Page 31 of Fang

“Anything else?” he asks impatiently.

“Nope.”

I head into the bedroom, find a backpack in the closet and fill it with the bare essentials—clothes that hang loose on my frame but will serve their purpose. In an adjoining bathroom, I find basic toiletries and add those too. Just soap, a new toothbrush, and toothpaste.

Fang pokes his head in and tosses a burner phone at me.“Catch!”

“Want me to pack a bag for you too?”

“I already have one ready. Always do.” His smile makes my belly flip. Those eyes. God, why does he have to be so handsome?This would all be a lot easier if my mind didn’t drift into places it shouldn’t go.

Rejoining him in the living room, I pace while he works his digital magic. Every few minutes I glance over his shoulder to see what he’s up to. Each time I get close, a strange current passes between us—something I ruthlessly suppress. There’s no room for distractions, not with Rory’s life at stake.

“Done,” Fang announces finally.“We’ll pick them up in an hour at a local chop shop.”

The time passes slowly, but eventually we ride to get the black market passports. Fang checks them over before paying the mysterious man who brought them. Back at the safe house, we lock ourselves inside and sit on the couch. Fang hands me one of the passports. I open it and gaze at the photo he took of me earlier.

“Meet Sarah Jensen and Michael Reeves, married business consultants traveling to Mexico City for a conference,” he says.

“Married?” Heat floods into my cheeks.

“Couples draw less attention, and it gives us a reason to stay close.” His eyes meet mine briefly before darting away. “Our flight leaves in three hours.”

That’s good. We won’t have to stay here tonight, so the question of who’s sleeping where won’t be an issue. I breathe a sigh of relief.“Sounds good.”

The journey to the airport feels surreal. I’ve never been out of the country before, but that’s about to change. As Fang drives, I mentally prepare myself to become Sarah Jensen, a woman with no brother to rescue and no cartel hunting her.

Getting into character isn’t easy, but by the time we arrive in long-term parking, I’ve half-convinced myself I really am Sarah Jensen, businesswoman. It’s actually kind of fun pretending to be someone else for once. Sarah Jensen doesn’thave anything to be worried about. She’s nothing like me. Happy and carefree. I can fake that.

Security is a gauntlet of potential exposure. Each checkpoint is a moment where our fabricated identities could unravel. Fang walks slightly ahead of me, his posture relaxed. When the TSA agent studies my passport with narrowed eyes, Fang’s hand finds the small of my back—a gesture that reads as intimate to observers but serves to ground me in our cover.

“Relax,” he murmurs as we move away from the checkpoint. “You look like you’re marching to an execution.”

“Maybe we are.” The words slip out before I can stop them.

Something shifts in his expression—concern, maybe, or understanding. “They don’t know we’re coming. They won’t expect it. Nobody saw us at the hospital yesterday. If that nurse was going to rat you out, she’d have called security while we were there.”

On the plane, our assigned seats place us in intimate proximity, our shoulders and thighs pressed together in the cramped economy row. The casual touch should be insignificant compared to the night we shared a bed, yet somehow it feels more intimate, more meaningful.

“Tell me more about your brother,” Fang says after takeoff, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

The request catches me off guard. “Why?”

“Because knowing more about him helps me understand what we’re up against—what matters to him, how he might respond in different situations.” He hesitates. “And because you look like you might vibrate out of your skin if you don’t talk about something other than getting caught by the cartel.”

I almost smile despite myself. Almost.

“He’s smart,” I say after a moment. “Too smart for his own good sometimes. Even though he’s very sick, he’s always readingor playing strategy games on his tablet. He dreams of designing video games someday.”

“I’m surprised the cartel lets him connect to the internet.”

“They don’t. Someone downloads the games to the tablet. They give him books to read to keep him occupied and happy. It’s easier to control a content person than a bored one.”

“Very true. So, video games?”

“Oh yeah…”

Fang listens with genuine interest as I talk about Rory’s fascination with world-building, and about his talent for creating complex characters despite his limited exposure to the world outside his hospital room. I find myself sharing details I’ve never voiced to anyone. Until now, I didn’t realize how lonely I was. It’s nice to have someone to talk to.

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