Flame (Ruin Outlaws MC #4) by Amy Isan

Mexico. Fuck, it led her to kill for her first time.
    That fire she had when she was practicing on the shooting range. She wasn't just trying to impress me. I glance over my shoulder and catch a glitter in her eye as the sun reflects off the side of her face. She smiles at me and makes my heart swell. She was serious about feeling like a burden.
    She never felt like a burden to me.
    . . .
    As we near the border, I scan the Mexican side of the fence for any agents that might be patrolling, but I'm not sure why. The Mexican government isn't as concerned about immigrants crossing as the American government is, and I have no idea how I could get in contact with someone on the other side right now. It was easier when I was down here with Surge so many years ago, because we weren't hauling around tons of cash and illegal guns. We just borrowed the equipment.
    Fuck.
    I race my engine a little before kicking it into a lower gear to quiet it and slow down. I strain against the smothering darkness to see. "Cassie," I whisper. My bike is coasting to a stop, and the crossing is only a couple hundred yards away, give or take.
    "Logan?" she replies.
    "What should we do?"
    "Why are you asking me?" She seems surprised, but somewhat touched, too. "I've never done this before. I thought you knew. You're the one who got us into Mexico."
    "It's a little more urgent because of what happened at the range. That'll catch up to us pretty quickly."
    "Can't we use the paperwork from the guy that let us in last time? He said it'd let us back into the country."
    I shrug and pull out my wallet. The paper is still folded up, and the pressure and creases have worn the ink and stamp down. I unfold it and scan for a date or anything that might not let us use it. Cassie's voice is over my shoulder and I'm sure she's reading it too. "What do we have to lose?"
    Our freedom, I want to say, but hold my tongue. She knows that. She isn't dumb. But she is positive. "I guess we have no choice."
    The queue is pretty much empty, and we're able to quickly reach a window for the border crossing. The elderly woman behind the glass looks us over and gives me a strained smile. I greet her and pull out my passport and shove it into the receptacle. She points at Cassie and tilts her head.
    "Of course," I say. Fishing into my pocket again, I retrieve the folded up paper that let us pass into the country and slip it into the metal bin along with my passport. The woman behind the glass retracts the container and pulls out the contents and thumbs through them. Her expression is like worn, unreadable stone. I clench my hand on the throttle and feel my scar rub against the rubber. My knuckles whiten.
    Cassie squeezes my side, as if she can read my mind. I try and breathe; I'm never this uptight.
    A lot of shit has happened recently.
    The woman behind the glass frowns and I glance at her name tag. "Samantha," I say into the speaker and she perks up. "Is there anything wrong?"
    She sighs a little and smiles at me. "Her paperwork isn't valid. Yours is fine."
    "What can we do to help?" I ask, while thinking back to what Surge trained me to say so many years ago.
    A twinkle in her eyes makes me think I made a mistake. She glances at me and then to Cassie. Her eyes wander across my motorcycle and she stops on the saddlebags. She points at them and leans into her microphone. "What's in there?"
    "Just some clothes and stuff, you know, the usual."
    Cassie speaks up, surprising me. "We're just getting back from our honeymoon. Please, we're so tired." That might help.
    "Ah ha..." Samantha says. She muses a little and stares at our paperwork. "Hold on one moment. I need to check with my supervisor." She stands up and goes into the back of the booth and opens a door, giving us a brief glimpse into another room, before she passes into it.
    I stare at the lowered gate ahead of us, the only thing blocking our passage into the United States. The gap on the end, between the next booth and the curb, is