Valor on the Move (20 page)

But the thought of how terrified Rafa would be poured more iron into Shane’s veins, chasing away any other emotions except his conviction to get him back.

“If they wanted to kill him, they would have already.” Shane’s own voice sounded distant. He spoke again, trying to ground himself. “He’s alive. I’m getting him back.”

The fuckers had headed farther into the West Virginia backwoods, and they were only minutes ahead. But they thought Shane was dead, and in the dark and rain, they wouldn’t see him coming. He focused on his breathing, clearing his mind. Slowing just a bit, he opened the protection box and took out the M-16. He didn’t know who had cut down Alan and stolen Rafa.

But it was going to be the last thing they ever did.

Dark. Can’t see.

Blinking, Rafa struggled to open his eyes again. Why couldn’t he see? Where was he? His pulse raced, head aching as if he’d had too much to drink. The remnants of a harsh chemical singed his nose and lingered in his mouth as he swallowed over and over, terror mounting.

Through his grogginess, Rafa jerked his hands up to his face, slamming his elbows into hard metal as he did. His panic amplified in the confined space with a jolt of hot terror. He pressed against his eyes, confirming that they were indeed open.

But there was only blackness.

He was curled on his right side, and his shoulder and hip were jammed against the unforgiving metal. His heart pounded so hard his eardrums were practically vibrating, and the metal surrounding him might as well have encircled his chest, squeezing like a boa constrictor. A scream tore out of his dry throat as he flattened his palms on the metal wall a few inches in front of him. His harsh pants filled the dank air.

He was in a box.

Kicking his curled legs, he cried out as his feet hit solid metal. The rubber soles of his oxfords squeaked as he dragged them across the wall. The box wasn’t even as big as a coffin. He couldn’t stretch out. Holding his breath, he wriggled around onto his left side, feeling for the wall there. In the blackness, he searched the smooth surface and pushed at the lid above with trembling hands. It didn’t move even a fraction.

Hyperventilating, he cried out again, thumping his fists against the lid.

Have to get out. I’m blind. Can’t breathe! Fuck! Help me! Jesus, please!

Rafa’s body seized, and he barely managed to avoid pissing himself. He was hot all over, a sickening flush that dampened his hair and trickled down his spine. He gasped through his mouth, kicking again and pushing against every surface he could reach, trying to swallow his screams.

Trapped. Dying. No no no no no!

He tasted salt as tears streamed down his face. The air felt thin, and his lungs burned. How much oxygen did he have left? Was he buried alive? Was he going to die like this? Where was he? Where was Shane?

Shane.

Sucking in a jagged breath, Rafa remembered. Gunshot. Shane jolting and dropping to the ground like a marionette with cut strings. An arc of blood from his head.

Is he dead? Please don’t be dead. Please, no.

Rafa’s sobs consumed him in the tiny space, filling his ears, tears and snot coating his face. Like a Vine video on a loop, he saw it happen over and over in his mind—how he’d stood there uselessly, frozen as Shane had fallen.

How he’d watched him die.

There was nothing in Rafa’s memory after that. Until now, in this box where he’d suffocate before long. Now he saw a flash of Shane’s surprisingly broad smile, and the way his cheeks creased and his stony face softened. He heard an echo of Shane’s husky chuckle, and the bursts of real laughter that had rang out sometimes. The way he moaned softly when he tasted something he liked. How his lips had felt against Rafa’s in the kitchen, and the slick heat of his tongue as the kiss had deepened. The way his face had lit up when he talked about surfing and the sensation of catching a wave—of soaring.

He never got to surf again.

Squeezing his eyes shut even though it was just as dark with them open, Rafa remembered how Shane’s breath had puffed over his neck when he’d shoved him to the ground that day at the park, and how safe Rafa had felt beneath his weight. How Shane had held his palm tenderly against Rafa’s cheek tonight, and how desperately Rafa had longed for one more kiss.

“You’re tougher than you think.”

But he wasn’t. Oh God, he was trapped, and Shane was gone. There were so many more things Rafa wanted to say. Things he wanted to talk about. Questions he’d never been able to ask. He wondered what Shane had thought about when he woke up that morning, not knowing it was his last day. That he was going to die trying to protect Rafa. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Shane must have had dreams and ideas and hopes for the things he’d do, and in an instant it had all been taken away. It was over.

He’s dead because of me.

Rafa let the screams out and wished with every ounce of him that he could take Shane’s place.

When he opened his eyes again to the blackness, he had no idea how much time had passed. Probably only minutes, but he felt as though he was in a dream world. His throat hurt, and he choked down another swell of panic, forcing out a long, slow exhale. Concentrating on what was beyond his tiny prison, he realized the box was shifting slightly, and there was a rumble beneath him. Not buried alive, then. At least that was something.

A fresh sob stuck in his throat. Shane was still dead. Rafa pressed his lips together and inhaled through his nose. Time to be strong. Time to be a man. To be tough, like Shane thought he was.

Rafa blew out a shaky breath, the warm air making the box even stickier. Sweat dripped down his skin. He had to stop freaking out, or he’d use up all the air. How much was left? Were they—whoever
they
were—going to let him out in time? His heartbeat spiked, and he tried to focus.

He was in some kind of vehicle; likely a car or truck as opposed to a boat. Now that he was able to think beyond his frenzied terror, he could feel the odd bumps and sways of a road. He strained his ears, but couldn’t hear his captors. He’d seen the shapes of men, but had only focused on the gun as the bullet had taken down Shane. He supposed it didn’t really matter who these people were. What mattered was what they planned to do with him.

How had they found him? Why the hell would anyone kidnap
him
? Not that he wished this on his sister or brothers.
Oh God, are they okay? Please let it just be me. Please let them be okay.

As he tried to stretch his cramping limbs, Rafa remembered. He knew his phone was gone from the absence of weight in his pocket, but twisting his arm, his heart tripping, he tried to dig his fingers into his other pocket. He bent his wrist back, his fingers groping for the hard little piece of plastic. But he only felt the cotton seam of his pants.

No panic button, and he obviously hadn’t pressed it when he’d had the chance, in that awful moment as he’d watched Shane jerk and drop to the ground, the gunshot so loud Rafa was sure his ears still rang with it.

The darkness overwhelmed him, and he fought down another surge of panic. His heart pounded, and he ran his hands over the metal box again. He needed light. Needed air. Needed Shane.

That he’d never see Shane again was an ache and regret choking him as he curled his cramping legs tighter to his chest. Would he ever see his family again? Or Ash?

He’d gotten what he’d asked for. Rafa had never been so well and truly alone.
 

The two
pops
echoed dully in Rafa’s metal prison, and then his heart swooped as the vehicle jerked.
What—

But there was no time to even finish his thought as the box careened wildly, sliding and slamming into a barrier before tipping onto its side. Rafa scrambled to brace himself, the blood pounding in his ears as he tried to hold his head off the side of the box, which was now the bottom. He was upside down, and new panic clawed him open as he slammed himself back and forth, trying to tip the box over. His pulse raced as more gunshots peppered the night. It seemed like the vehicle was stopped.
Please please please. Help me.

The weight of his body was pressing his head painfully into the metal, and his fingers tingled. Spasms of pain tore into the cramped muscles of his neck, and he started hyperventilating, kicking uselessly with his feet and crying out. The gun battle continued in a barrage of shots and muffled shouts, and he could only pray the good guys were winning.

He gasped as a sound that had to be an explosion rocked the air. Pushing with all his might, he used the momentum to tip the box over. At least now he wasn’t on his head, and he wriggled around until he was on his side, feeling the seams of the box with his fingers again. He couldn’t even tell which side was the top, and an iron band squeezed his chest as he tried to breathe. He kicked uselessly with his bent, cramped legs.

My coffin. Going to die in here.

His throat and mouth felt like they were coated in sand and glass, and sweat dripped down his forehead. More shots, closer this time.
If they’re going to kill me, just do it!

Then the box was moving, and he was rolling with it, on his stomach now as it was heaved over. The rush of cool air hit his back, and strong hands grabbed around his waist.

“Rafa!”

The voice sounded just like Shane, and the man hauled Rafa to his feet, lifting him out of a van, which had crashed onto its side. Rafa jerked his head over his shoulder, sure he was hearing things. The surge of relief as he blinked at Shane’s wet, bloodied face brought tears to his eyes.

“
Shane
.” His voice was barely a hoarse whisper, and he couldn’t get his legs to work.

But Shane held him up, tossing aside a pair of shattered goggles as he spun Rafa and hauled him near, wrapping him in his arms. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. Got you.”

Rafa’s knees wouldn’t hold, his leg muscles cramped and numb. He sagged against Shane’s chest, burying his face against the wet cotton of his shirt and clinging to him with every ounce of strength he had, gripping the leather of his holster. Rain poured down in torrential sheets now, and it felt so good after the confined heat of the box.

“I’ve got you.” Shane held him so tightly. “Safe now.”

Rafa’s legs trembled as he tried to get his footing in the mud. He lifted his head, meeting the glimmer of Shane’s gaze in the flickering orange light. “They shot you in the head. You were dead.”

“Only nicked me. I was lucky.” Shane turned his head, showing Rafa the wound. The rain washed the blood from where it had coated Shane’s ear. Rafa gently wiped it clean with his sleeve.

As Rafa took in their surroundings, he realized the orange light was fire coming from a burning vehicle that was likely the Suburban. He blinked at Shane. “Now what?”

Shane brushed his hand over Rafa’s head, his eyes searching. “Did they hurt you?”

“No. Just put me in the box. I couldn’t move. It was so small.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “Are they all…?”

“Dead.”

When Rafa looked around, he saw bodies strewn in the mud. They were on a dirt road, hemmed in by trees and the shadows of mountains. “Alan? Where did he go?” Rafa’s heart sped up as Shane’s expression tightened.

“He was shot.”

“Oh my God. Is he okay? Where is he?”

“The rest stop. They should find him soon. He might…” Shane broke off, his voice thickening. “You never know. He’s tough.”

Rafa’s knees gave out, and he would have dropped into the mud if not for Shane’s powerful grasp. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come out here. Oh my God. You should have stayed with him. Saved him. Let them take me.” He sniffed as tears flooded his eyes.

“You know I’d never let them take you.” Shane brushed his thumbs over Rafa’s cheeks.

“I know it’s your job, but…”

“It’s more than my job,” Shane whispered hoarsely, taking Rafa’s face in his hands.

The kiss was wet and hard, their mouths opening as they met in a desperate rush, the wind howling and the rain streaming down. He was kissing Shane, and Shane was definitely, a hundred percent kissing him
.
But it was over in a heartbeat as Shane pulled away, still holding Rafa’s face.

“We have to get back. Can’t…” He exhaled sharply, rubbing his thumb over Rafa’s lips. “We can’t.”

Before Rafa could hope to argue, the roar of an engine and slash of lights cut through the din of the downpour. Lunging for a weapon that looked like a machine gun, Shane tugged Rafa into the trees, shoving him roughly as they slip-slided their way down a hillside.

“What if it’s the police, or other agents?”

“Then we’ll find out in a minute, and no harm done.” Shane urged him on faster.

Rafa’s hair was plastered to his forehead, and his oxfords squelched with mud. His legs shook, and he was about to argue when shouts in a foreign language exploded in the night, lights glaring into the murk.
Oh shit.
Rafa forced his legs to go faster, his pants harsh in his ears. Shane guided him, not seeming to even breathe hard at all, the big weapon in his hand and his expression calm.

Voices behind them. Getting closer. More lights.
Oh fuck, they’re going to catch us. No no no!