❝I could throw as much water as I needed.
I could hold my breath and dive in.
Jesse would burn me every time.❞
When Jess lands himself in hot water, Shar has no choice but to jump after him. He needs cash, quick, but the only way to get it is to...
I exited Carlos' bike, windswept from the speed, dazzled by coastal scenery. Harbor Village had the most spectacular sunsets by the sea - hands down, the best seat was 60 miles an hour with a boy in your arms who was wild as the wind in your hair. We outstripped miles of land, sea, and sky. Petal to the metal, I outran the problems that chased me and fled into the sun...
Carlos removed my helmet with a crafty grin. "I'd hate to lose you, chica--remember to lean into the corners next time."
"Next time?"
"Of course. You're not trying to get rid of me are you?" Carlos winked and took my hand. I shamelessly counted the seconds until he let go.
Fifteen.
We waded through a field of waist-high purple flowers that smelled like a lemon grove, on towards an old abandoned factory. The setting sun was the backdrop, its rays bouncing off the rusted sheet metal, the ruddy twilight kindling on the paint job of a hearse parked close to the warehouse entrance. The funeral coach was kitchen-clean, as opposed to the broken down warehouse, which was nothing more than the eerie shell of what it used to be.
Carlos paused outside the entrance. Two gruff men with dark hoodies and ballcaps nodded at him before setting to work, removing a shiny black coffin from the hearse. My skin prickled with goosebumps. I held back questions I was dying to ask, my brain telling me to shut up and listen.
"You know what a trap house is, Mary?" The twinkle in Carlos' eye was accompanied by a warning smirk.
Feeling like a schoolgirl, I hid my sweaty palms behind my back. "Well, according to Gucci Mane, it's a place where, um, drugs are sold." I swallowed.
"Correcto. You're not stupid, Mary. I don't have to tell you..." Eyebrows raised, he placed a finger against his lips; I read his mind.
Don't say a word.
Nodding, I followed Carlos inside.
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Nude Prada heels clicked purposefully across the dirty warehouse concrete. The thirty-something sultress they belonged to was intimidatingly beautiful. Transported from warehouse to runway, her model features were catalog-worthy as she strutted her way to the entrance. Raven waves coiled down the shoulders of her open pea-coat. The coat was peach, her jumpsuit all-white.
"Buenas noches, Carlos. Llegas tarde." Her accent was as thick as Carlos'. She slipped her manicured hands in her pockets, observing him from large olive eyes that did not smile with her.
"I'm on time."
"Which means you're late." Her shrewd gaze shifted to mine; my mouth went dry and my stomach dropped. "You brought our girl. Excelente." Her attention shifted to something behind me. She raised one tan, slender hand and snapped her fingers. One by one, the two men from earlier wheeled in the caskets on their hydraulic lift tables. They set each coffin on either side, until they flanked her like glossy, jet wings on the angel of death.
