Page 3 of Last Destination

Peace consumed me as my limbs lifted of their own accord in suspended animation. Swimming was not a prison activity. I hadn’t felt water beneath my feet since I was a teen. It was the smallest of luxuries on a day that should have been a simple retreat into my freedom.

I had intended to carve my own path out of the jungle, but it had not gone as planned. My decision to leave had made Clube de Morte vulnerable. Had I not found the traitor and threatened him with death to get his confession, I would not have returned at all. Now, with rescue no longer coming, I would remain by their side and protect them until they found their freedom from the jungle. Only then would I find mine.

My head broke the surface when my lungs screamed their protest. Spinning in the water, I turned toward the shore where Marley stood, hands on her hips, her beautiful features morphed into a furious scowl.

“What the fuck are you doing, Madman?” She cursed as I swam toward her I rose from the water when I was only three feet from shore. I stood before her, nothing between us but humid air and my rapidly stiffening cock.

She drew in a sharp breath and her cheeks bloomed with roses as her wide pupils slowly scanned every inch of my exposed skin. Without shame, I allowed her to look her fill, basking under the glow of her scrutiny. I held her gaze while reaching for the branch where my clothing hung, pulling the T-shirt into the water to soak it.

“I am getting clean, ángel.” I finally said, voice calm, grabbing the stiffening jeans off the limb to soak as well. We had to clean our own clothes in the prison, in rusted buckets and with the remnants of whatever soap we smuggled from the showers. River water was not so far a stretch, but I would have nothing to get rid of the smell.

“You left me again.” Her breath caught on the word, laced with the vulnerability of pain.

“I did.”

I could not deny my decision, nor could I explain my regret. It was a feral creature inside my chest, longing to be released, but caged by hubris. My desperation for freedom had convinced me she’d be safe without my presence. I was wrong.

Pretty words would not make up for my actions. Only action could replace action. I would show her my remorse by becoming her fiercest shield.

Her brows crinkled, but the tears in her eyes did not fall.

“Why did you come back?”

The question sat between us, its softness burdened with accusation. Scrunching the fabric into the water a few times to saturate the cloth, I lifted it from the river and hung it back on the limb.

I did not have the words to give her. Not the words she wanted.

“Come,” I beckoned, offering my hand to her instead. “Strip down and get clean with me. I will keep you safe.”

Her hesitation spoke volumes. This woman had once trusted me with her life. Now, she did not even trust me for a swim. I did not withdraw my offer, keeping my hand out toward her so long, my sore shoulder ached under the strain.

Biting her lip, she expelled a heavy burst of air through her nose before bending down to untie her shoelaces. Slowly, as if to torture me, she removed every single piece of clothing that hid the delicious lines of her skin from me. The slide of panties down her legs revealed the crisp patch of hair I’d buried my face in just a few days before. My mouth watered remembering her sweet taste.

The release of her bra buckled my knees. I held myself upright as two beautifully full melons with thick brown nipples cut into sharp points bounced against her chest when she made her first step into the water.

My captain was not just a beautiful, capable leader. She was a goddess, meant to be painted by Botticelli himself. I memorized every curve, the dips and valleys of her dimpled skin, locking the image in the sacred portion of my brain.

But now was not the time for indulgence.

When her delicate palm pressed against mine, I closed it in my grip and tugged her toward me.

She fell forward, her ample breasts flattening against my chest, my cock locked between us and pressed against the soft folds of her belly. Before I could adjust our positions to give her the space she was owed, she turned her cheek flat against my pec and sobbed.

Madman’s skin, rough with coarse hair and the puckers of scars, pressed against my cheek as his arms wrapped around me a tight but gentle grip.

I wanted to hate him, to pound on his chest and scream he’d abandoned us in our time of need, but I had no right.

Hadn’t I told him after he’d made me come it had meant nothing? Hadn’t I secretly wished he’d escape, so Diaz wouldn’t have a hold on him? He’d helped save Ambrose’s life after the jaguar attack. He’d removed all evidence of the cocaine and helped me search for Jamie, and asked for nothing in return.

He wasn’t mine to own, even if the tiniest, most selfish portion of my heart wished he was.

So I leaned into his touch, pretending for the briefest moment he was. The release of bitter adrenaline leaked through my eyelids, a toxic drip, each tear mourning the loss of another person in my care. Brooks had been such a quiet, caring person, unassuming and kind. The way they’d taken care of Danny and enthusiastically shown Ambrose how to weave was a testament to the beautiful soul who would never touch another life.

Their bravery had saved Tessa, and Madman’s quick thinking saved the rest of us. It was our utter misfortune Diaz hadn’t died in the crash, but of all of us, I was grateful it was Madman who pulled the trigger.

Why had he come back? Would he choose to stay now? My heart wanted him to, even though my head couldn’t make sense of the request.

Madman shifted his arms and pulled me into his right shoulder, shifting my body over a very hard erection while his other hand reached over his head. I looked up through bleary eyes to see him waving to Nikki and Ambrose warily watching us from the shoreline. Tessa was standing between them. Nikki’s hand gripped her bicep as if his entire strength was the only thing keeping her upright.