Page 150 of Where Broken Wings Fly

I narrow my eyes on him. “I can still punch you, Zachariah. Don’t push your luck. Hot mama is firmly off the table.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he curses. “I’m going to kill Ryder. That name is banned. I’ve been Zach since I was a goddamn toddler. Only he calls me that name to wind me up.”

“What? I like your full name,” I say sweetly.

He slumps and shuts his eyes. “Wake me up when we get there.”

It’s another two hours of farmer’s fields, quaint villages and expanding roads before we pull into the bustling chaos of the nearest city. I haven’t been here before. We managed to source the rest of the cabin’s furniture in Highbridge.

With my nose pressed against the window, I take in the busy city streets, packed full of countless cars, bikes and buses streaming past us. The ebb and flow of traffic is hard to comprehend. I quickly realise why Killian hates this place so much.

“Welcome to hell,” he grumbles.

We circle the main streets of the city centre several times before snagging a parking spot on the side of the road. Killian only just manages to squeeze the mud-streaked truck into the tight space, cursing like a madman the whole time.

“Have you thought about downsizing?” I look from the truck to the gleaming cars parked all around us. “Just a thought.”

“Leave my truck alone. She’s my pride and joy.” He opens my door for me. “These crap cars won’t get you anywhere near Briar Valley. I drive a real man’s car.”

“A real man?” I repeat incredulously. “How’s that toxic masculinity taste?”

“Great, thanks.”

“It’s the twenty-first century, you caveman.” Zach dares to elbow Killian in the ribs after climbing out. “I wouldn’t mind driving a cute little convertible.”

“It would have to be pink, otherwise Arianna would chew you out,” I say with a giggle. “You’d pull it off though.”

Zach bats his lashes. “Well, obviously it has to be pink. Reckon that’ll be enough to make me her favourite? This bastard has been the reigning champion for far too long.”

Killian grabs Zach in a headlock. “You’re driving me insane. Come on, the store’s this way.”

“Yes, sergeant,” he quips back.

“We need breakfast too. I’m fucking starving.”

“You’re always fucking starving,” I mutter.

Trailing behind them, I study my surroundings with ravenous interest. Mexico was beautiful in a raw, rugged kind of way, but I rarely left the mansion to explore. I settled for watching the swirls of sand in the air from my balcony.

On the odd occasion that Mr Sanchez took me to an event or fundraiser for the sake of appearances, I was always far too worried about obeying his rules to take it in. This feels like I’m seeing the world for the first time, and damn, it’s pretty bloody beautiful.

Stopping by the family-owned embroidery shop sandwiched between a cocktail bar and a fancy restaurant, we collect my new curtains, and Killian pays the designer before I can.

“Nope,” he deadpans. “I’ve got it.”

“You promised not to do this again.”

“I promised no such thing. Put your money away.”

I reluctantly tuck it back into my handbag. After much pleading and daily knocking on my front door, Lola has loaned me some money to cover buying clothes for the approaching seasons and final finishing touches for the cabin.

With the curtains deposited back in the truck, we decide to grab some breakfast. Zach finds his way around the city on instinct, and he knows all of the back streets to avoid the flow of people, along with a suspicious number of local bars.

“There’s a great place up here,” he explains as we walk. “They do awesome French toast and these huge omelettes too.”

I link our fingers together. “You’ve been there often?”

“Once or twice.”

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