That Time in Rio

mountain lake. For a moment he lost himself in her gaze, and even the pounding in his skull faded to the background. It wasn’t peaceful, staring at her. Nothing could be with their very lives on the line. But it was close.
Megan leaned her head against the wall. “Never apologize for being good, Wolfgang.”
Wolfgang wasn’t sure what to say. They lapsed into silence, and he listened to Megan’s soft breathing. It was a faint sound, like the breath of a sleeping child, and he thought he’d never heard something so comforting. He imagined again her being tortured by the Red Command and relived the fear that had overcome his mind. It dominated him as quickly and instantly as a shot of heroin—or at least what he imagined a shot of heroin would feel like. It was an overwhelming surge of focused emotions all orbiting around a single image. A single person.
He never remembered feeling that way about anybody else—not his mother, not his childhood friend, Marcus, not even his little sister, Collins. As desperately as he loved Collins and as ferociously as he would protect her, he never felt a maddened rush of hulk-like drive to defend and protect as he had felt while watching Megan held down, beaten, and violated.
Wolfgang blinked, driving away the images, then watched Megan staring at the wall in stony silence. The bruises on her neck and the dirt in her hair didn’t tarnish her natural beauty. He bet she’d look like a million dollars covered in mud.
“Remember Paris?” He whispered.
Megan didn’t move. “What about it?”
“When we danced.”
She cocked her head, just a little. Just enough to meet his gaze. “I remember.”
“And then in the car, driving back to the plane . . . you told me you’d never date a team member.”
“Yes.”
“Well . . .” Wolfgang licked his lips. “If we survive this, I just want you to know, I’m asking you out anyway.”
She didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. Didn’t move at all. She just stared right at him with unreadable grey eyes just as still as before, but now as deep as the ocean.
Wolfgang’s stomach twisted, and he immediately questioned everything he’d just said. Was that anger he saw? Frustration that somebody she counted as a friend had disregarded her desires and taken advantage of a moment of weakness to . . .
Megan leaned in and pressed her face close to his, kissing him hard and slow and twisting her head to lean in closer. Wolfgang sat stunned for a half-moment, and then he kissed her back. Her tongue touched his, and her gentle lips pressed against his mouth. He breathed in the scent of her body, as dirty and sweaty as it was, and everything about their desperate situation just faded. It didn’t matter anymore.
Megan leaned back, breaking the kiss hours before Wolfgang wanted it to end. She settled against the wall, and with a small smile, rested her head against the bricks and looked up at the ceiling. “Glad we cleared that up.”

9
The hours that passed following their kiss were the most surreal of Wolfgang’s life. He knew in the back of his mind that he should feel panicked about their predicament and probably busy himself with orchestrating some manner of elaborate escape.
But with their hands effectively bound to the wall and nothing at all of use in the small room, there was nothing to be done, and Wolfgang’s mind kept reliving the moment that Megan kissed him.
He said nothing afterward, just sitting in stunned silence as Megan did the same, feeling the space between them and wishing like hell she’d kiss him again. He didn’t want to crowd her or push his luck, but the thought of her gentle touch and soft words consumed his mind.
She kissed me.
He stole a glance at her and imagined what it might feel like to hold her. To pick her up and spin her around and—
“What?” Megan asked, flashing him a semi-annoyed-but-not-really grin.
Wolfgang looked away. “Nothing.”
“I didn’t say I’d go out with you.”
He grinned. “You didn’t say you wouldn’t, either.”
“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”
“I am if you’re into it.”
She rolled her eyes. “How about we figure a way out of this mess, then we’ll talk about it?”
“I was starting to have a good idea when you kissed me . . . but I couldn’t quite work it out.”
“Nice try. I’ve got nothing for you until I’m out of this shit hole and have a long shower.”
Wolfgang pulled at his bonds. He’d already attempted to break the wire ties with brute force, but they were made of thick plastic, probably intended for industrial use, and he couldn’t get effective leverage over them. “How long until sunrise, you think?” he asked.
“Couple hours. I figure we were captured sometime before midnight, but we’ve been here awhile.”
“We have some time, then. They’ll probably come for us in the morning—”
Gunshots erupted outside the shack, and Wolfgang sat bolt upright. The string of automatic gunfire split the air and was quickly joined by another four or five guns and loud, angry voices.
“Think again,” Megan said. “We’ve got to move.”
Wolfgang jerked at his bonds until they bit into his skin, and he leaned backward and forward rapidly, scooting his butt away from the wall for more leverage. With every jerk, he felt more layers of skin being scraped away from his wrists, and the wire ties refused to give.
More gunshots blasted the sky, and then a commotion of shouts filled the air. Wolfgang thought he heard Brazilian John Cena’s voice amongst them, yelling commands at his army of thugs. Something had seriously upset the Red Command, and he didn’t want to be around for the fallout.
“Any luck?” he asked.
Megan grunted, twisting onto her side and struggling to place her feet against the wall. Her shoulder popped, and she let out a little scream, then lay still. “That didn’t sound good,” she panted. “God, it hurts.”
“Don’t move,” Wolfgang said. “I’ll do something.”
Smack. Smack.
They both froze. The sound was hard and immediate and came from directly beneath them. It reminded Wolfgang of a hammer