Chapter 13

The summer sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon as Ethan boarded the commercial flight back home, the familiar hum of the engines filling the cabin as he settled into his window seat. Despite the crowded flight, he felt a distinct sense of excitement and purpose. Summer had officially started, and he was about to take a major step in his aviation journey—getting certified for his new King Air 350ER.

The plane lifted off, and as he watched the landscape shrink below, his mind drifted to thoughts of freedom in the sky. He imagined flying the King Air, feeling the power of its engines at his command, and the thrill of being able to take off whenever and wherever he wanted. No more airport lines or schedules—just him, the plane, and the open sky.

After landing at his home airport, he was greeted by his parents, who were waiting just outside the security checkpoint. His mother wrapped him in a tight hug, and his father shook his hand with a firm, proud grip.

“Good flight?” his dad asked as they walked toward the car.

“Not bad,” Ethan replied with a grin. “But I can’t wait to be flying myself again.”

The next morning, Ethan woke early, buzzing with excitement. After a quick breakfast with his parents, he drove out to the private airfield where the King Air 350ER was waiting for him. The sleek, polished aircraft gleamed in the morning sun, its twin turboprop engines ready to be put through their paces.

His instructor for the day, Jeff Reagan, was already waiting near the hangar—a tall, rugged man with a weathered face and calm demeanor, clearly accustomed to the sky.

“Ethan Cross, huh?” Jeff greeted him with a firm handshake. “Heard you’ve been learning fast. Let’s see if you can handle this beast.”

For the next seven hours, Ethan was immersed in intensive training. Jeff walked him through the systems and controls, explaining the planes advanced avionics, fuel management, and multi-engine operations.

They taxied down the runway, and as soon as Ethan lifted the King Air into the sky, a thrill shot through him. The plane responded beautifully—smooth, powerful, and stable. It was a completely different experience from the smaller aircraft he’d been used to.

Throughout the day, Ethan performed a series of practice maneuvers:

• Steep turns and climb rates, testing the plane’s responsiveness.

• Simulated engine failures, practicing emergency procedures with precision.

• IFR navigation, perfecting his instrument-only flying skills.

Jeff watched him with a keen eye, occasionally offering corrections but mostly nodding in approval.

By late afternoon, Ethan was confident and ready for his check ride. He taxied back to the hangar, refueled, and they headed out again. The examiner joined them, quietly evaluating Ethan’s performance as he executed perfect landings, climbs, and approach patterns.

When they landed, Jeff gave him a firm pat on the back.

“Congratulations, Captain Cross,” he said with a wide grin. “You’re officially type-rated for the King Air. You’re a natural pilot.”

Ethan’s chest swelled with pride and satisfaction. This wasn’t just a hobby—it was his passion, and now he was licensed to fly a plane that could take him almost anywhere.

After spending Saturday evening celebrating with his parents over a delicious home-cooked meal, Sunday morning came too soon. He loaded his bags into his parents’ car, kissed his mother on the cheek, and hugged his father firmly before heading to the airport.

“You be careful out there,” his dad said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Always,” Ethan replied with a confident grin.

As he taxied down the runway and gently lifted the King Air into the sky, he felt an incredible sense of freedom. He was no longer bound by commercial flights—he could go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

The flight back to Stanford was smooth and steady, with only one stop to refuel. Once he landed, Ethan taxied the King Air into a private hangar and made his way to campus. He quickly packed the remainder of his belongings, storing most of it away for the summer, while loading his sensitive equipment into the plane.

By mid-afternoon, Allia and Simone arrived, both dressed in casual summer outfits that highlighted their toned legs and bronzed skin.

“Damn, I missed you,” Allia purred, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a slow, lingering kiss.

Simone smirked, grabbing his belt loop and tugging him toward her. “Hey, don’t hog the pilot, Allia,” she teased before leaning in to claim his lips in a deep, sensual kiss.

The girls climbed into the plush cabin, wide-eyed at the spaciousness and comfort.

“Now, this is how you travel,” Simone declared, sprawling across one of the leather seats with a contented sigh.

As they flew, the girls were playful and affectionate, trading kisses with Ethan and teasing him mercilessly.

Once he dropped them off at their respective home towns, they each gave him a lingering goodbye kiss, promising to see him again soon.

Back home, Ethan spent the next two weeks relaxing, flying the King Air to keep his skills sharp, and catching up with his parents.

One afternoon, while grabbing lunch at a local café, he heard a familiar voice.

“Cross? No way!”

He turned and saw Ryan Henderson, his old football teammate, waving him over with a wide grin.

The two clapped each other on the back before sitting down together.

“Man, you’re looking good,” Ryan said, eyeing Ethan’s lean, muscular build. “College must be doing you some good, huh?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Ethan replied with a grin. “How about you? Still tearing it up on the field?”

Ryan shook his head with a wry chuckle. “Nah, blew out my knee last fall. Tore my ACL. Rehab took me out for the rest of the season.”

“Damn,” Ethan winced. “That sucks.”

Ryan shrugged. “Yeah, but I switched majors to sports medicine. Figured if I can’t play, I might as well help keep other guys on the field.”

They spent the next hour reminiscing, trading stories about old games, high school crushes, and their wild antics.

As they parted ways, Ryan clapped Ethan on the shoulder.

“Hey, man. If you’re ever back in town, hit me up. We’ll grab a beer or something.”

“Definitely,” Ethan promised, watching as Ryan disappeared down the street, feeling a pang of nostalgia.

By late June, Ethan was itching to pick up the girls and head to Cozumel ... He flew the King Air out, picking up Allia and Simone before taking a commercial flight from San Antonio to Cozumel.

They booked a secluded beachside villa, complete with a private infinity pool, large balcony, and beach access.

By day they had fun outside: Snorkeling along the reef, learning to sail and swimming, while their nights were romantic and intimate. Candlelit dinners on the beach, moonlit walks along the shoreline, and slow, sensual dances on the villa’s patio.

The days slipped by blissfully, with the three of them growing even closer, their bond deepening with each shared experience and night of passion.

The sun hung high in the clear, cloudless sky, reflecting brilliantly off the azure waters of the Caribbean. The gentle breeze filled the sailboat’s sails, propelling them effortlessly across the glistening ocean. Ethan stood at the helm, shirtless, his toned muscles bronzed by the sun, while Allia and Simone lounged on the deck, their bikinis leaving very little to the imagination.

“God, it’s perfect out here,” Allia sighed, her head tilted back as she soaked in the sun.

Simone, leaning on her side, ran her fingers along Ethan’s thigh. “Perfect company, too.”

Ethan chuckled softly, his hand briefly covering hers before focusing on the horizon. It was the last day of their private sailing trip, and he wanted to enjoy every moment. The previous night had been filled with slow, sensual passion, and both girls had left him drained but satisfied.

As he scanned the horizon, he spotted a cluster of yachts in the distance. At first, he thought nothing of it—just a group of wealthy vacationers enjoying the sea. But as they drew closer, something felt ... off.

“Hey,” Ethan said, narrowing his eyes. “What’s going on over there?”

Simone and Allia sat up, following his gaze. They saw small boats moving between the larger yachts, but instead of supplies or equipment, they saw children being passed from the bigger vessels to the smaller boats.

Simone’s face paled. “Are they—are they moving kids?”

Allia’s eyes narrowed. “Jesus ... they are.”

Ethan’s hands tightened on the wheel. His stomach clenched as he realized they were witnessing a child slavery operation.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, reaching for his satellite phone.

He quickly dialed the Mexican police, keeping his voice calm but firm as he reported what they were seeing, providing coordinates and details.

While Ethan was on the call, one of the smaller yachts broke away from the others and headed straight for them.

“Guys,” Ethan said, his voice low and tense. “They’re coming right at us.”

Simone and Allia’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Can we outrun them?” Simone asked, fear edging into her voice.

Ethan shook his head. “Not on this sailboat. They’ve got a better motor and speed. We’re sitting ducks.”

Without hesitation, he ushered the girls below deck.

“Stay down there. Don’t come up, no matter what,” he instructed firmly.

Allia grabbed his arm. “Ethan—”

“Just do it. Please.”

Reluctantly, the girls descended into the cabin, fear etched into their faces. Ethan stayed on deck, quickly grabbing a boat hook and crouching low behind the helm station. His breathing slowed as he prepared himself, slipping into the calm, controlled mindset he’d trained for over the years.

The motorboat pulled alongside their sailboat, its outboard engine rumbling. Three men with weathered faces, sun-scorched skin, and cruel eyes tossed a grappling hook across, the steel claws clanking against the deck rail. With a rough yank, they pulled the boats together, closing the gap.

Two of the men climbed aboard, knives in hand, while the third stayed on the motorboat, keeping watch.

Ethan stayed crouched, waiting for his moment.

As the first man’s boots clomped onto the deck, Ethan surged forward. With precise, explosive strength, he grabbed the man by the shirt collar and belt, using the man’s momentum against him. With a grunt of effort, Ethan hurled him over the side, sending him crashing into the water.

The man disappeared beneath the surface, but Ethan didn’t have time to check if he resurfaced. The other two men rushed him, their knives flashing.

The first man lunged. Ethan sidestepped, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting sharply, forcing the knife from his grip. He delivered a vicious elbow strike to the jaw, sending the man reeling.

The second attacker charged, slashing wide. Ethan barely twisted away, but the blade grazed his abdomen, leaving a stinging, shallow cut. Ignoring the pain, he closed the distance, driving a hard knee into the man’s stomach, making him stumble back.

The first man recovered, grabbing a second knife from his belt. With both men advancing, Ethan’s eyes narrowed. He could feel his training kicking in—every movement fluid, every strike deliberate.

He waited until the last second, then slammed a front kick into the first man’s ribs with enough force to crack bone. The man’s eyes bulged in shock as he staggered back, gasping for air. A splintering sound echoed as the man collapsed, his ribs puncturing his lung.

The final attacker grinned cruelly, thinking he had the advantage. He lunged forward—only to stagger suddenly, his eyes going wide.