, and I'm not dead. Quit tiptoeing around me. I fucking hate it."

Scarlett stands up and goes to her, reaches for her hands, hesitates, and then takes them. "None of us were sure if you had been, and we weren't sure how to ask. We all care about you, and we just want to support you."

Chance moves to stand behind her, resting his giant paws on her shoulders; she hunches and stiffens at his touch, but doesn't flinch away or otherwise resist. "And I say this with affection and respect, Boss, but you don't make it easy."

One by one, the men surround Inez and put a hand on her shoulders or back.

"We're here for you, Boss," Saxon says. "You saved all of us. We all owe you our lives."

Inez clears her throat. "This is all very touching, but—"

Rev speaks over her. "Receive it, Boss. Quit fighting it. The Ice Queen is no more, and we still respect you."

"Might be we respect you more," Kane puts in, "now that you've shown us that you're human."

I'm unsure whether I should be part of the group or not, so I hover just behind Nico, watching. Inez's eyes find mine, and she swallows hard, and then scans the eyes of her team. Grabs my hand and pulls me into the circle surrounding her.

She blinks hard, swallows again, ducking her head. "You guys came for me," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

"Of course we did," Silas says. “Like we'd leave you with that fuckin' monster a second longer than necessary?"

"You ain't just the boss, Boss," Kane says. "You're one of us. You're the original."

She nods, blowing out a shaky breath. "More so than you know." She meets every pair of eyes again. "You came for me. I'll never forget it, no matter what happens. Thank you, everyone." She looks at me. "You don't even know me, but you still fought for me, Tatiana. I am in your debt."

I shake my head, emotion riding high in my throat. "You are important to Nico. Where he goes, I go. What he fights for, I will fight for." I take her hand and squeeze. "There is no debt."

Inez hisses. "Goddammit," she whispers, blinking hard as tears drip despite her efforts to hold them back, to hide them. "Fuck you guys for making me cry. I hate it."

Chance laughs, wrapping his long, powerful arms around the whole group and pulling us all in closer, so we're crushing Inez in a group full-body hug. "Ya'll, Inez is crying. Someone take a picture for posterity."

Solomon's phone is out before anyone else can react, and he snaps a photo of Inez.

She reaches for his phone, but he dances out of reach. "Delete that shit, Solomon Cabot, or so fucking help me, I'll murder you in your sleep, oathbound or not."

Solomon just laughs "Oh, hell no. This one is getting printed, framed, and hung on the wall in the common room."

She glares at him. "I'll poison your protein shakes."

Solomon just laughs again. "Boss, the curtain has been pulled back. You're one of us now. Means it's open season for getting teased."

Rev chuckles. "I don't know, man. Might not be the best idea to tease the viper."

Solomon's phone buzzes in his hand and he glances at it. "Ride's here. Let's go."

An hour later, we're airborne—a short flight to Manaus, where we transfer to a larger cargo flight bound for an airbase somewhere in the States. That flight is, obviously, much longer—and cold and noisy and uncomfortable, but away from potentially deadly prying eyes.

When the flight lifts off, I let out a breath—we're finally leaving South America.

And I’m heading for my future in the States with Nico.