Off the Rails

by Jill Sorenson

  It wasn’t really a camp, like the one they’d entered yesterday afternoon. The passengers looked too weary to cause mischief. She would never feel comfortable in crowds of men, but she wasn’t afraid of these men in particular. They were mostly poor Central Americans. They were the underdogs here. She had more to fear from la migra and the bandits who preyed on passengers.

  She moved warily from group to group, showing a picture of her brother. No one had seen him, which wasn’t a surprise. If he’d jumped aboard a train the evening before last, he’d be at the next station by now. She could ride La Bestia all the way to the border and never catch up with him, but her chances improved with each stop. The passengers had to rest sometime.

  Although she didn’t have the picture of Sarai, she inquired about the girl also. The responses were the same, but a single girl piqued more curiosity than a lone boy. Some asked if Hugo and Sarai were traveling together, and promised to be on the lookout.

  By midmorning, Maria was exhausted. She sank into a sitting position at the base of a block wall and buried her head in her arms. This was impossible. She was going to have to return to Mezcala without news of her brother.

  Without money for her family.

  Without Ian.

  Her eyes burned from lack of sleep and her heart ached with emptiness. She was too drained to cry. Parting ways with him again this morning had felt awful, like a death. She knew he couldn’t stay, but she didn’t want to let him go. She wanted to hold him close.

  After a brief rest, she walked away from the station and talked with one of the charity workers from the Cruz Roja. A woman with kind eyes took the time to study Hugo’s photo in detail. Maria felt a twinge of hope. Her brother was tall and handsome, like their father. He had a charming, crooked smile. Strangers had always remarked on it.

  “So many young men come through here every day,” the woman said. “I can’t remember all of their faces.”

  “What about a girl the same age?” Maria asked.

  She shook her head. “I haven’t seen a teenage girl in over a week.”

  Maria thanked her for her trouble and accepted some leftover snack items. Two apples, a carton of milk, and crackers. As she walked away, crunching on an apple, it occurred to her that Sarai was clever enough to disguise her appearance. Maria had done this herself in San Diego. She’d worn a baseball cap and baggy clothes to hide her curves.

  Like Maria, Sarai wouldn’t pass as male up close. She was too pretty. But she’d be much safer, and more incognito, in boys’ clothing.

  Maria returned to the cargo station and studied the crowd with fresh eyes. She didn’t see anyone who matched Sarai’s slight figure. Instead she spotted a tall, broad-shouldered man. It was Ian! He’d come back. Her spirits rose, even though his expression indicated that he wasn’t happy with her.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked.

  She bristled at his harsh tone, but she was also secretly thrilled. That ugly English word sounded sexy when he said it. His teeth bit into his bottom lip as he enunciated. She imagined those teeth grazing her neck and shivered.

  “You were supposed to get on the bus.”

  She dropped her gaze from his tense face to his lean body. His shirt was torn, as if he’d been in a scuffle. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “What happened?”

  Instead of answering, he grabbed her upper arm and glanced over his shoulder, as if he thought someone might be following him. Then he led her behind a crumbling block wall that offered a modicum of privacy. “You’re not safe here. You have to go home.”

  She’d been planning on it, until he showed up. “Where will you go?”

  His phone made a noise and he dug it out of his pocket impatiently. Whatever he read on the screen wasn’t good news. “Fuck,” he said again, raking a hand through his hair. There was a bloody scrape on his right elbow.

  “Did you find Sarai?”

  He put the phone away and removed another object from his pocket. A butterfly pendant. “I found this.”

  “That’s Sarai’s. I saw it on her.”

  Cursing, he sank to a sitting position against the wall. There were dark circles under his eyes. He looked tired and disheveled.

  Maria sat down beside him, her pulse racing. She wanted to ask him where he’d gotten the pendant. Instead she offered him milk and an apple from her bag. He accepted both. She watched his strong white teeth pierce the skin of the apple. Perhaps it was inappropriate to feel lust and concern at the same time, but she couldn’t prevent her body’s response to him. He was an exciting man.

  “I asked the passengers if they’d seen my brother,” she said. “They haven’t. No one has seen a girl like Sarai, either. But I have an idea.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “I think she is in disguise, as a boy.”

  He arched a brow at her triumphant assertion. Instead of sharing her optimism, he finished the apple and tossed the core into a nearby bush.

  “We should get on the train again, and keep looking.”

  “We aren’t doing anything.”

  She wondered if he meant to go without her. Why else would he be here, at the cargo station? “You can’t ride the train alone.”

  He swallowed some water and wiped his mouth. “Why not?”

  “You are a rich American. You’ll get robbed.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “You have me.”

  He laughed at this. An ugly laugh, mocking her. “You think you can protect me? You’re a fucking beacon for men. They’ll tear me apart just to get to you.”

  She didn’t like his tone. Or his words, for that matter. She wasn’t sure she understood his meaning. He sounded dismissive and sort of accusatory, as if she was responsible for the attacks she’d suffered. “What is a bee-kin?”

  “Nothing. Forget it.”

  “You are saying that I ask for rape? I deserve this because of my looks?”

  “No,” he said flatly. “I’m saying that traveling together puts us both in danger. This route is patrolled by bandits. You know what they do to women.”

  “They do it to men too.”

  He didn’t deny the possibility. “I’m a federal agent, trained for combat and paid to take risks. You’re not.”

  She fought down a wave of frustration. They were stronger together, not weaker. Two sets of eyes were better than one. She didn’t care what he was trained for. She knew the language, customs, and territory better than he did. He’d also been shot last week, and he’d run into some kind of trouble today. She was certain that he needed a partner. He needed her.

  “You are injured. I will go with you.”

  His eyes darkened. “No, you won’t.”

  “You can’t stop me.”

  A hint of danger flashed across his features. “Actually, I can.”

  She rose to her feet, irritated with his high-handed attitude.

  He stood with her. “I’d kill any man who tried to hurt you. I’d take on an army for you. But I don’t want to be put in that position. Do you understand?”

  She understood that he was too stubborn to accept help, and too independent for his own good. “We were fine last night.”

  “We were lucky last night.”

  “I can disguise myself as a man.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Only a fool would believe you’re a man.”

  “I’ll wear baggy clothes—”

  “It doesn’t matter what you wear,” he said, reaching out to grasp her chin. His fingertips dug into her cheek. “Men don’t have faces like this.” She turned her head to the side, trying to break free. He moved his hands to her hips and hauled her against him. “Men don’t have bodies like this, either. They don’t have curves and soft skin and pretty little tits—”

  She drew back her arm and slapped him. She didn’t have enough room to take a good swing, because he was holding her too close. Even so, her blow found its mark with swift impac
t. He released her abruptly, touching his jaw in surprise.

  Maria had never hit anyone out of anger before, and she regretted it at once. She curled her stinging palm into a fist. “I’m sorry.”

  “I deserved it.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, chagrined. “Did I hurt you?”

  He smiled at the question, as if it wasn’t possible for her to hurt him physically. “I’ll recover.”

  Maria didn’t see the humor in the situation. He’d groped her and insulted her. She’d struck him. They’d both lost control. “You think it’s funny that I hit you? It feels good?”

  “It didn’t feel good, no. Not compared to that hand job.”

  Her heart fluttered like a trapped bird in her chest. She wasn’t familiar with the phrase hand job, but she took his meaning well enough. This was dirty talk, blunt and devastating.

  “I like your hands on me, even when it hurts.” He stepped closer again, crowding her against the wall. “I’ll take whatever I can get. I want your nails in my back and your teeth on my skin. I want you sobbing underneath me, begging me to end this torment.”

  Yes. She understood this too. The need to feel something, even if it was pain. The need to touch him, even in anger. She knew the frustration that made her want to yell at him and pummel her fists against his chest. Anything to take the edge off. She was right there with him at the breaking point. She had too much pent-up energy, too much passion. She needed release.

  He covered her mouth with his and heat exploded between them. She parted her lips in a gasp, welcoming his rough kiss. He pressed her against the wall and devoured her. She clutched at his neck, ravenous. He smelled like sweat and dirt and train exhaust, but he tasted clean and hot.

  She couldn’t get enough of him.

  Their mouths met again and again. He wasn’t gentle, but neither was she. He didn’t want her sweet and passive. He wanted her wild and out of control, so that’s what she gave him. She sucked on his tongue and gripped his strong shoulders. She felt the muscles beneath his torn shirt, his vibrant heat, his beating heart. His erection swelled against her belly. An answering beat pulsed between her thighs.

  Groaning, he filled his hands with her bottom and lifted her against him. She tilted her hips, moaning. She wanted to slide up and down along his length. She wanted to taste every inch of his skin.

  He broke the kiss, breathing hard.

  “Touch me,” she said.

  “Christ,” he muttered, shoving her T-shirt up to her armpits. Her bra was a flimsy bit of cotton. He freed her nipples, which were embarrassingly large and puffy in contrast to her small breasts. She was the opposite of the girls in the men’s magazines. Slim, dark-haired, dusky-tipped, natural. Ian didn’t seem disappointed with her attributes. He looked at her with hungry eyes, moistening his lips.

  She trembled as he cupped her tender flesh. He lowered his head to her breast, taking most of it in his mouth. He dragged his teeth over her skin and sucked her nipples into stiff brown peaks. She threaded her fingers through his hair, lost in sensation.

  She knew she should tell him to stop. He was going too far, too fast. Anyone could come around the corner and find them locked in this embrace. She was already half naked. He might lift her against the wall and take her right here.

  She might let him.

  He unbuttoned her pants with a deft hand. She held her breath in anticipation as he flattened his palm against her belly. When he slid his fingertips into her panties, she smothered a sob. She was wet and swollen, aching for him.

  “Fuck,” he said, as if he’d encountered a problem.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “If I don’t stop, I’m going to come in my pants.”

  She was in the same boat, and too aroused to care. “Acábame,” she whispered, holding his hand in place.

  His eyes darkened at her brazen request. He glanced around them, considering. This section of the cargo station wasn’t exactly private, but they were alone for now. His gaze burned into hers. “Right here, with my hand?”

  She nodded, biting her lower lip.

  His fingertips rested against her, not moving. He brushed his lips over hers. Then he licked the corner of her mouth, teasing her with a light touch.

  “Please,” she panted.

  “Please what?”

  She groaned, unable to articulate her desires.

  He slid his fingertip through her wetness, up and down in slow strokes. “This?”

  She widened her stance a little, rocking her hips in invitation. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and slipped his finger inside her. She gasped at the intrusion, though it felt good. Her body accepted him greedily, with slick moisture and snug heat. He alternated between stroking her in slow circles and dipping his finger inside her. She stood on tiptoe and clung to his shoulders, trembling. Her heart thundered in her chest as she strained toward release.

  Almost there.

  He whispered something in her ear about wanting to taste her. When he took her earlobe between his teeth and flicked his tongue over it, petting her slippery bead at the same time, she flew over the edge. She came with a sharp cry, her legs buckling from the intense pleasure.

  He didn’t take his hand out of her pants until she opened her eyes. Then he kissed her flushed cheek and removed his fingers, shiny with her arousal.

  Instead of wiping them on his pants, he sucked the moisture away.

  She watched him with an embarrassed sort of satisfaction. He was very good with his hands. She imagined he’d be even better with his mouth. She liked his hard face, his mustache stubble, his rough-soft voice, his California accent. She liked the way he kissed, and the dirty things he said.

  He glanced around again to make sure they were alone. It occurred to her that she should cover herself, but she didn’t move. Her eyes traveled down his torso, to the straining erection at the front of his pants. She liked that too. She’d enjoyed wrapping her fingers around him and stroking him to completion. She wanted to do it again.

  “¿Quieres…?” she asked, lifting her gaze to his.

  “No,” he said shortly. With a wince, he lowered himself to a sitting position, resting his shoulders against the concrete wall. His erection didn’t flag. He was uncomfortable, and unwilling to accept her help.

  Damn him.

  He’d done that on purpose. He’d given her pleasure and refused to take his own.

  She fixed her clothing and sat down beside him, mind reeling from the encounter. She felt selfish and wanton for begging him to finish her. Something else was bothering her too. Her body was still inflamed, as if one release wasn’t enough. She shifted her legs, restless.

  “You need to get fucked,” he said, not looking at her.

  Her cheeks heated at this crude suggestion, though she suspected he was right.

  “Foreplay is fun, but nothing beats a good pounding.”

  She imagined his finger being replaced by his thick erection and smothered a moan. It would be fuller, heavier, more intense. More satisfying for them both. She was intimidated and intrigued at the same time. “I would like to try this…pounding.”

  A muscle in his jaw flexed. “What we just did doesn’t change anything. You’re going home, where you belong.”

  She bit back an angry retort. He was a stubborn, overbearing burro. She saw right through him. He wasn’t protecting her. He was protecting himself by pushing her away. He couldn’t handle another emotional goodbye.

  Fair enough. Neither could she.

  “I don’t belong at home,” she said. “I belong with you.”

  “Not right now, you don’t.”

  “Then when?”

  He gave her a measured stare, not responding. He didn’t have to. She read the answer on his face. They were in an impossible situation. She was a Mexican citizen who’d gotten mixed up in a drug cartel scandal. He was an American federal agent looking to salvage his career. This was not a matc
h made in heaven. It was a wildfire raging out of control.

  She was too proud to beg, now that her arousal had abated. She didn’t want to cause him any more trouble. Her fantasies of being his girlfriend went up in smoke. They weren’t going to find Sarai together, or live happily ever after. It was time to go their separate ways.

  He fished a few dollars out of his pocket. “Will you do me a favor?”

  “What?”

  “I need something else to wear. Another shirt, and a hat, if you can find one.”

  There was a man at the edge of the cargo station with a shopping cart full of used clothes. She took Ian’s money and walked that direction. She rifled through the cart, selecting a flannel shirt and a black baseball cap. The label on the front said RAIDERS. She paid three dollars for the items and returned to the wall Ian was standing behind.

  “How’s this?”

  “Fine,” he said, removing his torn shirt. Underneath it, he wore a gray ribbed tank that clung to his chest. He put on a shoulder holster from his backpack, complete with a deadly looking revolver. It served as a chilling reminder of his purpose here. It also made for a dangerously sexy accessory, framing his well-muscled arm. Their eyes met as he checked the weapon and secured it. Then he tried on the plaid flannel shirt she’d bought. There were several buttons missing. He fastened it at the neck and donned the black cap.

  He looked ridiculous, like a wannabe cholo. But it would be an effective disguise from a distance.

  “Good luck,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  She didn’t promise to call him this time, or try to kiss him goodbye. She just held her head high and turned to walk away. It was the challenge of a lifetime to keep moving forward and not look back. The train’s engine started, spurring the passengers into action. They began to climb aboard every available railcar. Maria was so numb and distraught that she almost stumbled into the path of two men in black uniforms at the edge of the cargo station.

  La placa. Federal police.

  They probably weren’t looking for her, but she whirled around and headed the other direction, her heart racing. There was nowhere to hide except among the passengers. She fell into step with a group of young men who were walking toward the tracks.