by Sam JD Hunt
“Penny, you will go,” Rex tried to command.
“The hell I will,” I said with an eye roll before storming away. I wanted to be far from Luther’s prying eyes.
Rex chased after me, catching up to me inside the house as I rounded the corner to Nate’s room. “Penny, baby, please just stop and talk to me,” he begged, his golden skin glowing in the dim light of the house.
“Why do I have to go?” I whined.
“Because,” he said, pulling my body to his, his deep blue eyes catching me in his spell, “I want you near me all the time.” He kissed me, turning me molten.
We opened the bedroom door—Nate was in the shower.
“I’m tired of Luther,” I admitted.
Rex nodded, his touch soothing me. “He’s one of my oldest friends, baby. I know he’s different, but he was like a brother to me. Please just give him a chance? And as far as the jungle—if it will help Amber, I want to do it and she asked for you to be there. She’s battling an addiction every bit as strong as the rest of ours—and she won’t go without you, not even with Nate. Please, Penny, don’t let your dislike of Luther cloud your decision. I’ll have him stay back if it means you’ll go.”
The shower turned off, and I heard the glass door open and close. Nate peeked around the corner, a white towel wrapped around his midsection, the glorious V of his sleek abs perfectly framed.
“Penny, you’re coming right? Amber is counting on you to show her the ropes. Please, babe, for me?” Nate’s steel blue eyes focused on me in a question as Rex’s lips grazed my cheek.
“Um, yeah, I’ll go. But for you, okay?”
Nate’s face relaxed into a warm smile, “You’ve got it. I love you.” Nate let the towel drop to the marble floor, and with a wicked grin said, “Let’s go to bed, lovers.”
Chapter Ten
I woke up thirsty, so I walked barefoot into the kitchen to refill the water bottle I kept by our bed. From the large living room, I heard music. Not the streaming kind, or Rex playing Prince, but someone artfully playing the piano.
I looked around the corner. It was Luther—dressed in only a dark pair of pants. His skin was gleaming under the dim light of one lamp. The taut muscles of his back flexed as his fingers moved across the piano keys. My eyes rested on his bare feet on the pedals below, so delicate but strong, in complete control of the instrument. His dark-haired head suddenly tilted toward the keys as he played the most glorious music I’d ever heard. I knew very little about music, but I did know that I’d never heard anyone play like he did. There was a brooding darkness about him, and it frightened me, but that night, however, at the piano he was perfection.
“Never spy on a spy, Penelope,” he said, causing me to jump, as his elegant fingers struck a dramatic crescendo on the keys.
“Uh, I was just…” I tried to explain to his long back.
The music stopped abruptly as he pivoted toward me on the bench, his pale green eyes dancing when they met mine.
Tapping at the smooth bench next to him he said, “Come sit.”
I glanced around the hallway where I’d been watching—no one was around. Hesitantly, I padded toward the piano and stood next to the bench.
“I do not bite, sit. Well, I sometimes bite,” he said with a wink, “but not you.” I slid in next to him.
“You play beautifully,” I said, unable to think of anything to say. He sat silently, his fingers poised above the keys. “No one ever plays it—I’m not sure why Rex even has it,” I said to fill the awkward silence between us.
Luther eventually spoke. “It was for Evelyn,” he answered with a shake of his head, “he did everything for Evie. Well, everything but love her.” My head snapped to look at him.
“He loved her more than anything!”
He didn’t answer. Instead, his fingers once again danced across the keys, his foot pressing the center pedal to quiet the piano. “You knew her? Evelyn?” I asked, unable to let his revelation go.
He played for several more minutes. I’d given up on a response when he said quietly, “I knew her well. She was astounding—sacrificed everything for Rex. We all lived near each other in base housing when we were stationed in North Carolina. We were…close.” I couldn’t help but wonder if Luther was in love with Rex’s ex-wife—the ex-wife that I had shot.
“It’s a shame,” I finally said, “but Major Bowen did what he had to do. She was going to kill—”
“Indeed,” he suddenly interrupted, the music coming to an abrupt halt. “I am sure it has been excruciating for Father Bowen to have to live with himself after taking the life of such a splendid woman.” His tone made me wonder if Rex had told him the truth about the night Evelyn was shot.
“She shot Rex twice and was about to shoot—” My explanation was interrupted by the loud swell of music. Luther had abandoned the quiet pedal to drown me out, I presumed.
“Do you know anything about classical music, Penelope?” he asked above the frenetic tune.
“No,” I answered with the shake of my head.
“Mother insisted that I learn to play—she loved to sit and listen to me for hours. Father of course forbade it when he was home. Larry, he would say, get away from that instrument and go do things that boys do—play baseball, ride dirt bikes—anything but sit in this parlor and entertain women.”
In shock, all I could think of to say was, “Your name is Larry?” His mercurial mood shifted again as he chuckled, the sound of the piano suddenly silenced as he explained, “My given name is Lawrence, but father hated it. Too feminine, he said. He was the only one who ever called me Larry.”
“Your father is a senator?” I asked absently, glancing around in hope that someone would come into the room soon. Luther was making me as uncomfortable as ever.
“Yes.”
His hands returned to the keys, the string of notes flowing from the piano so dramatically it made the hairs on my arm stand up.
“Hey, I recognize that one!” I exclaimed, searching my mind for where I’d heard it.
“Hey,” he teased with the nudge of his elbow, his expression once again light and playful.
I suddenly realized where I’d heard it—my mother used to listen to hour upon hour of oldies, mostly soft rock and pop.
“That’s Barry Manilow!” I said with my usual lack of filter.
“It is Chopin,” he said with a warm grin, his fingers making the piano sing.
“I’m an idiot.”
“No,” he answered matter-of-factly. “You know nothing of music, but you are a genius, Penelope. Quite brilliant—anyone can see it.”
I sat stunned. Who the hell was this guy?
When the long piece was complete, he stood up from the piano. “Barry Manilow based the popular song Could It Be Magic on the chord progression of Chopin’s Prelude in C Minor.” I stood up as well, unsure of what to say. “Goodnight, lovely Penelope. I’m going to rest—we have an arduous and maybe sad day in the jungle ahead of us tomorrow.”
In seconds, he disappeared into the darkness of the long hallway. Arduous yes, but sad?
Chapter Eleven
It was before dawn the next morning when Rex nudged me awake. Ugh, the morning of the dreaded jungle trip, I thought. Normally, I didn’t mind going out into the dense rainforest-like jungle with Rex and Nate. I’d learned so much since my first trek out—the day I ran away from Nate and ended up almost killing myself by falling into a river and being rescued by Rex. But this trip I wasn’t looking forward to. I liked Amber, and I understood that she felt going out and experiencing a mini version of Rex’s rehab survival course would help her, but I didn’t want to spend the time around Luther. Despite the prior night at the piano, when I’d seen a different side of him, he freaked me out.
Late that day, in the dense rainforest jungle of Colombia, I was lost. Hours before, we’d set up camp. Three small tents were positioned around a fire ring. I offered to sleep in Amber’s tent as I knew how frightening the jungle can be alone at n
ight, but she refused.
“I want to do this the way Rex’s students do—conquering my fear of being alone is part of that,” she’d said as Rex proudly agreed.
Luther said he needed some time alone, but would be back in time for dinner, with dinner. Rex didn’t seem surprised, sending him off with some bizarre string of words in a foreign language.
As Rex chopped wood for a fire to purify our water and prepare for dinner, he sent Nate and me off on a trail we used to teach Amber basic navigation. On the trail, it was an easy hike and we rarely even needed our machetes. Amber did well, only howling once when a spider the size of a kitten scurried in front of us.
“We should have grabbed that to eat!” I teased as Amber wrapped her arms around herself, unable to shake the image of the spider.
“I don’t care much for spider meat,” Nate teased back, “too salty.”
Amber shuddered at the thought. “What will we eat? Rex told me not to bring food from the compound, but he did say I could bring some seasonings. I’d love to experiment with primitive type cooking.”
“Well, Nate is a top-notch fisherman,” I assured her. “But Luther said he was bringing dinner, so I’m guessing he was headed out to hunt.”
“Uh, he told me he was going to do some badass communing with nature ceremony thing. He’s all pagan and shit,” Nate said, chopping a long vine away from the path.
“Pagan? But some of his tattoos are Christian,” Amber said, any mention of Luther always piquing her attention.
“Some kind of ancient hybrid of the two, I think,” Nate answered. “Let’s go this way,” he added as we came to a second path, one that circled around back to camp. I knew this route well—I came out into the jungle fairly frequently.
“Oh hey, I’m going to make a quick detour and snag some of the cherimoya fruit over there. I’ll catch up with you two as you round the bend,” I said to them, pulling out my machete to go off the trail.
“Cheri-what?” Amber asked.
“They’re a fruit—and holy shit they are delicious. They’ll be perfect as a dessert. Wait ‘til you try them—they taste kind of like bubble gum almost.” My mouth watered as I thought of the sweet, confection like taste of the fruit.
“Let’s all go,” Amber said, her eyes narrowing with trepidation as she peered into the dense foliage I was chopping at.
“Well, sis, there’s a spider issue. I think you won’t love going over there. Penny, let’s not separate. It’s not worth it for a luxury like that.”
“You’re being ridiculous! I went out there alone last time, with Rex’s last group, and it was fine. I swear to God you shelter me like I’m some weak thing. King Rex doesn’t do that—he lets me go out and unfurl my inner-badass.” I loved Nate, but he did sometimes want to put me in bubble wrap and keep me safe from all harm. Rex, on the other hand, pushed hard for me to learn the skills to survive on my own.
Nate tried to compromise. “I can go for the fruit, you two head back to camp—”
“No,” I pouted like a child. I was proud of how far I’d come with my survival skills, and a part of me wanted to show off in front of Amber, who was still scanning the ground for more spiders. Nate sighed as I headed off into the dense growth alone.
But, the arrogance that had caused me to separate from Nate and Amber now caused me to wander the jungle alone. I thought I knew where the cherimoya shrubs were, but things had grown higher since my last time there. Since I thought I knew where I was going, and the way back, I stupidly didn’t leave markers as I hiked. I was lost. I feared more for my ego than my safety as I wandered until it started to get later and later.
I pulled out my cell phone—as I expected, no signal. Shit! I could hear Rex’s experienced voice in my head, telling me, Stay calm, Princess. Panic is what gets you dead. As I glanced at the position of the sun through the overgrown canopy of trees above, I was glad to see it was still fairly early in the day. That was a good sign at least. I took stock of my situation, as Rex taught me. I had water, half a canteen full, left. Water, however, was the least of my concerns. The area was full of water, and I had a fire starter as well as chemical cleaners to purify water with. My biggest concern was finding my men before nightfall. I could make fire, but the idea of spending the night among the slithering jungle creatures caused me to shake in terror. I didn’t have shelter, and while I may have enjoyed poking fun at Amber’s spider phobia, I had my own fears—I was terrified of snakes.
I glanced around—it all looked the same. I wasn’t even sure where I’d come from. Compass skills were my weak-point, but I did have one so I pulled it out and decided to make my way back to where I thought camp was—due east. Machete in hand, I confidently set out toward the east, chopping vines as I went. It seemed fine—until a wild boar came howling from under a large grouping of foliage. Boars could be fierce, and even with the machete, he charged at me. I fought back, his large yellow teeth in a snarl—we were terrified of each other. I swiped at him with the blade, but I slid in the dense, claylike mud. The beast howled at me, and I howled back—punching at his long, wiry-haired face with my fists. He ran back into the jungle down the path he’d come from, to my relief.
I pulled myself up, but I’d hurt my ankle. In pain, I leaned on a tree trunk. Another assessment of the sun’s position told me it was about four in the afternoon. I had a few hours until dark, but with a twisted ankle, my chances of not spending the night alone in the wild were getting bleaker. I checked my phone again—still no signal. Feeling desperate, I rifled through my backpack. A whistle! I pulled it out and began to blow it as I hobbled in the direction I thought would take me to my men.
Half an hour later, still hopelessly wandering the jungle in pain, I was in a near panic when I heard his voice behind me.
“Fair Penelope, are you lost?”
I turned at the sound of his distinctive voice. That afternoon was the first time I’d ever been happy to see Luther. His pale green eyes were warm as his lips raised up at the corners in a smile. I nodded and walked toward him.
“Yes, I got turned around, and then a boar ran at me and I twisted my ankle. I’m so glad to see you!” I said, and I meant it.
“Indeed, some monsters can kill you,” he said slowly, reaching a hand to me.
“Have you seen anyone else? I know you left alone to do your…ceremony?” I asked, unsure of what to say.
He shook his head. “No, I am alone—so alone. This will sound odd to you, I am certain, but I practice a very old form of Christianity—a Celtic tradition. My mother,” he twitched at her mention before continuing, “was Irish, from a very old family. It is odd, I know, but I like to continue that Celtic tradition.”
I willed myself to speak, but no words came out. He was shirtless, the taut muscles of his lean body perfectly toned. His alabaster skin was inked with tattoos, most of which I’d seen before, but out here, they seemed tribal, wilder somehow.
He smiled again, and reached his hand to me. “Let me help you back, lovely Penelope,” he offered as I took his hand.
“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” I said as I leaned on him, my ankle aching with a dull, throbbing pain.
“Maybe, maybe not,” he said in a low voice, turning me in the opposite direction as the one I’d been heading.
“Uh, aren’t they that way?” I asked, confused.
“No,” he said without further explanation. A chill ran down my spine, despite the fact that it was oppressively hot.
We walked for twenty minutes, and Luther spoke about his mother and his childhood in Washington, D.C.—he could be charming, I had to admit. He even made me laugh a few times with stories about his adventures with Rex when they were stationed together in North Carolina at Fort Bragg.
“So yes, our dear friend Rex was in charge of giving intravenous fluids to the commanders when they would over imbibe,” Luther explained as we walked, “so he had quite a bit of pull with our superiors.”
Despite my distrust of him, I loved list
ening to him talk—he had such an old fashioned way of speaking, it was charming and very unique. I’d figured out over the course of his time with us that he never used contractions when he spoke, and always referred to Nate and me by our full names.
“We were the best of friends,” he reminisced, “and I did miss him dearly while I was away.”
We turned a corner, and I sighed a breath of relief. We were in an area I recognized, and camp wasn’t far away.
“Let us take a brief break, dear Penelope, and rehydrate. I am going to lean you against this tree, and procure some fresh water,” he said, leaning me against a sturdy tree on the edge of the cliff that bordered the trail.
“Thanks,” I said, my canteen empty and my lips parched. I had no idea that everything was about to change in the next few minutes but, with a thud to my side, I felt my body lurch toward the perilously steep drop beside me.
It happened so quickly that I barely had time to process it. I still, to this day, am not really sure what happened. But, I slid. Something knocked into me, I think, and my body went over the rocky edge. It was slippery, and it could have been an animal that knocked me, but I ended up going over the edge of the sharp rocks and almost, almost, fell the hundred feet to the treed valley below. I screamed, my ankle twisting on a rock on the side, the pain of it shooting through me. Luther was there immediately. His body was where I’d been pushed—he pushed me off the cliff! I howled again, my foot lodged in the side of the crevasse, my fingers straining to hold onto the ledge. Luther’s black combat boot lifted up, and I knew he was going to stomp my fingers and cause me to fall to my death below.
“Please,” I begged.
He cocked his head to the side, like a wild animal, and his green eyes burned like fire as he assessed me. I was slipping, but Luther didn’t move. He blinked—his long black eyelashes fluttering as if he were deep in thought. “Indeed,” he said calmly as I screamed. His foot slammed to the ground, missing my fingers by a fraction of an inch. I knew, at that moment, that my life hung in the balance.
