Hunter froze for a moment. “Bianca?”
“Book the fastest flight out of Mexico. I’ll have Grace help with the arrangements.”
“And you?”
“My schedule is already set.” There was no way I’d abandon today’s race.
“No!” Hunter rejected my plan outright. “Protecting you is the reason I came to Mexico. As your bodyguard, I can’t leave you here alone.”
I wasn’t angry at his refusal. Instead, I gave him a cold, detached glance. “If you’re willing to entrust GC109 to someone else, I’ll agree to you staying.”
Hunter’s expression froze.
His silence said it all. He couldn’t trust anyone else to safely guard GC109.
Staying at the site of the attack was not a viable option. I ordered everyone to get in the car immediately and drive toward the city.
Hunter carried the secure case containing GC109 and joined me in the same vehicle.
“There are other ways.” After a long silence, Hunter finally spoke.
I rested my eyes, replying flatly, “I’m not giving up the race.”
This motorcycle off-road competition, organized by the Mexican Motorcycle Club Association, was a week-long event and the very reason I’d come to Mexico.
GC109 was important, but it wouldn’t stop me from competing.
As my head of security, Hunter was torn between staying to protect me and escorting GC109 safely back home.
If the risk of the GC109 project being leaked wasn’t so high, perhaps Hunter could have accompanied me through the entire week of races.
But Rosa’s attack shattered his hopes. A week was far too long for Hunter to gamble with the safety of GC109. The weight of safeguarding it was crushing.
Hunter couldn’t take the risk.
I smirked coldly. “You don’t have a choice, Hunter.”
His face darkened, his expression grim.
“So, my guess was right. Even my grandmother intends to involve herself in Antonio’s plans.”
Hunter didn’t respond, silently confirming my suspicions and reluctantly accepting my arrangements.
Exhaling deeply, I pulled out my phone and messaged Grace, asking her to book flights for Hunter and his team of bodyguards.
“I’ll leave part of the team here to protect you,” Hunter said after a moment.
I didn’t bother to argue. Exhaustion weighed on me, and all I wanted was sleep to steady my fraying nerves. “Do as you see fit.”
By the time we checked into the hotel Hunter had reserved, it was already 6:31 AM.
With the sudden change in plans, Hunter needed to contact my grandmother and the other elders closely monitoring the situation.
I paid no attention to his calls, yawning as I swiped my room key and stepped inside.
After a quick shower, I changed into the clean pajamas provided by the hotel and forced myself to stay awake long enough to send Antonio an email.
In it, I briefly explained Rosa’s attack, her mysterious army, and Hunter’s decision to return home with GC109.
Once the email was sent, I tossed my phone aside, collapsed onto the bed, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
…
The shrill sound of my phone jolted me awake. In my dream, the ground had been shaking, but it turned out to be the relentless vibrations of my phone.
Groggy, I sat up and answered the call while silencing the vibration.
“Hello?”
“Bianca Luciano!!”
A voice roared at me like a dragon’s growl. I flinched, jolting into full alertness.
“Tell me you’re awake, Bianca! Do you even know what time it is?”
“Shut up, Dennis!” I snapped, running a hand through my hair, irritated at being pulled from my sleep.
Dennis, one of the founders of the ILM Motorcycle Club, had clearly lost his composure.
“It’s 11 o’clock!! Where are you…”
I hung up on him without a word, ruthlessly setting my phone to silent before dragging myself out of bed to wash up and get dressed.
By the time I was ready, my phone showed 13 missed calls from Dennis.
Sighing, I picked up the phone, intending to call him back, but before I could, it lit up with yet another incoming call.
I sighed, answering it. “Be quiet, Dennis. If you yell at me again, I’ll delete your number.”
Dennis swallowed whatever outburst he’d been about to unleash.
The background noise on his end was loud. I guessed he and the other ILM members were already at the race site.
I pulled on my jacket, tucking a handgun into my pocket. “Send me the address,” I said.
“What? You don’t even know the race location?!” Dennis’ voice shot up again.
I hung up before he could continue yelling, cutting off his chance to showcase his “male soprano” voice.
When I opened the door, the bodyguards Hunter had left behind greeted me politely.
Hunter was already gone.
By now, his flight carrying GC109 should have taken off. If all went well, he’d arrive in Boston by tonight.
I hoped everything would go smoothly for him.
“Take me to this address,” I told the driver, forwarding him the location Dennis had sent.
The driver, arranged by Grace, was familiar with Mexico City. With just a glance at the address, he mapped out the fastest route.
The race was scheduled for 2 PM, and the drive from the hotel would take roughly 59 minutes.
At exactly 12:28 PM, I arrived at the race site.
While the driver went to park, I stepped out to find Dennis.
The race was being held in a remote area east of Mexico City-a stretch of unfinished highway. The organizers had somehow secured it for a month to host the event.
When I arrived, the rest areas on either side of the track were packed with spectators. It was noisy, chaotic, and full of chatter.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Dennis.
“Bianca, princess, queen, have you arrived yet?” Dennis sounded on the verge of losing it.
“Gate 3, by the stands.”
“I’ll be right there. Don’t move!”
True to his word, Dennis found me in no time, emerging from the crowd with a shout. He spread his arms wide, rushing toward me.
“Bianca, Your Majesty, finally, you-”
“Stop, Dennis!” I blocked him with my phone, refusing to let him get any closer. “Do you have bread?”
Dennis blinked, startled. “You haven’t eaten lunch yet?”
“What happened to your hand? You’re injured? For heaven’s sake, you still have a race later!”
He was so loud.
If this weren’t a race venue, I might’ve pulled out my gun and pointed it at his head to make him shut up.
“Bread, Dennis!” I said coldly, my tone as unyielding as stone. “And where’s the changing room? I need to get ready.”
“You have no respect for me,” Dennis muttered, but under my icy glare, he didn’t dare say more. Obediently, he led me to ILM’s designated rest area.
Calling it a “lounge” was generous. It was nothing more than a tiny space partitioned off with flimsy plywood, so cramped that two people sitting side by side would feel crowded.
“The organizers said there weren’t enough large lounges, so we’ll have to make do with this,” Dennis explained awkwardly.
“Not true,” Steve, a 17-year-old rookie rider from ILM, interjected angrily. “The U. C. Club took our lounge! They called us losers, and the organizers only invited us out of pity!”