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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

CDMX - 23. CDMX • XXIII

“I’m ready.” CJ returned to the main living area to find Spike with Liebe in his arms. Her expression told him she did not mind.

“She’s adorable. And she has a lot to say.” Spike grinned at CJ and Owen. “Just like her father.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’m warning you, Spike. You return CJ to us undamaged, or Liebe and I will make the rest of your life a living hell.”

“Duly noted, counselor.” He winked at CJ. “Damn attorneys can get feisty, eh? That all you’re bringing?”

CJ dropped the backpack on the ground and coaxed Liebe into leaving Spike. “Yep. We got plenty of stuff back in D.C.” He tightly hugged the girl when she wiggled in his arms. “I’ll be back in a couple of days, Munchkin. Be a good girl while I’m gone. Okay?”

Liebe nodded and noisily kissed her father.

 

Spike texted their driver before leaving the apartment and a late model car with heavily tinted windows was waiting for them at the curb when they exited the building. “The hangar.” Spike’s two words were apparently sufficient for the chauffeur; he made a U-turn and headed in the airport’s direction.

“So, what’s the plan?” CJ had no idea what was expected of him.

“Simple. My text went to Domogarov’s babysitters too. They should be walking him to a car in the hotel’s garage as we speak. They’ll meet us at the plane.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” CJ’s usual confidence was somewhat shaken by the gravity of the situation. He had been instrumental in an intelligence officer defecting, and he was about to face the man. He focused on remaining calm while adrenaline coursed through his body.

“Not much, CJ. In case you’re concerned, you’ll never be alone with Domogarov. He insisted he wanted to talk to you, and he’ll have plenty of time in the air to do so.” Spike sighed. “Sorry about dragging you away from Ozzie and Liebe, but this is truly a matter of national security. He’s already given us a couple of names in Mexico and

“Informants?”

“We’re not sure what the fuck they are, but it seems Domogarov has been playing them for something or other. Even without whatever files he may have, the knowledge in his head’s valuable.”

“You think he can reveal names in the U.S. too?” Every spy novel CJ had ever read resurfaced as potential scenarios. While maintaining his outward composure, his mind was full of possible developments and outcomes. It was an easy way of forgetting about being scared.

“Possibly.” Silence reigned for a while as the driver maneuvered through Mexico City’s afternoon traffic.

CJ was glad for the temporary respite; processing the information Jake had shared was not easy or something he wanted to deal with too quickly. There were consequences to what he had done so far and what he was now engaged in.

“Look, CJ, I already mentioned the Russians, and the Chinese too, have increased their presence in Mexico. We assume most of their interest revolves around how they can manipulate events to influence our international and domestic policies. They wouldn’t get away with this shit in Canada, and since it and Mexico are the only two countries bordering us, they’re concentrating their efforts where they’re not as much under a microscope.”

“Or so they think. You guys seem to have a handle on the matter.”

“Not that good a one. Anyway, if he asks you questions, answer whatever you feel comfortable with. I’ll interrupt if there’s anything I don’t think you should address.”

“It’s not like I know top-secret information. Well, except for this shit with him.”

“Intelligence work doesn’t always involve secrets, CJ. Sometimes finding out someone’s on blood pressure meds can be just as interesting and possibly helpful. By the way, Domogarov’s in excellent health and ripped. We gave him a full physical, and he admitted he exercises every day.”

“Figures… He filled out his suits well.”

“Before I forget. Let me have your phone and passport.”

CJ had noticed the sign for the airport’s main entrance and decided not to comment when the driver bypassed it. He reached for the items in the pockets of his Perfecto. “When will I get them back?”

“The phone after someone on the plane looks at it and confirms the wafer Jimmy Chen inserted’s still working properly. We’re letting you and Ozzie keep those as a way of thanking you.”

“What happens when we get new phones?”

“You bring the old ones in, someone will return them to factory settings, and we’ll hook you up again with your new ones.”

“What about the passport?”

“When you’re ready to leave, I’ll drive you to the airport and return it. Once you get it back and look at it, you’ll notice it stamped, reflecting your arrival on a commercial flight sometime this evening. The airline’s computer system will show you bought a last-minute ticket.”

“What about the return flight?”

“We’ll hook you up. You said Wednesday, right?” Spike tapped the driver’s shoulder. “Pull straight in.”

They had turned a couple of times and CJ could see a gate ahead. It had to be an entrance for those traveling on private planes since they were surrounded by warehouses and hangars. “Yep. Meeting with the doctor and the surrogate tomorrow afternoon and hopefully having dinner with a couple of friends. I’d prefer to be back in the office on Thursday, so a Wednesday flight around lunch we’ll get me home by early evening.”

“If you decide to stay longer, call tomorrow.”

“Hey! I just realized something. I always fly first or business. If anyone looks, they may be surprised if you stick me in the back.”

“Spoiled bitch.”

 

Men in Black!” CJ’s reaction to the two men boarding the Gulfstream behind a smiling Domogarov was a result of their attire. Dark suits, white shirts, black ties, earbuds with coiled cables, and sunglasses reminded him of Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones.

Spike laughed. “No extra-terrestrials involved, though.”

“Hello, CJ. It’s good to see you again.” Yevgeny took a seat facing CJ and the back of the aircraft.

Although he continued to smile, CJ noticed the man’s clothing was rumpled, he looked haggard, and the dark circles under his eyes were the size of plates. “You look like shit, Yevgeny. Not sleeping well?”

The Russian’s sigh carried the weight of the world in it. “What do you think? Your friends”he waved a hand to encompass Jake and the two men seated closer to the cockpit“have been polite, but relentless in their questioning.”

“What did you expect, Yevgeny?”

Spike, sitting across the aisle also facing the front, raised a hand to get their attention. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’re ready to take off. Why don’t you guys strap in? Once we’re in the air you can relax and chat to your hearts’ content.”

CJ had layered a t-shirt, hoodie, and carried his leather, motorcycle jacket, anticipating colder weather in Washington than in Mexico City. Jeans and short boots complemented his attire. His footwear was removed soon after boarding, and tossed on an empty seat along with his coat. They had a few hours in the air ahead of them, and he wanted to be as comfortable as possible.

Engines roaring, the pilot sped down the runway, and the aircraft climbed at a steep angle once the wheels left the ground. CJ was used to flying in larger planes or the propeller-driven ones his brother could handle; the executive jet was a new experience. He was surprised when he was thrown back into the leather seat during takeoff.

Once they had leveled off at whatever altitude they would be traveling, Jake stood. “We don’t have a flight attendant, but we do have a stocked galley. Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

“Vodka?” Yevgeny sounded as tired as he looked.

“Ginger ale?” Considering the situation he found himself in, CJ did not want to dull his senses with alcohol.

“Be right back.” A few moments later, he returned with plastic cups, an ice bucket, a soft drink can, and two small Absolut bottles. “Sorry, Yevgeny, but no Russian vodka aboard.”

CJ opened his soda while Domogarov did the same with one of his miniatures.

After the Russian had sampled his drink, CJ struck. “All right, Yevgeny. Why am I here?”

“What do you mean? You’re a friend keeping me company during a stressful flight.”

“That’s crap, and you know it. We’ve never been friends. Once we land in the United States, you’ll end up somewhere in Idaho, and I’ll never see you again. Why did you want me along?”

“Idaho?”

“Wherever, Yevgeny. After you’ve been debriefed to everyone’s satisfaction, I assume you’ll get a new identity, and you’ll be resettled somewhere your comrades may not easily locate you.”

Yevgeny chuckled. “Of course. The United States Marshals Service famed Federal Witness Protection Program. I hope you’re right about Idaho. The weather won’t be an issue, and they have cowboys there, no? I want to ride horses like when I was a boy.”

“They grow potatoes in Idaho. Maybe you can make your own vodka.” CJ was becoming frustrated. “You still haven’t told me why me. Why did you single me out to begin with? I’m nothing but a low-level consular officer.”

“For now.” Yevgeny stretched his legs and crossed his ankles. “I think you’re destined for more.” He sipped his vodka and wiggled in his seat until he was apparently comfortable.

“I had no idea who you were until Felicia invited me to your welcoming cocktail party. She mentioned your name, and I googled it.”

CJ’s grin was met with a matching one.

“Yes, Google. We use it in Russia too. After all, a Russian invented it.” Sergey Brin, one of Google’s founders, was an American born in Moscow. “Anyway, what I read fascinated me. Mrs. Clinton, or her advisors, placed a lot of faith in you, considering you had just started university studies. Instead of sitting in a room answering phone calls and opening mail, they put you in front of the cameras and let you speak on her behalf. Unusual for someone so young and inexperienced.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you’ve heard that old saying about baffling them with bullshit if you can’t dazzle them with brilliance?”

“I have, and it does not apply to you. What I read fascinated me, so I went looking for more. Do you know there are multiple clips of you speaking on YouTube? Those were illuminating. Your poise and passionate delivery will make you a formidable candidate when you run for office.”

“And what makes you think I’ll run for office?”

“Bah! Of course you’ll run. You’re too talented to be a paper pusher for the rest of your life. I was particularly impressed when you spoke with former Congressman Paul Ryan at a seminar somewhere. I don’t think you were even in college at the time.”

Jake had remained silent until then, browsing a magazine, looking uninterested, but obviously paying attention. “He wasn’t. I remember that event ’cause I was there. Georgetown University’s Gaston Hall in spring 2016. Right before CJ graduated from high school.”

CJ was surprised Jake recalled the event. He didn’t even realize the man had been there. He also noticed, although Spike admitted to being present, he did not divulge further personal information about his affiliation with Georgetown.

“You challenged Mr. Ryan and made him uncomfortable. Your comments exhibited the same capacity for critical thinking you displayed in your writing about bullying. Subsequent speeches each showed marked improvement in your mastery of issues. Your delivery was always impassioned and believable.”

“Thank you, I guess. Wish I had done more so your meddling wouldn’t have been so disastrous.”

Yevgeny chuckled. “There you go, blaming us again. You Americans are gullible enough even a third-world country could influence your voting.”

“You mean an underdeveloped nation? Like Russia?”

Yevgeny laughed. “Touché! And that type of fast thinking was the clincher. I saw it during the Barrosas’ party and at the wine tasting at your home. You were too tempting a target to ignore, CJ. If there was the slightest chance of recruiting you, I had to try. You could have been a valuable asset to Russia in the future.”

“We know how that worked out. Why did you try to foist the ballet dancer on us? Owen and I have not strayed in the time we’ve been married, and I don’t ever see it happening.”

“But I didn’t know that! And based on all those pictures of semi-naked attractive guys on your social media, including a few sailing clips where nude swimming was obvious, I wrongly assumed you could be tempted.”

“It’s called skinny dipping in the U.S. It’s usually innocent and non-sexual. Those were friends.” CJ had one question he had been waiting for the right moment to ask. “Why defect?”

“Because of you.”

CJ was unable to control his reaction; his surprise was obvious. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“I underestimated you. My position at the embassy was a well-known secret in Mexico City. But most people observe diplomatic niceties, the majority kept their distance when they couldn’t avoid me outright, and those who did approach me were cordial in public. Always smile at your adversaries, CJ. It keeps them guessing.”

Yevgeny paused long enough to open the second vodka and pour it into his cup. “You obviously paid attention to whatever passes for security briefings at your embassy. I assume you recognized me, alerted the CIA Station Chief, and they swept your apartment after I was there. Whoever decided to embarrass me by delivering one of my devices to the ambassador was clever. You letting me know privately, while trying to break my arm, made me realize I was in trouble.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, but I’m not really sorry.” CJ felt anger begin to rise within him and took a couple of deep breaths. “You’re right about something. I knew who you were but never thought you’d sink so low as to bug my home. Color me naïve. But I did have help, and they’re the reason you’re here. Alive.” CJ shook his head and grinned. “It took Owen some time to calm me down. I wanted to invite you to lunch and strangle you. I figured diplomatic immunity would save my ass.”

Yevgeny’s laughter once again filled the confined space. “A temper’s a good thing to have as long as you learn how to control it, my friend. It can keep your senses sharp and maybe keep you alive. I’m glad you spared my life. But unfortunately, I’ve been a thorn in my ambassador’s side for a while, and I knew he would use this embarrassing episode to get rid of me.”

“Wouldn’t you have been transferred back to Russia? Or to another embassy?”

“God forbid going back to Russia. I always planned to retire somewhere like Chile or Argentina. It’s why I have certain information and some funds squirreled away. As for another embassy? Someplace in the middle of Africa? Unfortunately, once your CIA shares details of your little adventure with Five Eyes

Yevgeny’s comment surprised CJ; he shot Jake a questioning look.

He shrugged. “It’s common knowledge, CJ. If you know about the Brits, Aussies, Kiwis, Canadians, and us collaborating, why wouldn’t he? Look it up online. There’s a nice little Wikipedia article on it.” Jake was definitely paying attention.

“Even if it went no further than the countries Mr. Cruz mentioned, I suspected my usefulness in the field was nearing its end. I would have probably wound up working in a cold, dark basement in Moscow. If I was allowed to remain alive. My country would not be happy someone as young and inexperienced as you…” Yevgeny did not finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. The fact an experienced officer was so easily trapped by a civilian might very well earn him the death penalty.

And CJ did not need him to finish the thought. He realized discovering the listening devices was not that big a deal but having the nerve to expose Yevgeny’s failure by returning one to the ambassador, at his embassy, would be seen as a failure. If CJ could do it, what might a seasoned intelligence officer accomplish if they set their mind to entrap the Russian spy?

“What about your wife and kids? Aren’t you worried what will happen to them?”

“Nope. It was a marriage of convenience. We were never in love and the kids barely know me. She has her lovers. And her father’s one of Putin’s favorite admirals, so papochka will take care of them.”

As if by a predetermined agreement, Yevgeny and CJ both reclined further into their seats and closed their eyes. CJ marveled at the Russian’s calm demeanor; it lent credence to the revelation the spy had an exit strategy in place. A sham marriage made the matter more palatable, but CJ still wondered how Yevgeny’s kids would get on. Maybe one day he would look for them.

His thoughts automatically went to Liebe. He could not imagine leaving her behind and disappearing. Looking at his watch, he stood and leaned close to Jake. “Can I use my phone?”

“Yep. No pictures of the plane so no video chat. Wi-Fi password’s plus sign, Spike capital S, the number four, capital U, and the number two.”

CJ chortled. He could not believe it. That simple? “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Nope. Gets changed before every departure.”

“I think I’ll just text Ozzie. The call can wait until we’re in D.C.” All well In the air Will call after we land Love you and the munchkin the message read. Since Yevgeny’s eyes remained closed, CJ decided the couches in the back looked comfortable, and a short nap was in order.

The stressful day must have tired him out; he did not awaken until Jake shook his arm asking if he wanted something to eat.

“Nah, I’m good. I texted Brad and asked he wait for me for dinner. There’s this pizza place a couple of blocks from the house I’ve been craving a pie from. Any fruit around?”

“Go take a look in the galley. I think I saw bananas and apples.”

Yevgeny, Spike, and the other agents ate. During the meal and for the remainder of the flight, conversation among all of them was cordial. Mostly sports, movies, and music. Yevgeny asked a few questions about places in the U.S. he had heard of but had little knowledge about.

The pilot’s announcement they were on final approach came as a surprise. Flying time had gone faster than CJ at first expected. “Take a look out the window, Yevgeny. Flying in and out of Reagan National at night’s a treat. You get to see all the monuments shine in the skyline.”

The landing was smooth, however, the pilot did not head in the direction of the terminal once the plane had slowed. Instead, he taxied toward a remote area of small hangars and warehouses. CJ assumed the goal was to be as discrete as possible.

“Ooh haa!” Yevgeny frantically tapped at the small window. “That’s a 1938 Packard Town Car! I love old cars.”

CJ caught a glimpse of an incredibly long classic car slipping into a nondescript warehouse. He thought he saw a couple of other old vehicles inside before the door slid shut. “Is that like a car museum or something?” The question was directed at Jake.

“Not as far as I know. I’ve heard rumors there’s a guy who lives in one of these old hangars and owns a couple of ancient cars. Sounds pretty eccentric to me.”

CJ chuckled. “Just eccentric enough I may want to look him up one day. So, what’s the plan, Stan?”

“There’s a car waiting for you. It’ll take you home or wherever the hell you want.”

“Will they stop at the pizza joint on the way?”

“Sure thing, CJ, turn an agency driver into your personal chauffeur.” Jake appeared less tense now they were on American soil. “Of course. Get your pizza, stuff your face, and get some rest. You’ll have an email when you wake up telling you what’s next. We’ll get you a flight out early afternoon on Wednesday. That works, right? Anything else we can do for you? I mean, if we’re going to deliver pizza we may as well go all the way.” The sarcasm came through loud and clear.

“Nope, that works. For now”

CJ had reclaimed his boots and laced them while talking to Jake. He stood and draped the leather jacket over his arm when the jet came to a full stop. “This is it, Yevgeny.”

The Russian nodded. “Thank you for accompanying me, CJ. Believe it or not, I was nervous, and you helped me work through it.”

“Glad I could be of assistance.” CJ stared at the former intelligence officer and felt a twinge of sadness. The man’s life would reclaim a modicum of normalcy, but he would forever be a traitor and a stranger in a foreign land. “Best of luck, Yevgeny. I wish I could say it was a pleasure. Maybe under different circumstances, it would have been, but I’m glad you’re out of my life now.”

The man nodded. “I know. Maybe one day we’ll meet again.”


Once one of the other agents opened the door and lowered the stairs, Jake accompanied CJ to the first of three dark Suburbans. Another man in black stood by it and opened the back door when CJ approached.

“He’s gonna call a pizza place and wants to stop by it on the way home.” Jake’s grin suggested he was still amused by CJ’s request. When the driver nodded and moved to round the car, Jake turned his attention to CJ. “Sorry our reunion was rushed and not over beers and burgers. We’ll have to do that sometime soon.”

“You got it, man. I have a question. I assume everything that’s transpired has to be kept a secret?”

“For now. Like I mentioned before, we’ve done a little misdirection, trying to delay the Russians discovering Yevgeny’s in our hands. But that will at some point crumble. The operation, or your part up to the reception at the Russian embassy, may be declassified at some point but the defection I doubt we’ll admit to for a while.”

CJ’s malevolent grin made Jake frown. “Good. I’ll definitely want to brag about it when I write my memoirs.”

A smirking Jake nodded. “You’re a smart cookie. Based on what was discussed between defection and extraction, I think you’ll end up with a commendation in your file. Thanks for everything, bud. Go get your pizza, I need to go settle our newest American in his temporary safe house.”

 

Backpack slung over a shoulder, and pizza box balanced on one hand, CJ keyed in his Everhope entry code on the courtyard door. “Honey, I’m home.”

Brad Kennedy waved from the couch. “About time you got here. I’m starving!”

Loud barking did not allow CJ to reply. Instead of moving further into his house, he had to raise the pizza box away from the dog. “Hey, boy! You happy to see me or you smelling food?” CJ raised his eyes in Brad’s direction. “Has he been behaving?”

“Yeah. And right now his excitement’s probably a combination of things. The pizza smell must be driving him nuts. If I gave him a whole bag of food, he’d eat it, and he definitely misses you guys. I keep the doors on the top floor closed and rarely go up there”the master suite occupied the entire level“but I’ve found him sleeping in front of the office door.” The separate but connected space would one day be CJ and Owen’s study but had been used as a nursery after Liebe’s birth.

Patting the dog’s head to keep him distracted, CJ was able to move towards the kitchen, and drop the pizza on the counter. Kneeling, he wrapped his arms around the golden retriever. “How the fuck are you, Wingnut? We miss you too, boy. Liebe says your name whenever she sees a pooch that looks like you.”

The dog originally belonged to CJ’s brother, Ritch. When he left for the Air Force Academy in June 2020, Wingnut went to live at Everhope. A little over a year later, the pooch was again left behind during the move to Mexico City. Brad had become Everhope’s caretaker then and the former Army Ranger and Wingnut now shared the house.

“How’s the little terror?” Brad had muted the TV but did not attempt to join CJ in the kitchen. He had lost both legs in an IED incident and his prostheses were on the coffee table.

“Good.” CJ looked at his watch. “By the time I call home she’ll be asleep. You can talk to her tomorrow.” He nodded towards the artificial legs. “Airing out the stumps?”

Brad reached down and rubbed the right one. “Yeah… Had an itch on this leg. I’ll strap on and go join you.”

“Don’t bother. We can eat on the couch. I’ll get a roll of paper towels. What do you wanna drink?”

“A coke for me. If you want beer, there’s plenty in the fridge.”

Looking through the appliance’s glass front, a shelf full of Sam Adams bottles caught CJ’s attention. “What the fuck, Red. You drinking again?” Brad had flirted with alcohol abuse in high school, and again after losing his legs, but timely interventions by friends had helped him overcome the challenge.

“Don’t look at me. One or two a week’s all I drink. Blame that on Phil and Riley. “Those two are over here a lot, and I keep telling them I don’t have access to the wine cellar.” Biometric readings were required to enter the basement space, and Brad had not been granted access at his request. “They finally decided to stock the fridge, since I rarely had beer in the house.”

“I hope I have time to see them; I’ll shoot them a text once we’re done eating. “Who’s in town from The Squad? Let’s try to get everyone together for dinner tomorrow night.”

Both men recounted events of the past few months. Brad spoke of continued mental and physical improvements, with CJ expanding on the small blurbs accompanying his social media posts. “You can scroll through my phone later to look at more pictures.”

“Are you guys taking Liebe to L.A.? When we go for the Oscars?”

CJ was surprised Brad felt confident enough to speak of A Home for Warriors receiving a nomination as a fait accompli. “What makes you so sure we’ll be invited?”

“Please, CJ. If the number of interview requests and secondary awards are any indication, we’re a shoo-in to win.”

“Really? That many? I think I’m glad I’m living in another country.” Being hounded by the press was not something CJ was ready to revisit just quite yet. He could imagine Northman going nuts if he had to talk to reporters on a regular basis.

Brad chuckled and threw a pillow at his friend. “You’re so full of it. You’d be in your element. At least Anne”Anne Maki was the visionary behind the project and its director“handles most of them. But there’ve been a few that have asked for me specifically.”

“I’m sure you’re managing. Anyway, I won’t be going, my leave request was denied. Ozzie will represent me, and he’ll have Liebe with him.”

 

“About time you called.” Owen had picked up on the first ring. “You sent the text a long time ago.”

CJ glanced at the muted TV while scrolling through the channels. “Sorry, Oz. I stopped at Romano’s for a pie, Brad and I pigged out, and lost track of time talking.”

“Romano’s… I’m jealous. How was the flight and did our buddy behave?”

“Yeah… He behaved, and we talked a lot. Kinda complimentary to be honest.”

Owen chuckled. “Oh, he found your weakness. Forget hot ballet dancers, Russian vodka, and Beluga caviar. Stroke your ego, and you’ll divulge state secrets you don’t even know.”

“Asshole!” The ribbing was a little piece of home. True, he was in the house they owned, but as he had often told his husband, home was just another word for Owen and Liebe, not for Everhope.

Not finding anything he wanted to watch, CJ turned off the TV and reached for his journal. Once the call was over, he planned to document the last twelve hours, some of it in code in case it fell into the wrong hands. They talked for a while with CJ recounting as much of his conversation with Domogarov as he could recall.

“So, he was playing the long game. Trying to recruit you now because he thinks you’ll be important one day?”

“Hey! I’m important now.”

Owen chuckled. “You are, babe. You’re important to me and Liebe. What are you doing tomorrow?”

“The jocks are stopping by first thing, so breakfast at Everhope, lunch at Capitol Grill with Carson, and dinner at Abuela’s with Brad, Harley, and Tank. In between lunch and dinner, I’ll meet with Adele and Oscar.”

“Give the guys hugs for me. You gonna call tomorrow morning to say hi to Liebe?”

“Yep. I’ll be up early. She’ll be able to say hello to the furball that keeps eyeing the bed.” CJ glanced at the dog laying on the hardwood floor staring at him.

“Wingnut?”

“Yeah. He went crazy when he saw me. I think we should move him to Mexico.”

“I’d be up for that. Maybe this summer like we mentioned before?”

“We’ll talk about it when I’m back. Okay, I’m hanging up. I want to write a bit and then I need to crash. I napped on the flight, but I think stress finally caught up with me. I’m exhausted.”

“Get some rest. Love ya, Ceej. Sleep well.”

“Love you too, Oz. Talk to you in the morning.”

Copyright © 2021 Carlos Hazday; All Rights Reserved.
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Thank you to my support team, you improved the story. Any remaining errors are my responsibility. And thank you to all readers for supporting me. I hope to hear from you.

Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

Story Discussion Topic

I miss interacting with readers. And since CDMX won't be published for a while, how about a look at part of chapter one?  
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