Chapter 4 - Some Like Them Strapped

Rayna

Against my better judgment, memories of the time I first met Mr. Windstorm flashed before me. It would have been better to entertain those memories while alone, but the way he looked at me with those magnetic eyes now, it awakened the same feeling I felt and projected the same visions I saw this morning.

The feeling and the vision I both painfully suppressed for the remainder of our helicopter ride...

Uncle James, through a text message, sent me instructions about my assignment after I left his office.

'Tomorrow afternoon, go to Joint Base Andrews. You will be briefed there. Your flight to Bolivia will be at 0300 hours the day after. Bring light clothes as it will just be a three-day stay. Once you arrive at El Alto International Airport, look for Jorge Flores. He prefers to be called George, by the way. He will be the one driving the helicopter to Hextrion. After you find him, you will meet with Mr. Axel Windstorm in a private hangar. Be swift. Don't be late. His time is precious as a CEO and he is very particular about it. Good luck on this assignment, Rayna. Be vigilant. Guard the man above anything else. I pray for this assignment's success and you and Mr. Windstorm's safety.'

I did everything he instructed, and I even reached at the private hangar two hours before my temporary employer arrived. This place looked like a barn, except that it was made of metal and the ceiling and support were beams instead of woods. There were large windows in every corner, allowing rich sunlight to pass through, making the hangar look magical instead of stuffy.

George, sporting a suave upper lip beard, allowed me to wander around and check out the numerous aircraft parked inside. There was a decommissioned Boeing 737 at the farthest corner, an F-22 Raptor next to it, a Cessna 172 Skyhawk at the opposite side, and an AH-64D Apache helicopter—probably the one we would use later.

When Mr. Windstorm arrived, it was by riding a twelve-door limousine. Not a surprise. George whistled and gaped at the vehicle. I just mentally rolled my eyes and readied myself for a welcome salute.

The limousine parked inside the hangar, just a few steps from the opening. A male driver dressed in a white suit disembarked, rounded the rear end of the car, and opened the last door.

From where I stood, I expected black shoes to step out first, but to my surprise, an automatic ledge extended from the limousine floor to the cemented ground. It was followed by wheels seconds later.

My brows twitched in confusion.

Wheels?

And then I got a full view of this transport when the driver assisted a man out.

Wheelchair, and an automatic, custom-made one at that.

I couldn't believe the man sitting was Mr. Axel Windstorm. He wasn't standing on two legs like how I actually expected him to do. He didn't even look like the usual men-in-suit I encountered in the past.

An imposter—was my first thought, but by the way the driver carefully assisted him like he was a precious element better than gold, I realized he was the real deal.

Though he had an impairment, he still exuded the same aura from that of a business magnate. He wore the most expensive sunglasses in the world. He had an aristocratic jaw and nose. His lips were firm and full. His skin looked fair with a healthy blush on his cheeks. Though I couldn't see just how long his hair was and what color because of the hood he wore, I reckoned it was short and neatly cut.

Overall, he...he looked unearthly. I was experiencing chills just looking at him.

"Let me introduce, Mr. Axel Windstorm, CEO and owner of the Windstorm Conglomerate and the Lord of Windstorm Hall," the driver informed with his tone filled with pride.

Mr. Windstorm pressed a button on his wheelchair and the wheels rolled towards us. I was stiff on the spot, but George, my savior, poked my ribs, urging me forward to meet him half-way.

I did, hesitantly at first because I felt ashamed of myself for actually judging the man before I even met him. Again, my regret for not Googling him beforehand turned two-fold. Ugh.

Way to go, Rayna. Way to go.

It wasn't deliberate, but we met on a spot where the sun's rays landed. Without delay, I executed a salute first, "A pleasure to meet you, Sir. I am Officer Rayna Chase, assigned to accompany you to Hextrion," I informed, and then stretched a hand, rerouting my vision fully on him.

I froze instantaneously after seeing the glow of his eyes despite the sunglasses he wore. I was positive it was because of the sunlight's effect though, but something in my gut told me otherwise. I couldn't delineate the color: maybe blue, maybe hazel? It landed on me, watching me like I was some kind of delicacy.

Suddenly too aware of his movements, I sucked a breath when he lifted his hand up and gripped mine. I flinched in reflex. The contact of our skin caused a shock wave all over my body. In my mind's eye, I was flying in the sky filled with the aurora borealis—beautiful and fun but made dangerous with the presence of lightning.

Then, out of nowhere, I heard a growl. The most primal, most raw in all the animal sounds I heard—and I heard many. Diamond-shaped irises filled my vision. Glowing gold. Glowing like the sun.

'Rayna...' The growl morphed into an audible word, and I was shocked to hear it was my name. 'Kuz sathi.' It added more words, but this time, I didn't understand it.

"Charmed to meet you," Mr. Windstorm's voice snapped me out of my unexplained trance. He shook my hand. I felt the movement just as I fluttered my eyelids.

"Uh, yes." I cleared my throat.

"And I'm George Flores, your pilot for today, Mr. Windstorm," George exclaimed just as he tossed a hand in between us. I didn't even notice him approach.

What the hell just happened to me?

My temporary employer shook his hand too, but it was brief, unlike mine where it lingered—or maybe it was just my imagination.

"Let's get you strapped up, Sir," George continued while tossing me a look. A look that said, 'You push his wheelchair.'

I furrowed my brows. Why would I push his wheelchair when it was an automatic and he could fucking do it himself?

But Mr. Windstorm didn't complain when I circled behind him and did just that.

I gripped the handle just as I bit the inside of my cheek. I normally don't do this crazy feminine reflex. I got rid of it after I was bombarded with tons of naked torso—not to mention dangling appendages—during my training and service. Believe me, in the Corps, there was a surplus of it. I didn't understand why this old habit returned.

Maybe because of his scent that wafted through my nose? With how close we were, I could smell it clearly: something vanilla-like, with hints of musk and spice. It was teasing my nostrils, but I controlled it, acting unaffected.

Or maybe because his presence, his aura, although wheelchair-bound, commanded my attention? Exuding some force that was ancient...powerful....I don't know. I couldn't well understand it.

George and I helped secure him inside the copter while the driver brought his bags: only one in this case and for this, I was mentally thankful. This meant he planned to return to civilization as early as possible, too.

"You're all set, Sir," I informed once everything was completed.

"Good," was his reply just as I climbed inside and sat opposite him.

Back to the now, I finally confirmed the color of his eyes. It was neither hazel nor blue. It was greenish-violet, and true enough I fell right into its spell.