With a toilet and a long, hot shower. Ah, plumbing . . . I miss you.
On that note, I sneak behind a tree and take care of some morning business, glad Grant included a pack of biodegradable body wipes and a small bottle of hand sanitizer gel.
I take care of my morning needs, freshen up, and retie my messy ponytail, vowing to make a hair appointment as soon as I get back to New York. With a deep breath, I’m ready to tackle the hike back.
I think my body might disagree a bit though, as just about everything hurts, and when I slide my pack on, I swear I’ve got muscle cramps on top of my aches.
“Don’t worry,” Nathan says quietly as he helps me adjust my straps. “We’ll take it slow.”
The hike back out of the jungle is déjà vu inducing in its similarities to coming in, even though we’re going in a slightly different direction. I’m just following Francisco instead of Miguel this time. But Caleb is in front of me and Nathan behind me, so it’s the same black backpack landscape for my eyes.
After about two hours, we stop for a breather and to refill our canteens from a stream. Caleb leans over and whispers in my ear, “Did you see Miguel?”
My brows shoot together in confusion and he smirks. “Saw him hiding in a tree last night, gave him a thumbs-up. He did his job.”
It feels like an olive branch because Caleb knows I’ve been waffling between being mad at Miguel for deserting us to Francisco’s goons and being worried about him alone in the jungle.
But apparently, he did what Caleb hired him for, and that’s good enough. Men are weird . . . or maybe it’s unique to soldiers?
I don’t know, considering I have minimal experience with either.
We walk until sunset, and as the last rays of sunlight filter out of the sky, we come to a clearing and I see an old beater Jeep. It’s a four-seater at best, especially considering the size of the guys, but we pile in.
“Faster going out than in,” Nathan says to Francisco, who grins his jack-o-lantern smile. “Direct path?”
Francisco nods and points. “In.”
Francisco drives, Tweedle-Bigger in the passenger seat, leaving Nathan, Caleb, and Tweedle-Big in the back.
It’s a tight fit for the three of them, made even tighter when I perch in Nathan’s lap. If it weren’t so tight and all five of us didn’t smell like we’ve been hiking in the jungle, I might think it’s actually fun.
The ride back into town is blessedly short but extra-bumpy, and I find that I have to hold onto the metal bar above me to keep from bouncing out. Even still, I rap my knuckles between the bar and my head more than once, and I know I’m going to need a Tylenol later.
We finally hit a paved road and Francisco makes a turn, but Nathan speaks up. “No, take us straight to the airport. In Belem.”
Francisco looks back, surprise etched on his face. “You sure? It takes many hours to drive. Nikolai’s airstrip is closer. Your pilot can meet you there.”
Nathan shakes his head, determined. “Belem. We’ll both throw in our knives if you can make it happen. Consider them a tip for a job well done.”
Though it sounds like a kindness, I can sense that it’s a test too. If Francisco insists on returning to Nikolai’s airstrip, we can be sure that there will be nothing good waiting there for us.
But Francisco looks happy, a smile moving the lines of his tanned face. “Thanks, Norte.”
Francisco’s grin widens as he makes a call, speaking so fast I don’t understand a word until I hear him say ‘aeroporta’.
Nathan cuts his eyes to Caleb, who blinks slowly. They do have some weird blinking language going, and they understood at least most of what Francisco was saying.
It feels like we accomplished the mission we set out to do. The diamond is in Nathan’s backpack right now. But all of that will be for nothing if we don’t get out of here safely.
* * *
The airport in Belem is tiny, more of a private hangar and a long stretch of cleared grass and dirt. But there’s a small private jet sitting there, waiting on us.
There’s a black Land Rover too. As Francisco stops the Jeep and I give thanks to whatever spirits kept the decrepit thing together for so many hours, the Land Rover door opens and Nikolai steps out.
I can feel Nathan tense beneath me.
“You setting us up, Francisco?” Nathan asks through clenched teeth, his hand reaching for the knife still by his side.
Nikolai shakes his head, holding both hands up to show he’s unarmed.
But he hasn’t been the gun-toting threat the whole time, so the farce seems useless.
He calls across the small space, “Doing as I’m told. My father wanted visual proof that you were leaving.”
We get out of the Jeep, and almost as soon as our feet touch the ground, Francisco peels rubber as he floors it.
Okay, the rubber doesn’t peel out because I don’t think the Jeep could peel rubber even on its best day, but for a vehicle older than my mother, Francisco certainly jammed the pedal through the floorboard.
That doesn’t bode well, I think.
Caleb and I stay one step behind Nathan as he walks to Nikolai. They shake hands, but the tension is pulled taut between them.
Nikolai’s face is stone, his voice barely audible even to us. “Just a reminder that this is a one-time deal. Daddy ashes only.”
He says it calmly, but I wonder if he knows something.
To cover my nerves, I ask, “Where’s Maritziana?”
Nikolai laughs, his barrel chest shaking. “She is right where she wants to be, Kitty. She is a city girl. The closest she’ll come to Brazil is the Copacabana.”
I don’t like that he used the old name now that he knows my real one. It feels like a threat of sorts.
He’s evil incarnate in a way I wish I didn’t know existed, but when he talks about Maritziana, there’s a slight softness to his eyes like he does actually care for her.
I guess even Hades had his Persephone.
“You won’t hurt her.” I mean to say it like it’s an order, but the upward lilt to my voice at the end makes it sound like a question.
He smirks, shaking his head softly. “Nyet, not unless she begs nicely for me to. Do you do that for your Nathan? Spread your pussy wide and plead for him to fuck you hard? To give you his cock as you scream his name and cry for his cum? If not, you should. It’s rather . . . inspiring.”
He’s trying to shock me with his crass words, but I can only hope that Maritziana is getting her version of a happily ever after. It’s not okay, but maybe it’s okay for them? I have to believe that.
I choke a bit on my own spit and shrink back behind Nathan, which makes Nikolai laugh again.
Nathan draws his attention back, his voice tight with barely repressed anger. “As you said, one-time passage to the caves and out safely in exchange for the pink diamonds for Mama Romanov.”
Nathan sets his pack down and digs into an interior pocket, pulling out a velvet satchel. He tosses it to Nikolai, whose eyes go huge as he catches it by reflex. “You had them with you the whole time.”
Nathan’s eyes gleam in triumph. “Insurance policy. You needed me to get them, and I would only give them as I’m leaving the country.”
Nikolai takes the satchel and pours a few into his hand, the small pink chunks of diamond gleaming in his hand. As he inspects them, Nathan asks, “We good?”
Nikolai takes a deep breath, and I’m nervous that this is his moment. He’s got it all now . . . the diamonds and us still in his territory. “Da. I do give you great condolences on the loss of your father. I hope you were able to do his wishes justice. Though fathers and sons may not always get along or agree, we do things for our families, simply because they are our family.” He nods sagely like that’s a great nugget of wisdom and then looks back at the Land Rover.
My eyes follow Nikolai’s, as do Caleb’s and Nathan’s.
There’s an older white-haired man sitting in the back, barely visible. But when he sees
our eyes looking his way, he lifts a hand in a small salute.
“Travel safe, Nathan Stone,” Nikolai says, and it’s all the dismissal we need.
The flight back to the States feels different this time with Nathan beside me.
But shortly after take-off, the brothers start arguing lightly about me.
Again.
“Could’ve been dangerous,” Nathan says.
“Could’ve? It was fucking dangerous! But we did it anyway,” Caleb argues. “Would have been safer from the get-go if someone hadn’t been a stubborn ass about things.”
I interrupt, pulling the big stone out of Nathan’s bag and setting it on the table in front of me.
Instantly, their argument ceases and their attention is on the rock.
In some ways, it’s not as impressive as I thought it’d be. It’s smaller than a tennis ball, and rather flat as well, not even a half-inch thick.
On the other hand, the carvings etched into the face are repellent but also oddly attractive. Looking at them, whispers of dark things, darkly sexually disgusting things, filter through my mind.
I shiver, my stomach clenching as I turn away from the gem.
When Nathan had talked about the caves and had me do research on the people and artifacts, I hadn’t known why.
But then I’d read a myth about an ancient diamond believed to be hidden in the caves and I’d realized his intentions.
From what he’d shared about his dad, I’d known this was the reason for his trip to Brazil.
And then I’d known it was the reason for Nathan’s trip as well.
But regardless of the mythological powers, despite its making me feel anger and lust and rage and power all rolled up into one twisted lump, it’s still just a chunk of pretty rock.
It stops the argument immediately, the talismanic presence filling the small cabin.
“What are we going to do with it?” Caleb asks.
“Destroy it,” Nathan says immediately. “I know a guy with a hydraulic press, two hundred tons of pressure. Turn the damn thing into dust.”
“What would your dad have wanted to do with it?” I ask carefully, although Nathan’s vehemence seems to be unchangeable.
Nathan and Caleb lock eyes. “Do you remember?” they both ask at the same time.
They grin, and Nathan turns to me, explaining, “When Caleb and I were little, whenever Dad would have a successful trip, he’d come home so excited. We’d have a whole evening at least of him rambling so fast as he told us the story of how he came to possess This Great Thing or That Ancient Relic. There was always some element of danger he’d had to battle, some unexpected riddle he had to solve before the booby trap would kill him. He made it all up, but to my mind, it seemed real. I was just a little kid, so it made his absences feel important somehow. And when he’d come back, to celebrate, we’d have ice cream sundaes.”
Caleb whispers, “Sprinkles and fudge.”
They disappear into the past together for a split second as I can see their shared history playing out in their eyes. All the excitement, all the pain, all the disappointment, all the anger.
“So ice cream sundaes tonight?” I venture.
Nathan thinks for a moment before he finally shakes his head. “It feels dirty to do that without him. Besides, by the time we were teens, his stories were like Santa Claus . . . tarnished with the adult understanding of everything he gave up to find those treasures.”
Caleb walks over to the bar and pours himself a drink. “I haven’t had fucking ice cream in ten years, and I’m not starting now.”
He sits down on the long bench that takes up half of one side of the small cabin, pulling the shade and staring at the twinkling lights thousands of miles below. I can see him shutting off the emotions, doing his best to deal with his past.
Chapter 39
Nathan
I watch my brother for a few minutes, not sure if I should go over and sit with him, let him drag me down into whatever pit he’s spiraling into. Emma would give us the privacy, I’m sure . . . or at least as much privacy as this jet allows.
But I can tell by the set of his shoulders, the way his body’s stiff as a board and the clench of his jaw, that he wants to take this journey alone, at least for now. I can respect that.
Dad fucked us both over, but it landed on us in different ways. I tried to buffer things for Caleb as the older brother, but in some ways, I think I did him a disservice. He didn’t catch onto Dad’s bullshit until much later, and so the betrayal hit him that much harder.
So if he needs to fortify his shields and lock that moment of memory away a little more securely, I’ll give him time to do so.
Instead, I turn to Emma, who’s watching me watch Caleb. Her eyes are perceptive, blue and deep, no judgement or pity, just interest.
And love.
She said she loves me, and though I heard her, I guess I sort of always thought it was just words. But this doesn’t feel like lip service. It feels . . . real.
I take her hand, pulling her up and into the back of the plane.
The sleeping quarters aren’t much, a full-sized bed wedged into a tiny space behind the refreshment station, barely large enough to stand up in.
But the bed isn’t why I brought her here. I dragged her back here because I have a lot I need to say and I wanted what little privacy can be found. Somehow, the small space helps to corral the wild emotions running through me, letting me express what I need to.
“I’m sorry, Emma. So fucking sorry,” I murmur as I sit on the bed, the words tied in emotions as they float into the air between us. She sits next to me, and I want to say more, but first I have to let her understand.
I chase my apology, leaning into her and stealing a kiss and her breath as I press my lips to hers.
She’s soft for a moment, pushing back into me, and I swallow her little sounds, but then she pulls away and stands up. The small distance between us feels symbolic of what I’ve done to us, a situation I created.
“No, wait. I need to know . . . sorry for what? For leaving me? For lying about it? For not trusting me? What exactly are you sorry for?”
I wince at the pain I can hear laced through her words, and I know I have to turn away from the path I’ve been on. I won’t hide from her. I won’t be my father.
“All of it.”
“More,” she demands, and I look at her in confusion. Emma’s mouth pinches and she explains. “I fucked up, majorly. But when I apologized, I laid it all on the line, bared my fucking soul. I expect nothing less from you.”
Shit. She stands in front of me as judge, jury, and executioner, a look in her eyes that tells me I need to get my shit together, and do it quickly, because she’s right. She deserves nothing less than what she was willing to give.
But in all my years on this planet, I’ve never had to really do what she’s asking. Even when I was in the military or a merc, if a superior chewed my ass, they would tell me why and how I fucked up and rarely demanded an apology beyond another set of push-ups.
This is going to be hard.
“I shouldn’t have left you,” I start slowly, chewing over every word in my mind before I say it, “but I thought I was doing the right thing. Thought I was protecting you, and when I saw you being held at gunpoint, a small part of me said, ‘I told you so,’ because that was exactly what I’d been trying to prevent. My heart literally stopped because I knew I couldn’t get to you in time. If I’d moved toward you, that asshole would’ve pulled the trigger and I would’ve lost you. I died a little in that moment too, just from the thought that you could be hurt.”
Emma’s posture relaxes a little, but her eyes are still so intense, so demanding, that I know she needs more. She needs it all.
“But I wasn’t. I’m fine. I’m here. Now what?”
She asks the question like I have some say-so in our next steps, but I know my answer is a test.
I’m answering the question, but she has all the power.
If I
can find the strength, the courage, to open up to her fully, to go all in and return her love, she’ll stay. We’ll go home, and life will be messy, it’ll be weird, but it’ll be wonderful with her by my side.
If I can’t . . . she’ll get off the plane in New York, and that’s the last I’ll likely ever see or hear from her.
And I can’t imagine that.
My life would become a cold, meaningless nightmare, and I can’t live like that anymore. Not now that I know what it could be.
So I swallow every single drop of pride I have and tell her the truth. It’s not pretty, and I don’t know if it’ll be enough, but it’s all I have. I stand, feeling like I’m facing a firing squad as I lay myself bare.
“I’m not really sure what love is. I don’t think what my dad felt for us was love, more like obligation. And my mom died when I was young, so a lot of the memories are hazy, like happy fuzzies in my mind. I’d say I love Caleb, but that’s different, like a responsibility and hope that he’s eventually happy. I’ve never . . .”
I sigh, searching for the words that won’t form into coherent thoughts when I need them most. “I don’t have a name for what I feel, but I don’t want to lose it. Lose you. Songs and books say love is supposed to be like butterflies and sunshine and pink hearts, you know? But that’s not what I feel, not at all.”
I lean into her, running my thick fingers into her messy bun and grabbing a handful of her blonde hair as I rumble, first to her lips, then against the satin skin of her neck, and finally into her ear.
“What I feel is deep and scarily obsessive. Emma, you’re working your way into every crevice, every cranny of my soul, and I want the same. I want to own you, to be owned by you. I want your breath to carry my name and my name only for the rest of your life. Because from the moment I saw that gun to your head, it’s all I can think of, and I can’t live without you. I want to live, Emma. I want to live inside you like the way you’ve wiggled into my soul.”
It’s more dark poetry than what I think love is supposed to be, but maybe my perception of bubblegum love is wrong?
Power Play Page 33
