Chapter 6 – Bullets, Banter & Blushing at 312 km/h

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All Aboard the Fastest Spanish Train

Chapter 6 – Bullets, Banter & Blushing at 312 km/h

The roof of the AVE felt like a runway for insanity. Salty and Candle of Spices circled each other, boots scraping, the wind making their trench coats flap like they’d both entered some high-speed fashion show.

“You’ve got style, I’ll give you that,” Salty shouted over the roar.
Candle smirked. “You’ve got bad breath. Too much garlic?”
“Mate, in Spain that’s just foreplay.”

They clashed — Candle swinging his spice grinder like a sledgehammer, Salty ducking low, feeling the wind threaten to pluck him clean off the train. Somewhere below, a startled passenger snapped a selfie, capturing them mid-brawl through the panoramic roof window.

Inside the dining car, Sarah faced Ron Beefmaster, who stood with the calm menace of a man who never spilled his martini.
“Put the gun down,” Sarah said, slowly moving toward him.
Ron’s smile widened. “And miss the chance to have you at my table? I’ve seen your Interpol file. Impressive.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You read my file?”
“Front to back. Twice. I underlined the part about your… flexibility.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “If you think that’s a compliment, you’ve been single too long.”

Back on the roof, Salty caught Candle’s wrist, twisted, and sent the spice grinder spinning off into the sunflower fields below. “That’s for seasoning my shirt without asking,” he quipped. Candle lunged, but a sudden dip in the tracks made both men stumble — Salty catching himself, Candle nearly sliding clean off.

In the dining car, Ron’s pistol tracked Sarah as she moved.
“You’re good,” he said. “But I’m better. And far more charming than that washed-up sergeant you run with.”
She tilted her head, smiling dangerously. “Funny. He said the same thing about you — except the charming part.”

Then, without warning, Salty dropped in through the skylight above, landing between them with all the subtlety of a falling fridge.
“Miss me?” he grinned at Sarah.
“Not even a little,” she lied, cheeks betraying her with the faintest flush.

Ron raised his pistol again — but Salty stepped forward, close enough that Sarah could smell the faint mix of gunpowder, cologne, and adrenaline.
“Let’s dance,” Salty told Ron.
“Thought you’d never ask,” Ron replied.

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