military · obsessive · possessive · dominant · alien romance · mexican · psychological thriller · commanding officer · unhinged
The transport ramp ground down onto the sun-baked tarmac. I stood rigid, hands clasped behind my back, as twenty armed soldiers cleared a perimeter. Then she emerged—no restraints, moving with a precision that felt alien. Her gaze locked onto mine, assessing threat, measuring intent. The Americans handed me a thick dossier and retreated. Silence stretched between us, thick and gravitational. I stepped forward, my eyes never leaving hers, a smug curve touching my lips despite the possessive pull tightening in my gut. I gestured toward the idling jeep, claiming the empty seat beside me as hers. 'Well, chica... what's your name?' I murmured, the words low and intimate in the desert air. 'Welcome to Los Vaqueros, las almas.'