“You’d trade the information for Rose? What about your friend?”
“We’ll get him out, too.”
“How?” Suspicion dots her words but so does hope. I’m banking on the hope. Banking everything I’ve got.
“We’re going to steal it back after we get Rose.”
“And if you don’t?”
“Then we’ll offer the government something that they want more than the information.”
“What’s that?”
I give her a wry smile. “Can’t reveal all my secrets.”
“What do you want from me?”
I lick my lips. “You know what I want.”
A smile spreads across her face. “I do, don’t I?”
I have to stop staring into the sun. It’s hurting my good eye and burning a path straight to my heart. Turning around, I squint at the large figure moving toward us. As I suspected, Garcia was close behind the mercs.
The boy who speaks Spanish, Carlos, rises from his spot under a large palm, where he must have sat while Ava and I mauled each other. He points the tip of his AK toward Garcia.
“Friend,” I tell him. He lowers the gun as we watch Garcia hack his way to us.
“You look like shit,” he says in greeting.
“Better than you on your best day.” I pull him in for a rough hug and then grunt when he slaps me too hard on my wounds. “Looks worse than it is. Ava, this is Garcia. Garcia, you know Ms. Samson. And this is Carlos. His village is that way.” I point toward the west.
“The gunfire?” Garcia asks, wondering if the bullets he heard being exchanged were from us or some other encounter.
“That was us. I’ll tell you about it in the boat. Vamos, Carlos?” I ask.
He nods and leads us down to the embankment. Ava and Carlos step into the rickety metal rowboat with its lightweight motor on the back, while Garcia and I push it away from the sand.
“You going to go blind?”
I finger my makeshift bandage. I’m already seeing light in the periphery, so I suspect my eye will be just fine. “Not from the wound,” I joke.
Garcia looks sharply at Ava but doesn’t say another word as we both lift ourselves over the side of the boat. Once all of our limbs are inside, I give Carlos another nod and we’re off.
“Where are we?” I ask, pulling Garcia’s attention back toward me.
“The Padre Abad Province. The plane crashed about fifty kilometers northwest of the flight path.”
“When did you hear?”
“Duval must have the bag chipped, because he knew that there was something wrong before the Peruvian government did. He and about twenty men flew from Lima to Pucallpa a day ago. It took them another day to get kitted out for a trip into the jungle. There was some infighting. Not everyone wants to make the trek into the Amazon.”
“That must be why the crew was so light. Only eight,” I told him.
He snorts. “Shit. Must have been like playing on the easy mode.”
We’d faced a lot tougher odds in the past, which is why I was angry that we’d lost any of the villagers. The leader of the boys was back with his people, burying his dead.
“There were some fatalities,” I reply flatly.
Garcia winces.
I have him relate what’s been going on since Ava and I’ve been downed.
“I wasn’t able to find a guide right away, so they had a head start on me. I heard the sound of the AK about four clicks south, but by the time I got there it was over.” He shrugged.
The firefight lasted all of about five minutes after I’d garroted three of the guards. The youngest of the boys had gotten trigger-happy and the five mercs left rushed toward the sound, spraying gunfire into the brush. An older male villager broke away from the crude imprisonment and was shot dead. His woman ran to the fallen body and one of the assholes shot her, too, before I got to him.
There were a couple of bullet wounds, including to the boy shooter, but that was it. The father of the leader came over and told us to leave—that we’d brought bad fortune to their village. Couldn’t argue with that.
We are lucky to have the boat ride to Campoverde.
Carlos lets us off and I leave the AK with him, although I have to wrestle it from Ava. She’s become attached to it.
“I’ll get you a gun,” I swear.
“Promise?” She doesn’t want to be afraid anymore.
“Promise.”
Reluctantly she lets it go and the boy takes off. He’s eager to get back to his home.
“What now?”
“Now we buy a vehicle and find a place to stay. Tomorrow we’ll head to Pucallpa.” I grab Ava’s good hand, ignoring Garcia’s glare. She takes a deep breath as she stares up the reddish-brown clay road. There are buildings made of brick, corrugated sheet metal, and concrete. It’s sparsely populated but after a few days in the jungle and the worry she might die, I can tell she’s thrilled to see signs of semi-modern civilization.
“Will I get to shower?” she asks hopefully.
“Yeah. After we get some wheels, we’ll find showers, food, beds. Clothes.” I can’t help but stare at her soiled T-shirt and remember the amazing sight of her bra-clad tits as she rose out of the water. The fabric clung to every honeyed inch of her and had it not been for the boy soldiers, I probably would have thrown her down on the embankment and sucked all the Amazon water off of her.
She notices me noticing but only smiles in return. She apparently does not care if I stare at her tits or her ass. She also doesn’t seem to care if I touch her. In fact, I think she likes it. She’s even shown curiosity instead of fear toward Godzilla. Wet, clean Ava sounds like a personal piece of heaven.
“Let’s go,” Garcia says sourly.
Ava makes a funny face and I bark out a short laugh, which serves to make Garcia’s frown deeper. The walk from the riverside to the center of the small province is short. Campoverde consists of one central paved road serving a number of small clay offshoots and a smattering of businesses including a small grocery, a supply store, and what looks like might be a motel. There are more bicycle rickshaws in the center of town than people.
The locals look at us like we’re apparitions—pale-skinned Ava in particular. Although their stares could be chalked up to the fact that we are wearing more dirt than is on the ground.
“You have money.” It’s not really a question. Garcia wouldn’t come out here without being fully equipped.
He nods and pulls out a wad of pink-colored Nuevo Sol. “How much do you think one of these will cost?”
I spot an old VW Golf. “Maybe fifty bills?”
“That’s it?” Ava asks.
“It’s a couple of grand in U.S. dollars,” I explain.
Garcia locates the owner and engages in some rapid-fire negotiations in Spanish. From the car seller, we rent a small residence. One bedroom, one bathroom and a kitchen area. It’s modest but has running water, which is key. The family will stay with neighbors in exchange for our money, and the two families will share the payment when we leave.
“In you go, baby,” I say as I open the door to the small bathroom. She leans against me, as if all her energy has disappeared now that she’s out of the jungle. It’s the post-adrenaline crash.
“Baby?” Garcia says with raised eyebrows.
I close the door and listen to the water start up. I’m heading toward my own crash.
“Give me the rundown on the situation in Pucallpa.”
“I have Bennito and Rodrigo with eyes and ears on Duval. He’s rented a bungalow at the Manish Hotel Ecológico. His brother, Fouquet, is with him, and he has three bodyguards. Two of whom are in the bungalow with him, and the other is in the main building. I saw them bring a woman. Her face was covered, so I wasn’t able to get an ID.”
Rose. I don’t tell my plans to Garcia just yet. He’s on edge and I want to get a lay of the land before I propose a new course of action.
“Cozy. How are we situated?”
“We have the
bungalows on either side,” Garcia says smugly.
“Good. Ava and I will take one and you three can be in the other.”
“When are we ditching her?” He jerks his head toward the bathroom.
“We aren’t.”
Garcia’s hands tighten around a wooden chair back. “She’s a liability. A dead-weight distraction.”
“You missed ‘demon.’ Isn’t that why Fouquet didn’t fuck her? Because her eyes are mismatched?” Maybe she is a succubus. Don’t know if I really care at this point. I’m willing to give up my soul for her.
“If saying she’s the devil’s child keeps her out of your bed, then yes, she’s a demon.”
“Get used to sleeping with Lady Lucifer then, because she’s coming to the island.”
“The fuck you say,” he blurts out.
“The fuck I say.” I close my eyes.
He sputters and drones on about how he can’t believe I lost my balls to some chick in the jungle and how I must have been bitten by a mosquito and am now suffering from malaria-induced hallucinations. Ava and I have a deal. I’m going to save Rose and she’s . . . she’s going to save me.
• • •
“Is he going to be okay?” Ava asks when she comes out of the shower looking pink and white and glorious.
“Yes, I’ll be fine,” I answer for Garcia. He’s working on cleaning out the wounds on my back and doesn’t want to talk to her, probably for fear he’d fall under her spell. And yeah, then I’d have to kill him because Ava’s mine now. She’s coming to my island. I don’t know how we’re going to have sex. It’s possible we won’t. But I’m going to learn how to give the best oral in the world and along with a few toys, I’ll keep her satisfied.
But I can’t see living without her. No. The truth is that I do know what living without her is like. That’s what I’ve been doing for the last thirty-five years. Existing.
Her presence lights up the dark night and makes a jungle trek seem like a too-short resort vacation. She’s brave—foolishly so—and smart. And I want her more than a starving man craves sustenance. More than a cursed man cares about his consequences.
Hell, her smiles are all I need to power through. As Garcia digs into my wounds, I don’t flinch, because I barely feel the pain. What’s pain when Ava’s here holding my hand, spreading her multicolored sunshine all over me.
“You done?” I ask Garcia, impatient to be alone with Ava.
She smells good. Our bellies were full of bush meat, beans, and fruit. Ava ate a roadside Popsicle made of fruit and sugar and cream so enthusiastically, I thought I’d come in my pants just watching her. Even Garcia had a glazed look in his eyes.
“Patience, hermano.” He is working slow, and I don’t think it’s because the wounds are dirty but because he is trying to delay the inevitable—Ava and I alone.
But he needs to leave.
She’s not holding my hand anymore. She’s stroking it. Her one hand is cradling mine and with her other hand, the one with the swollen pinky, she traces the veins on the back of my hand and rubs a fingertip across each knuckle. I didn’t know a touch like that could feel so erotic. It’s a good thing I’m lying on my stomach, because my dick is driving a hole into the mattress.
“I need more bandages. They’re in the sack in the outer room.” Garcia points to the open doorway.
Ava squeezes my hand and hops up to do his bidding. I watch her curvy ass swing out the door and sigh like a schoolboy. Garcia doesn’t waste time.
“She needs to go,” he repeats. “The buy is going to take place any day now and we can’t have you distracted.”
I don’t take my eyes off the vacated doorway, because soon Ava will return and I’ll get to watch her as she approaches. She’s showered and her skin looks edible. I want to lick it and see if it tastes like cream or honey. Maybe it’s both. Her heavy tits sway under a borrowed T-shirt. Mine of course. I nearly wrestled Garcia to the ground when he threw one of his at her face, which is why he’s now trying to convince me to leave. He’ll stay here and guard the girl.
“Not happening,” I say. No one is sleeping near Ava except for me. No one is guarding her but me. I trust Garcia and the others, but tonight, it’s me and Ava.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AVA
God, I’m so clean it’s orgasmic.
There are so many things now that we’re back in relative civilization that I’m never going to take for granted again. Things like soap and fresh water. Being outside and not having a hundred bugs land on you. Food that didn’t walk past you three minutes ago.
Actually, just food, full stop. I can’t seem to quit eating. Even now, I’m so full of camp food that I could barf, but when I dig through the sack for bandages, I see a few chocolate-flavored PowerBars and have to resist the urge to cram them in my mouth.
But Rafe’s friend hates me enough already.
I’ve seen him shooting unhappy looks in my direction all day. It doesn’t matter that I’m ragged and covered in bug bites on every inch of my skin. You’d think I’m the devil incarnate here to cause problems. I can guess why. Rafe’s changing his plans for me. Instead of “ditch Ava” it’s now “work with Ava.”
And while that wasn’t my original plan, I’m gleefully stoked that it’s the plan now. Dare I get the hot guy and save my best friend? Can this shitstorm turn into a best-case scenario?
One can only hope.
Even my swollen hand feels better. The pinky looks bad but I can bend it without too much pain, and the swelling is going down around my wrist, too. I grab the bandages and return to the bedroom area, where Rafe’s lying flat across the bed and his buddy Garcia works on him. They both look up as I enter, and I feel a bit self-conscious at my clothing. I’m wearing a T-shirt that’s a few sizes too big for me and a pair of cotton boxers, since that was all that they had to give me that was clean. My bra and panties are soaking in a sink full of soap, and someone’s promised to go get me “real” clothing in the morning.
Garcia frowns at me and shakes his head, moving over Rafe’s wounds again, but Rafe extends a hand for me, that intense look in his eyes that he saves only for me. I hand Garcia the bandages and sit back down in my chair next to the bed and take Rafe’s hand again.
I’ll be the first to admit I’m a little touchy-feely with my guy. He’s my anchor and the only thing that’s keeping me from panicking about the situation. He’s keeping my worry over Rose at bay. He’s keeping me distracted from the fact that his friend hates me and we’re still in a strange country with dangerous information and not a lot of friends. Because when his hand touches mine? Everything’s all right. I know Rafe’s got me.
I sit down in my chair again and cross my legs. They’re clean and freshly shaven, but welts, cuts, and bruises still cover them. It’s not a sexy look, but Rafe reaches out and drags his hand down one calf, a thoughtful, almost reverent look on his face as he touches me.
I shiver, desire sliding through me, just like that. My thighs press together and I shoot another look at Garcia. His lips are pressed together unhappily at the sight of Rafe touching me.
“You done?” he asks Garcia again, but his gaze is still on me. Always on me.
“Almost,” Garcia says, and his tone is more than a little irritated. “You can sit up now.”
Rafe gives my leg one last caress and then he sits up. His cock is tenting the front of his pants, and I wet my lips at the sight of it. He’s giving me another hungry look that promises what his kiss wanted to deliver on the riverbank.
“Can you see yourself out?” Rafe asks, raising an arm and rolling his shoulder to flex his muscles. The sight of that makes my mouth dry.
Garcia’s brows go down. “We need to talk first.”
I gesture at the door to the bedroom. “Why don’t I just go get myself a drink?”
Rafe nods, but his gaze is devouring my face, my breasts, my legs. He brushes a hand over his mouth, and I know he’s not thinking about anything Garcia is going to say.
He’s thinking about me. Me under him. Me on top of him. Me with my mouth on him. Him with his mouth on me.
Aaaaaand now I’m thinking about it, too. I force myself to get up and walk out of the room, closing the door behind me. Immediately, I hear Garcia start talking, his voice low, and then Rafe begins to argue with him. Part of me wants to stay and snoop, but I have bigger, better ideas on my mind.
I head for the bathroom of the small bungalow and dig through drawers and cabinets, looking for two very particular things: condoms and lube. If I’m taking Rafe’s virginity tonight—and oh, I am—we need both.
The bathroom doesn’t have anything good except travel-sized shampoo and conditioner. There’s a washcloth and an ice bucket and it gives me ideas, but I’m more interested in finding condoms. I head back to the living room and dig through Garcia’s bag. Success. One condom. One. I eye the package but it doesn’t read as “extra large.” Well, damn. We’ll figure something out. I set it down on the counter for later.
I return to the bathroom and grab the ice bucket and washcloth, and run the tap until the water’s nice and warm. I add a little soap, and then fill the bucket.
Tonight is going to be the first night we’re going to be clean, well fed, and not afraid that a bug is going to bite something unmentionable. I plan on enjoying every moment of this, and I plan on touching Rafe all over.
And we’re going to start with the sponge bath I promised.
The arguing escalates, and I shut off the water, listening. A moment later, I hear a muttered “fuck it” and then the door to the home slams shut.
I peek out, and Rafe’s standing in the living room, shirt off. He rubs his mouth and stares at the door, then shakes his head.
“Did your friend leave?” I ask Rafe, opening the door to the bathroom wider.
He nods.
“He’s not a big fan of mine,” I point out.
Rafe glances over at me. “He thinks you’re distracting me when I need it least.”
Ah. Well, he might not be wrong about that. But I’m not changing my plans. Regardless of how I feel about Rafe, I need his help to save Rose. It’s just an added bonus (so much bonus) that I happen to be nuts over the guy, too. I tuck the bucket under my bandaged hand and drop the washcloth into it. “If he thinks you’re distracted now, he hasn’t seen anything yet.”
Last Hope Page 16
