I resume walking and she follows, but this time the dam’s broken and the questions come relentlessly.
“Do you really own an island?”
“Yeah. It was owned by a former Columbian drug cartel owner. He terrorized the locals, cleared land for an airstrip, and built a compound. He was killed by a rival gang when he was in Sanibel doing business. It was semi-abandoned. My men and I pooled our resources and bought it. We moved everyone there who wanted to move because the Brazilian government wasn’t friendly anymore.”
“What’s it called?”
“Tears of God.”
“Where’d you get that from?”
I hack at the branches. Her hand slips into the back of my pants, and whatever room I had left disappears. It’s tight but I decide that I don’t want to lose her touch, which probably means I’m losing my mind. Hopefully we’ll find some natives soon and they can just spear me to death and put me out of my misery.
“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain.” I quote Revelation.
“And is there no death or sorrow or pain?”
I snort. “No. No matter how high the fence or how strong the barricades, death illness, heartache—all find you.”
“So why the island?”
“Because it was the safest place I could find for the people who trust me to protect them.” I pause. I probably shouldn’t be sharing this information with her, but she deserves to know why I was following her. “A friend of mine was taken by the U.S. government. He helped me form the Tears of God. It might have even been his idea. Hell if I know. We were captured by rebels in Tehran. They brought us to Dasht-e Kavir and said if we could make it out of the desert then we’d be free. We were meant to die but a few of the natives found us and helped us. When we got to safety, they begged for us to take them with us.” I squint up at the canopy of leaves remembering that hot day when Davidson and I were faced with abandoning our saviors or taking them with us. There really wasn’t any debate, though. We wouldn’t have survived without their help. “We walked out of the desert, away from the army, and set up base in a small slum in Brazil. Seemed like a good place to hide from the world.”
“How did the other people find you?”
“Word got around. A kid is sold for food or maybe a daughter is offered up for protection. We hadn’t broken ties with everything back home to become slave traders or kid killers. But the slums are dangerous. It’s a kill-or-be-killed mentality, so we fought back and we fought back hard. Touch us and you suffered—not just you, but your whole line.”
I could feel her shiver behind me, but she never removed her hand. “Sounds biblical.”
“That’s my mom’s influence. She read me the Bible when I should have been playing video games and watching porn. She lived a shitty life and the Bible was her refuge. She wanted me to be a missionary.” She wanted me to atone for the original sin of being born. As if life isn’t enough of a curse.
“And it sounds like you are.”
“How so?” I look over my shoulder.
“You have an island where you send people you’ve saved.” She shrugs as if it makes total sense to her. “Isn’t that the definition of being a missionary? Saving people?”
“The Tears of God ain’t heaven, Ava,” I say more harshly than I intend.
“Maybe for some people it is.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AVA
Just when I think I have the guy figured out, he surprises me again. There are so many layers to Rafe Mendoza that I don’t know what to think. I think he’s a thug, and he helps me escape the bad guys. He says I mean nothing to him, but he watches me with such hunger in his eyes that it makes me shiver. And he says he’s just a mercenary, but then he tells me about an island he bought that he’s turned into a refuge for people.
Most of all, he tells me he’s a virgin by choice and then jerks his cock in front of me.
So yeah, there’s no putting Rafe Mendoza into a nice, safe box.
I can’t exactly put my feelings about him into an easily classifiable category, either. I hate that he wants to sell me out. I’m utterly confused about his decades-long celibacy—so long he probably is a virgin, particularly if his only experience with a girl was just getting the tip in. And I’m terribly, horribly, completely attracted to the man. Giant cock or no, there’s more to Mendoza than what’s in his pants.
All I know is that when he told me I was beautiful earlier and traced mud down my nose? It took everything I had not to drag him against me and kiss the hell out of him.
I think he guessed how I felt, too, because he immediately turned away, leaving me all confused. Didn’t he just say he found me attractive? Didn’t he want to get rid of his virginity?
I touch my hair self-consciously. God, I probably look like a fucking wreck. Maybe that’s why he turned away so abruptly. My bug bites probably have bug bites. Not a sexy look by any means.
And really, the jungle isn’t exactly conducive to hot, steamy sex anyhow. I think of the cave we’ve spent the last two days in and shudder. I think of how long it’s been since I’ve showered. I sniff one armpit, and wince. Okay, yeah. Fragrant. I’m probably covered in head-to-toe jungle grunge.
It’s quiet as we walk through the jungle, and Rafe doesn’t seem to be in a chatty mood, so I mentally fantasize about how I’d take his virginity. We’d have to have a nice hotel room. Something special, with a big bed and a big tub. Order some wine, maybe some strawberries. I’d wear some lingerie that would cinch up my slightly-too-wide waist and play up on my breasts. And we’d need lots of lube. Lots and lots of lube. I visualize tearing Mendoza’s shirt open and straddling his hips as he lay down on the bed. The look on his face as he realizes just what I intend to do with him, and then that wonderful hunger in his eyes.
I shiver a little despite the warm, humid air. If we get out of here alive, I’m definitely putting that plan into action.
We follow along the banks of the river for a while, my hand holding on to the back of his pants as he moves forward. I have a spear lightly gripped in my bad hand, but I mostly use it as a walking stick. Mendoza’s got Afonso’s machete and has been using it to hack through the jungle. There have been a few caimans and snakes, but mostly on the other side of the riverbank. I’m hoping we’re making too much noise for anything to come investigate us. My gaze moves along the river as we walk. It’s murky and congested with debris, the water a muddy, uninviting brown. Trees and brush overhang the edges of the river so we walk a short distance away but keep it in sight. We haven’t seen anyone in this jungle mess, and I don’t expect to.
Which is why I’m surprised when, about midday, I see something on the opposite bank, under a few overhanging trees. “Is that . . . a boat?”
Mendoza pauses and squints. “My sight’s shit right now. Let’s get a bit closer.” I follow close behind him and we move farther down the river, into the brush at the bank. Sure enough, it looks like a small six-foot fiberglass boat with a motor on the back. Excitement flares through me and I wrap an arm around Mendoza’s chest from behind and squeal. “Oh my God, it’s a boat! It’s a boat! We’re going to get out of here!”
He adjusts himself automatically at my touch, and maybe it’s weird, but I’m starting to get used to the idea of Rafe having a constant erection around me. He then shakes his head. “Let’s not get too excited just yet. That boat might be there because that means the enemy is nearby.”
I freeze in place. “You mean . . . Fouquet?”
“Or Fouquet’s men. They’re going to come looking for that purse or for you.”
“Shit,” I breathe. “What do we do, then? Go back deep into the jungle?” The thought makes me want to cry.
“Nah,” Rafe says, and he turns to grin at me. “We’re gonna steal their fucking boat.”
An excited giggle escapes my throat. I don’t think I could adore the guy more than
if he had turned around and told me he had brownies. “I like the way you think.”
He starts to strip off his pants.
“What are you doing?”
Rafe peers at me from under the bandages swathing one half of his face. “I’m going to get in the river and swim across to bring the boat.”
I stare at him, aghast. “Are you frickin’ high? You have a stab wound in your back—”
“Which you cauterized.”
“And you have a bad eye that can get infected and is a whole lot less sexy to a girl.”
He stares at me for a moment.
“I’m serious,” I say, putting my good hand on my hip. “I’m all for nursemaiding and sponge baths, but the moment you start dripping green shit from your eye socket, I am out.”
Rafe snorts and starts to unbutton his shirt again.
“Oh no you don’t,” I say, and start to pull my own shirt off. “I am so going in that river and you are not.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ava,” he says to me. “It’s dangerous.”
“It’s all dangerous.”
“I can probably swim better than you.”
“I’m a champion swimmer,” I lie to him. “Won three medals in high school for the breast stroke.” I pull my shirt off and since I’m now in my bra, I give a little wiggle of my breasts to see if he’s paying attention.
He is. Boy, is he. His gaze immediately swoops down to my tits. And I feel in control again. “Here’s the thing, Rafe,” I tell him. “You are no good to me if you’re all infected and dead, okay? You staying alive and whole means I stay alive and whole. And I’m willing to make a deal with you.”
“A deal, huh?” He pushes a hand against the front of his pants, but it’s obvious that I’ve awakened the beast once more. He can’t hide the fact that he gets an erection. Not in cargo pants. Not with that dick.
“Yup, a deal,” I tell him. I wonder if my nipples are hard. Because the idea of my deal is making me turned on. “You let me get that boat and I promise that when we get back to civilization, I play nurse and give you a sponge bath.”
“It sounds like I win both ways,” he says, and his gaze flicks to my breasts again.
“You do.” And you aren’t the only one.
But his white knight side isn’t letting me win so easily. Even as I slip off my pants, he glances across the muddy, nasty river. “Champion swimmer, huh?”
“Three medals in high school,” I agree.
He sighs and looks back at me. “I don’t like this.”
“I don’t care. I don’t like the thought of you getting gangrene, either.”
Now he just looks amused. “Pretty sure you can’t get gangrene from a river.”
“Pretty sure you’re just stalling,” I tell him, and hand him my pants, then my shoes. I’m a little freaked out over the thought of getting in that water, but it looks like bad news for Rafe and his many wounds. Mine are all under the skin—blisters, a broken pinky, etc. His are far more troubling and more likely to get infected.
“Sponge bath, huh?” He’s trying to be nonchalant about it, but there’s a husky note in his voice that tells me he’s already thinking about it.
“Yup,” I say cheerfully. “I’m swimming that river.”
He frowns but takes something out of his pocket. “Take this at least.” He hands me the small knife.
“Good idea,” I say and clench it between my teeth. I give him a sassy wink, and before I can think about alligators or piranhas or snakes hiding in that murky brown water, I move to the riverbank and step in.
It’s warm and silty. Ugh. I also can’t see my feet. Double ugh. I move into the water slowly, wading out. Then I start to swim awkwardly, because my wrist hurts when I push it against the water.
“I thought you said you were a champion swimmer,” Rafe calls as I more or less dog-paddle into the river.
“I lied,” I call between knife-gritted teeth.
He curses.
And then I’m concentrating on swimming to the boat as fast as I can. I’m terrified, and fear makes me paddle faster, especially when something brushes against my foot. It could be an old branch fallen into the water. It could be a twenty-foot-long snake. It could be a fish. I don’t stick around to find out. I just swim faster.
The water gets deeper toward the middle of the river and I can’t touch the bottom, but it shallows out again on the other side and I make it to the side of the boat. There’s a rope tying it to the shore, so I hide on the side of the boat and use my knife to cut it. When the boat is freed, it begins to drift, and I realize I have no idea how I’m supposed to get in the damn thing. My bad wrist aches something awful, and I don’t know that I can use it to spring myself into the boat. Then again, it’s too unwieldy to swim it back to the other side.
Something bumps against my leg in the water again, and I panic. Grabbing the side of the boat, I ignore the trembling weakness in my wrist and haul myself over the side. A blinding flash of pain shoots up my arm as I tip the boat to the side, but I manage to roll into the bottom. I lie with my legs propped up on one of the seats, and a small, choked sob escapes me. My wrist hurts worse every damn day, and right now it’s white-hot agony. I don’t have time to baby it, though. I force myself to sit up, holding my wrist against my chest. There’s a paddle at the bottom of the boat, and I reach for it. I don’t know how to work a motor, but I’m sure I can figure out how to paddle.
It’s only when I reach for the paddle that I realize there’s something else in the boat with me. With a mixture of horror and awe, I pull the heavy machine gun into my lap.
Oh, holy shit.
I’ve just stolen the boat of someone with a goddamn machine gun. Eyes wide, I stare across the river at Rafe. What the fuck do I do now?
He’s not looking in this direction, though. He’s gazing down the river, machete in hand. I’m tempted to pitch the gun into the bottom of the river, but we might need it. So I start paddling my way to the other side.
Hopefully I can get to Rafe before the owners of this gun come back.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
RAFAEL
She swam across the river for me.
I can’t get that thought out of my head. The ground I’m standing on is shaking. There’s a tectonic shift in the Earth’s crust but apparently no one can feel it but me. When she took off her shirt and her barely covered breasts jiggled in front of me, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I couldn’t muster up a single argument to prevent her from sliding into the river, because I had no brain activity. Her tits are that magnificent.
“Look what I found!” she cries and lifts what looks like an AK-47 triumphantly above her head. There’s a long magazine dangling from the chamber of the machine gun. The gun isn’t going to get us out of the jungle faster, but we’re no longer low on the food chain. A couple of bullets from that baby and we’ll be eating something better than snake.
I mentally punch myself so I can get my head in the game. Enough with the fucking mooning. So she swam across the river. She wants to get out of this humid land of suck as much as I do. I tell myself that repeatedly, but what my head wants the rest of me to believe isn’t sticking.
My dick is as hard as ever and there’s a tightness in my left breastbone that is making me feel like a goddamn schoolgirl—the kind that writes her crush’s name in a notebook littered with flowers and hearts.
Shit.
I’m in love with this woman.
Not only do I want to bone her from here to Ecuador but I want to spirit her away to my island, put her on a throne and lie prostrate at her feet until she tells me to rise and suck her toes. And if I’m very good, I will be allowed to place my mouth between her legs and eat her pussy until she’s too boneless to sit upright.
If my dear mother wasn’t dead, I’d seek her out and have her take a switch to my back again. I need someone, anyone, to beat some sense into me. For both Ava’s and my sake.
I clamber down the embankment and rai
se my hand to wave her over to my side of the river. She picks up the paddle and dips it into the water. The boat’s prow heads downstream as she paddles on the left side.
“Switch sides,” I holler and then make rowing motions on both sides of my body. She catches on immediately and flips the paddle to the right side. I see her laboring. It must be a bitch to hold the paddle when her pinky is swollen. As she closes in, I step into the water to help her drag the boat ashore.
“Get out of the water,” she scolds me. “There’s something awful in it. Something tried to eat me when I was swimming.”
“Because you’re a juicy piece.” I grin as I drag the boat to the sand so I can climb inside. The danger’s gone and her smile of joy is making me giddy.
“Juicy piece of what?” She smiles back and my heart goes into overdrive. I might just die of a heart attack on the banks of the Amazon.
There’s a small, selfish part of me that wants to stay in the jungle, where I can keep Ava to myself. I’d tell her that we couldn’t find our way out and we’d live in the cave, just the two of us. The jungle is full of food and water, and I could provide for her.
When I take her back to civilization, she’ll go back to her fancy life with her model friends and the rich men that hang around them. I’ll be reduced to stalking her, watching her from afar and jerking off in my hand.
My hand tightens on the prow of the boat for just a moment as I contemplate the jungle fantasy once more. Then I throw the nylon sack of supplies into the boat along with the damn purse of Ava’s. “You’re juicy everywhere.”
The words come out more gruff than I intend, and I can see by the tightening of her lips that she’s disappointed in me. And that’s why I need to get her back. Because here in the jungle, I might be happy, but she would never be. She needs soft sheets, expensive clothes, and a man who knows how to pleasure her.
Because even if I didn’t have a dick the size of a club, I had no experience and my ability to bring this woman to orgasm while fucking is probably slimmer than a piece of paper in that damn bag of Ava’s. I give her a tight smile and start to swing into the boat, when I hear the unmistakable sound of a chamber being loaded.
Last Hope Page 14
