Chapter 1 - The Cold Descent
The nylon canopy snapped taut with an explosive crack, wrenching Sofia’s shoulders so violently she tasted copper. The sky was bruising into violet twilight, the icy downdraft screaming past her ears. Above, the twin turbines of Julian’s black Eurocopter pitched higher, banking north toward the mainland. He had not lingered to confirm the impact. In his mind, physics had already erased her, along with the unborn heir who threatened his ascension to the cartel's executive syndicate.
Sofia curled her arms instinctively around the swell of her abdomen. Every rib screamed from the deceleration, yet beneath her trembling palms, she felt a sharp, distinct flutter. Life. Defiant and unbroken.
""Stay with me,"" she whispered, her voice torn away by the wind.
Below her stretched the indigo void of the Pacific, six miles off the jagged coastline of Baja. She adjusted the risers, fighting against the salt-tinged gale. Her military flight training from a former life, a history Julian believed he had scrubbed clean, took over muscle by muscle. She wasn't just an ornamental bride; she was a ghost he had failed to bury.
The ocean rose up like black slate. Sofia triggered the quick-release harness thirty feet above the crests, plunging into the frigid swell. The shock stole the air from her lungs. Weightless, sinking into dark green foam, she kicked upward with frantic resolve. When she breached the surface, gasping, rain was beginning to prickle the water. A mile to the east, the rhythmic, sweeping beam of a coastal lighthouse pierced the fog, offering a singular lifeline.
May you like
She swam. Every stroke through the undertow burned like molten glass, her soaked champagne silk shirt clinging like a burial shroud. Minutes melted into hours under the indifferent pulse of the light. When her knees finally dragged against coarse, volcanic shingle, her vision was tunneling into blackness. She hauled herself past the high-tide line, collapsing into the wet sand beneath towering cliffs.
She closed her eyes, letting consciousness slip, until the sound of a gravel crunch shook her awake. Through crusted salt, she looked up into the blinding glare of a handheld spotlight. Behind it, a low voice spoke in accented Spanish: ""You picked the wrong grave to crawl out of, señora.""
