Page 1 of Last Destination

For every desperate heart who

Sunk into romance to be able to feel

May Marley heal you, too.

Survival was not awarded to the fittest or the strongest. It was a medal given to the man willing to fight his demons in the dark, the man willing to devolve into a monster to win.

Detective Diaz held Tessa against his chest, a gun hidden previously around his ankle now held tightly in his grip and pointed directly at my chest. We stood in the same peaceful grove I’d passed through this morning.

He was goading me to trade my life, a hostage for a hostage. As if I’d exchange my freedom for the waifish Canadian’s life. He’d continued to underestimate me, and it would be his end.

I was the monster.

I held our missing captain’s life in my hands, my fingers wrapped around his neck with almost enough force to break it. Flexing my fingers against Jamie’s windpipe, I crushed his vocal cords before dropping the puxa-saco on the dirt. He fell at my feet like the lump of useless clay he was, sputtering and coughing.

Captain Jameson Adams had known we wouldn’t be rescued and hid the evidence from us all. My ángel had convinced herself he was innocent. The confession of his guilt had broken her heart. I would have killed him for that alone, if Ambrose and Nikki had not coerced him to testify against the crooked airline company when we made it to Panama. The company a drug cartel leader paid for my passage along with several kilos of cocaine. The captain paid to allow it to happen — the same captain who writhed at my feet like a worm.

Tessa’s sobs echoed through the trees, muting the captain’s pathetic display and forcing my gaze back to the girl and my nemesis.

I stared down the metal weapon twenty feet away. The bullet would sink into several bodies before it hit mine. A brief spark of satisfaction flared when Nikki and Ambrose shifted to block Marley, but it would not be enough. I’d left them when I was certain they would survive without me — when my captain’s rescue clock was up, and Ambrose had healed enough to provide her protection. However, I had miscalculated. Now, Clube de Morte was in the immediate path of bullets.

Clube de Morte would not die.

Rage fired through my blood, as if I’d injected its most potent form into my veins.

Diaz opened his mouth to speak, but I heard none of the words. Instead, I fingered the utility knife in my pocket I’d taken from Nikki’s pack. I eased it out into my palm. No amount of training could make the throw faster than a bullet. I had to time it perfectly.

“Come on out, Torres,” Diaz taunted, “and I’ll spare your precious captain for now.”

Clube de Morte shifted in front of me, but the distraction I’d been waiting for came from my right. Brooks swung a sharp tree limb the thickness of Nikki’s calves toward Diaz. The aim was high, at the shoulders to avoid hitting Tessa, who he still clutched to his front as a hostage.

Diaz swung backward to avoid the blow and shoved Tessa to his left toward the ground, while still tightly gripping his weapon. Brooks staggered forward and his momentum drove the branch into Diaz’s collarbone, flattening his entire body against the rough bark of the jobo tree behind him.

He was partially stunned. I would not get another chance, not from this far away.

The knife was heavier than I was used to — bulky, not intended for death. I judged its weight quickly and flicked my wrist toward the detective, eager to end his life to get on with what was left of the rest of mine.

A guttural growl rose from his throat when the knife found the fleshy part of his hip instead of the torso I’d aimed for. There was no time to enjoy the yelp of pain. The instant crack of an exploding bullet in a chamber rang through my ears and dulled all other sound.

My knees hit the earth first as I dropped on instinct. My gaze sought out Clube de Morte first, landing on the only collection of people I cared for. Nikki held the gun out in front of his kneeling body with the confidence of a trained soldier, but his hands trembled.

Ambrose dove on top of Marley, shielding her with his body and folding his arms over her head to fully protect her from harm. He was doing what I could not. I would thank him once Diaz got his first and only taste of death.

I had used my only weapon to incapacitate him, but a wounded animal could still cause pain.

Brooks dove forward and attempted to wrestle the deadly weapon from Diaz’s grip, showing far more bravery than many of the men in Clube de Morte I’d left behind.

Gunfire roared, but not from my gang. Diaz channeled his rage for me into the few bullets he had left, but they failed to hit anyone else through the barrier of Brooks' body.

Blood spattered in high arcs as he continued to shoot the innocent human at close range. A bullet carved through their stomach with expert precision before a final shot seared through their neck with the sole intention to kill.

Marley screamed our names, unable to see the surrounding carnage. My heart twinged at her pain. She would make Brooks’ death her fault. My ángel was a well-practiced martyr.

The familiar flame of wrath built at the base of my spine and turned every vessel in my blood to lava. I was a dealer of death to people who deserved the sentence. Brooks’ only crime was to protect their gang, as I would protect mine.

Diaz’s infatuation with power was not her fault. It was not my fault. We had not asked for this sentence in the jungle, to be the victims of his greed.

His pistol had six shots, if he’d had enough bullets. He’d used four.