Badass: Jungle Fever (Complete): A Billionaire Military Romance

by Leslie Johnson

  I wait ten minutes, watching for any sign of movement. Just as I’d thought. Nothing.

  “Ghost one, three, five and seven, prepare to breach. Ghost two, four, six, eight, hold perimeter.”

  One by one, confirmations whisper into my ear.

  “On my mark.” I grit my teeth, dreading but needing to know what I’ll find inside. “Mark.”

  Staying low, I rush the house, covering ghost three, who is holding the ram. On the front porch, I nod at him, and he bashes in the door. I’m immediately behind him. More crashing from the back of the house. A quick sweep results in … not a damn thing.

  Ordering a second room sweep, I find the room where Camille had been. A chair, table, blood. My heart twists. Two pieces of her finger. The camera equipment is still in place, and I realize that’s why we hadn’t received more videos.

  Tate had found them. They realized they were being tracked. They bolted, leaving everything electronic. I find Tate’s iPad. That’s what I would do too.

  Stepping back out on the porch, I take out my phone to report in. Noticing a pump house in the back, I walk over to inspect it, as Deakins answers the line. I give him my findings and my theory.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll get to work on determining additional properties they might have been taken to.”

  But I already know it’s like looking for a needle that’s been stuck up the devil’s ass and tossed into the bottom depths of hell. This damn jungle. They could be anywhere inside it. And the jungle is always hungry.

  “Ghost lead, ghost five,” a voice crackles in my ear, “we’ve found something, sir. Over.”

  “Copy that.”

  I run for the house, anticipation making me faster. Ignoring the steps, I leap onto the porch.

  BOOM!

  Chapter Twelve – Tate

  “More Devil’s Breath?” Janine frowns, but takes a step closer to me. “Why?”

  “Because we need to get out of here with the fewest number of guns shooting at us.”

  Her eyes widen in understanding. “You want me to drug everyone?”

  I nod. “As many as possible. How much of the drug do you have left?”

  Her eyes search mine. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “I’m rarely lighthearted.”

  Janine pushes a hand through her dark hair, looks at Camille and back at me. Then she shakes her head. “I don’t know what to do. This wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”

  I want to shake her, but keep my hands by my side. “Exactly how did you expect this to go down? You decide to target one of the most popular women in America, one of the richest families in the world, and simply walk away with a bunch of cash and a smile?”

  She stares at me, and her olive skin grows darker, and I know that’s exactly what she thought. Her face grows tight and I realize I made a tactical error. Miss Janine doesn’t like to be wrong.

  “You’re playing me and think I’m too stupid to see it. All I have to do right now is open my mouth and scream and twenty men will come rushing to help me.”

  “Then scream. And I’ll be dead, and you’ll get to face those same twenty men, with just your boyfriend and your brother. Good luck with that.”

  I watch her think through her options. It doesn’t take long. She drops her chin and looks up at me through her lashes. “Why do you want to help me?”

  Fuck me. The games women play.

  But I play it.

  “You know why,” I say, and take a step closer to her.

  She swallows and presses her legs together. “Tell me.”

  Motherfucking damnation to total hell. I’m going to have to go all in.

  I force my voice to drop an octave, as I take another step closer.

  “Because I want to sink into your sweet little body. Make you come so hard you don’t have the breath to scream my name.”

  She pushes up my shirt, stroking my chest and abs with the tips of her fingers. Her eyes slide to Camille. “What about her?”

  Grabbing her wrists, I pull her against me, hard. “What about her? It’s you and me who are alike.”

  I glance over at Camille and internally groan when I see her watching us. She won’t remember this, I remind myself. When she wakes up in a few hours, this will have never happened. By then, I’ll have saved her. She’ll be alive.

  I look down at Janine. I’ll do anything — anything — to make that happen.

  “Not like her,” I go on. “You and me, we’re fighters. We take what we want.”

  Her hand trails down the front of my pants, and she frowns. Damn. I’m soft, and realize there’s no fucking way I can get it up for this woman.

  Janine’s mouth grows tight. “Should I ask her to join us?” she asks, her voice filled with sarcasm and jerks her chin at Camille.

  “That’s not necessary,” I tell her, as I walk her backwards to the wall. She’s still pouting, and I have to resist the urge to bash her head into the wood.

  But yes. It is. It’s very necessary.

  My cock inflates as Camille joins us in my head and becomes the woman I’m kissing. She becomes the woman whose breasts are in my palms.

  Only Camille.

  It’s Camille who sinks to her knees and takes my cock out of my pants. Camille who looks up at me, while she takes me into her mouth. Camille who I allow to pull me down to the floor.

  As I slide my tongue up her folds, it’s Camille I taste. Camille who comes on my fingers. And when I’m inside her, it’s Camille’s face looking up at me. Camille’s tears sliding down her temples. Camille’s nails scratching the skin of my back.

  Only Camille.

  Always Camille.

  I open my eyes again, and it’s Janine beneath me and I make myself come. But there’s no release in it. No pleasure. Only self-hate. Another thing to add to that long list. I bury my face in her neck, to hide my revulsion, as she whispers my name over and over, running her fingers up my back.

  I roll off her and stare up at the ceiling, running my fingers through the hair of the woman I loathe, and silently beg Camille for her forgiveness.

  And I beg God to let me save her. To please let all of this be worth it.

  Chapter Thirteen – Camille

  I open my eyes to a room I don’t recognize. A body I don’t recognize either. Because this body hurts, it’s throbbing in pain. And it’s tied down to a bed that … I inhale and nearly gag … is nasty.

  Panic.

  It snakes up my spine as I try to yank myself free. So many questions race for attention. Where am I? Why am I here? What’s happening? What do I do next? Why isn’t anyone helping me?

  “Shhhh.”

  A hand covers my mouth and panic surges again. My scream turns into a sob against his palm. Then Tate is there. His face close to mine.

  “Shhh, baby. I need you to be quiet. Trust me. Okay.”

  I nod and try to wipe my nose on my sleeve. Try to stop the shivers running through me. Tate reaches for something and soon a wet cloth is wiping my face. Baby wipes. I recognize the smell.

  “Listen to me.” Tate’s voice is low as he wipes my neck and arms. “You’ve been drugged and kidnapped. We’re deep in the Amazon rainforest…”

  I don’t hear anything but “kidnapped” ringing in my ears. How did this happen? Why can’t I remember any of it? Drugged, he said. But drugged so deeply I remember nothing?

  Tate shakes me.

  “Cam, you’ve got to listen to me.” I reconnect with his eyes and nod. “You need to pretend that you’re still out of it, do you hear me?” He waits for another nod and continues with his low, urgent tone. “You can’t react to anything, and you only do what you’re told to do. Like a puppet following instructions. No reactions.”

  I don’t understand, and I feel tears come again. He pulls out another wipe and bathes my entire face. Panic curls and spirals into tenderness as he pushes my hair behind my ear. His eyes turn soft as he gazes down at me and wipes away another tear that spills over.
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  “You can do this, baby. I’m getting us out of here, okay.” He kisses my forehead, then jerks back as a doorknob rattles. “No reaction. Do exactly what you’re told.”

  He backs away with a finger to his lips and sits down in a chair across the room. After placing his hands behind his back, his head falls to his chest. He’s pretending to be asleep.

  A key turns in the lock, and I force my eyes shut too, desperately trying to calm my respiration. But I’m practically panting, as close to hyperventilating as I’d ever come. I hold my breath when the door swings in and footsteps enter the room.

  “Wakey. Wakey.”

  Wait. I know that voice. I open my eyes just a slit to confirm.

  It’s Janine, and she’s walking over to Tate. It’s really her. I recognize the sway of those hips. He’s smiling at her. Why is he smiling at her? He wraps his arms around her when she straddles his lap.

  And. Kisses. Her.

  I’ve been kidnapped by aliens and am currently in another dimension. That’s the only explanation I can come up with.

  I try to sit up, but my arms won’t seem to move, and I remember I’m tied down to the bed.

  Tate sticks out an arm and gives me a thumbs down, but I don’t know what he’s trying to tell me. I’ve dumped you for Janine? Janine has bad breath?

  I don’t understand any of this. And why does my hand hurt so much? I try to look at it, but can’t tear my eyes from the sight of Janine grinding down on Tate’s lap.

  He snaps his fingers down over his thumb, making his hand look like a duck’s mouth opening and closing. Quack? What does that mean?

  I startle out of my panic a bit when Janine pulls back and yells, “I did it!”

  He pats her on the ass, and she squeals when he pulls her tight against him. “I never doubted you.”

  Did what? Doubted who?

  My mind is screaming for answers.

  He’s doing the duck-mouth-quacking thing with his hand again. I stare at him, trying to understand. He gives me a thumbs up.

  For what?

  I think I’m going crazy. Or already am.

  I’m close to sobbing in frustration by the time Janine climbs off his lap and Tate, very pointedly, closes his eyes.

  Ohhhh. I’m supposed to be asleep. Duck mouth means close your eyes. I get it now. He scowls at me and, very pointedly, closes his eyes again.

  Shit.

  Everything goes black.

  I nearly scream when a hand comes down on my shoulder a few seconds later. “Wake up, Camille. It’s time to say goodbye to your boyfriend,” Janine says in a sing-song voice.

  I’m not sure if I’m supposed to respond or not, but then a response is forced from me when she grabs my left hand. A volcano of pain erupts inside of me and sounds I’ve never heard myself make before spew from my mouth.

  “Oops, sorry.” That sing-song voice again. “I keep forgetting you’re a deformed freak now. I’ll try harder to remember.”

  Deformed?

  I shift on the bed and attempt to look, attempt to understand what she means.

  “Camille, no!”

  But it’s too late to heed Tate’s warning. I see it. The bloody gauze covering where my pinky finger should be. I scream and…

  Wake up and look around. I’m no longer on the dingy mattress. I’m in Tate’s arms, and we’re in a living room of sorts. There are about a dozen men sitting around us on the floor. Just sitting there, looking confused. More pressing is that Janine is pointing a very large gun at us.

  “I knew you were screwing with me,” she screams, tears streaming down her face. The gun is wobbling in her hand.

  “I never lied to you,” Tate says, using his reasonable voice that I hate. I can tell by the look on Janine’s face that she hates it too. “I told you, I don’t lie. Camille is coming with us. We need her alive to make this happen. How do you not know that?”

  Janine’s lower lip trembles, but the gun grows steadier in her hand. “You said you were going to take me away. Protect me. I thought…” The gun lowers several inches as she cries harder. “I thought…”

  Tate slides me to the floor and holds onto my arms until I’m steady. “Janine,” he begins, “you weren’t wrong about that. I will take you away. I will protect you. But you can’t get your hundred million dollars without Camille.”

  Janine wipes her nose on the back of her hand. “But the money’s already been transferred. I saw the message with my own eyes.”

  “And you saw the message requiring proof of life before it moved into the Swiss account also. Proof of life gets you the completed transaction of a hundred million dollars. Camille home alive keeps Link Duffy off your back for the rest of your life, which is priceless.”

  She seems to consider it. “I still don’t trust you. I should give you the drug too, so you don’t double cross me.”

  Tate holds out his hands. “Go ahead. Dust me. Hopefully, I won’t end up like him when we’re twenty thousand feet in the air.” He points at a man who looks like he’s having a seizure. He shrugs. “Do you know how to fly a plane if that happens?”

  Janine’s mouth grows tight, and she edges sideways toward a man sitting on a chair, but continues to point the gun at us. “Then I won’t fly out of here. I’ll take one of the trucks and drive out myself.”

  Tate throws his head back and laughs. “The rainforest is over two million square miles. Two million, Janine. And we’re somewhere in the middle of it. Did you notice any directional signs on our way over here? If someone said ‘turn left at the big tree’ which fucking big tree would you choose?” Tate turns around and runs a hand through his hair. He turns back, glaring at her. “You know what? Fuck it. Just shoot me and get this over with. I’d rather take a bullet than die a slow painful death out there.” He opens his arms, exposing his chest. “Do it!”

  The gun wobbles harder. “You think I won’t?”

  My heart is hammering in my chest as I witness this showdown, struggling over things I still don’t understand. My stomach twists when Tate laughs a harsh, hateful sound. “I think you will. You’re just that far on the other side of crazy that you think you can outsmart an anaconda or a jaguar.”

  A full body shudder quakes through Janine, and I almost feel sorry for her. Only almost. I look around at the men sitting on the floor, at the one still having a seizure. One man, over in the corner, looks dead.

  Was that how I acted? How I looked?

  I have a feeling it was.

  I look back at Janine when she drops the gun to her side. “Fine. Fly us out of here. That’s step one. We’ll figure out the rest as we go. But I’m keeping this weapon. And I’ll keep it trained on Camille’s head. You do one thing I don’t like... Bang.”

  Tate nods. “Fair enough.” He turns and begins gathering things from the room. A knife. A blanket. Some clothes that are lying in a stack. A few lighters and matchbooks join the rest. And two packs of cigarettes. Does he smoke?

  “Camille, go to the kitchen and get bottles of water. Any food you see.” I stare at him and jump when he yells, “Now!”

  There’s a box on the kitchen counter, and I start tossing things inside. I kiss a bottle of Tylenol when I find it. There’s water and beer. I throw it in too, but empty some of it out because it’s too heavy for me to lift. When I spot a bottle of Vodka, I decide it’s going no matter what. Medicinal purposes, of course.

  I’m struggling to carry the box when Tate takes it from me and gives me a bag to carry, instead. “Janine, you need to trust me with a gun, in case one of the perimeter guards gets suspicious and we begin to take fire. You’ll need my help if that happens.”

  She considers him. “Fine. But I’m carrying all of them. If anything happens, I’ll give them to you.”

  Tate nods and instructs her on which ones to choose.

  After a few minutes, she has four guns in her hands, and Tate is stuffing ammunition into his pockets. “Time to go. Nice and easy.” He steps to the door. “Damn, I wish i
t was still dark.”

  “Wait a minute,” Janine says and walks over to the couch. She squats down in front of a young man with her same coloring. One of my guards, I realize now. “I’m sorry, bro. I’ll try to find you if I can.” She kisses his cheek and stands, her hand stroking through his hair. She steps in front of the man sitting beside him, but she doesn’t touch him. She doesn’t say a word. Instead, she lifts the gun and puts a bullet into his forehead. She turns and looks at me, lifting her chin. “I didn’t like him much anyway.”

  Still reeling with the shock of the cold-blooded execution I just witnessed, my legs feel numb as I follow Tate outside. When I step out onto the porch behind him, I realize it’s cool as well. So it must be morning or late evening, based on the temperature. It’s still surprises me that a tropical rainforest isn’t always warm.

  Holding my hand to my chest eases the pain that walking creates. It also keeps me from looking at it, which seems to only make it hurt worse.

  Up ahead, a barn door opens and a forklift drives out. “Keep moving,” Tate says, as the door closes and the boxy machine drives away. The driver doesn’t even look in our direction. It’s nearly a full minute until we’re there and Tate’s sliding the door open. He looks around, then ushers us in.

  A man jumps out of the open cargo door of the airplane and points at us. “Hey, what’re you doing—?”

  In three steps, Tate is on him, twisting his head sideways with a sickening pop. The man crumples to the ground. Another man comes from under the wing, a wrench in his hand. He flies backward when Tate’s foot connects with his chest. A punch takes the man to the ground, and Tate brings his shoe down on his face. The man doesn’t move anymore.

  “Get in.”

  The plane is small, with only six seats. Janine jabs me in the back with the gun, pushing me forward. I climb in and step around two big, plastic wrapped bundles of what I assume is cocaine. I think back to my college days and try to remember if coke is any good for pain. I would stuff my face in a brick of it right now to make the burning fire in my hand go away.

  As I’m struggling with my seatbelt, Tate runs to the front of the barn and lifts a wooden lever so the huge door will slide open. Then he’s back, securing the door of the small plane and climbing into the pilot’s seat. Before he’s buckled in, he begins pushing buttons and flipping things on the dashboard.