Page 40 of Last Destination

Boats, tens of them — twenty at minimum — crowded along the water, sardined wooden wedges of floating desperation on a strengthening current. We were already so far away from her, it would be a miracle if I could swim through the barriers to get back to her at all. Even if I’d enjoyed a full breakfast and reasonable hydration, it would take every ounce of energy I had.

Unshed tears burned the back of my eyeballs and I swallowed the lump of emotion before it could choke me.

“Fuck.” I collapsed on the narrow foothold barely big enough to fit my arse sideways, and wrestled myself into the plastic chair strapped only with thin yellow rope.

“Madman will bring her to us,” Ambrose murmured over the shout of the guide stating we needed to pay him for passage. “I’m freaking the fuck out, too, Nik. But I trust him. Trust he’ll meet us on the other side, okay?”

Nodding into my cradled hands, I let myself drown in the wave of my grief on a boat full of strangers. The boat tipped forward into the river’s descent through a series of small waterfalls and rapids. My body fell sharply sideways into the scarred wooden hull, but the captain navigated the whirlpools with ease, steering the boat closer to the shoreline to avoid most of it.

The tingling sensation of being observed crept up the back of my neck. I looked up to see Ambrose watching me, his sexy, smooth jaw set in a grim, concerned line. I dipped my head to show I was okay.

A bald-faced lie, of which I’d told many. With each pass of the oar, the deep, familiar thirst rose to the forefront, every nerve ending aching for the blessed touch of a drop of drink. Even in the midst of drought, I could taste the phantom flavor on my tongue.

“Dinero! Dinero!” The guide halted our boat’s movement in the water by dropping a small anchor. He stood and his bulky frame rocked the craft from side to side, my stomach rolling along with it.

Ambrose held up his hands to placate the irate man, and slowly pulled out a small wad of American bills for payment.

I dug out a few soggy notes and handed them over, passing the cash of others forward until the man who held our fate in his hands was satisfied with his payment. He pulled up the anchor and continued down the river as if he hadn’t just held us all for ransom.

Shielding my eyes from the blistering sun — our first reprieve from rain in days — I squinted into the distance. Still no sign of civilization, not even the plastic traces of human refuse that had littered the natural environment since we’d joined the migrant route. Just how long was this journey?

How could I help Marley handle the load as she pieced herself back together when I was full of holes myself? Years of pandering to the Baron’s expectations and the Baroness’s obsession with optics, I’d shoved down every part of me I could be proud of in order to be the son they deemed appropriate and worthy of their affection, leaving myself only a shallow shell.

How often had I basked in my preference to be unattached, and now that I had the opportunity, I’d rather be left at the bottom of this river? My fists clenched in my lap, the manifestation of my resolve. Useless or not, I wouldn’t leave the Darién without Marley. I wouldn’t leave her side until she found her way back to herself, this time, a whole person.

I wouldn’t be her only, that much was clear. But I could be her always, if she let me.

Sweat poured off my neck. The jungle had become impossibly hotter on top of the water. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth like Velcro, but I had nothing to relieve the itch. I’d finished the final sips of my water bottle this morning, and now I regretted the impulsivity. Had Ambrose any water in his pack?

His back muscles bunching beneath his faded, dirty polo shirt called to me like a siren. Was I falling for this man, too? Was it possible I could want both — have both?

Joy was as fleeting as the few sips in a pint. Finally finding an artesian well of it seemed impossible, and yet …

My knees bobbed along with the boat around a sharp bend in the river, and I nearly leaped out of my chair when a small village on the other end came into view. Several of the boats in front of us were already docking at its shore.

Every paddle toward the outpost was an agonizing lesson in patience, but once we finally came into the shallow cove, I swung over the side of the boat into the waist-deep water. The silty film slid against my skin, its cooling effect barely noticeable in the rabid heat.

Ambrose and I stood on the beach, taking in the first sight of civilization in almost two weeks, if we could call it that. Ramshackle buildings that looked barely able to handle a rainstorm, let alone the wrath of the Amazon, were laid out in neat little rows, and a large sign indicated a bus depot down a long dirt road only wide enough for the width of a small European car.

Vendors shouted from little carts attached to bicycles, hawking food and water. Armed guards with the La Policía Nacional de Panamá logo emblazoned on the front of their camouflage shirts in bold lettering meandered through the stalls, their hands cradling the straps of their rifles to keep the migrants in line.

The scramble from the boats mimicked the rush to the boats from the other side, and several people didn’t bother to stop at the stations at all, taking off down toward the buses to Costa Rica.

Tessa fell into step beside me, and I threw my arms around her, grateful for her safety despite everything. She allowed me to hug her, but did not return my embrace.

“I know you’ll wait for Marley,” she said, her voice as exhausted as I felt. “But I’m not. I’m ready to go home, Nikki. I’m going to take the next shuttle out of here.”

Ambrose came up beside us, sandwiching her between us.

“You’re sure?” I searched her gaze for reassurance. Her once bright blue eyes had dulled in the Amazon sun. Her rapid nod was a strange mix of hesitant and determined, as if terrified I would attempt to talk her out of it. I wouldn’t. If I’d lost the love of my life, I wouldn’t look back once to escape the jungle that stole everything from me.

“Marley would have loved to say goodbye, but we can’t have you waiting for her. You need to get home.” I stepped backward, giving her the space she needed to make this decision. “Do me one favor?”

She swallowed hard but dipped her head, avoiding my eyes.

“Take the gun.” I reached into my pocket and discreetly slid the warm metal into her dainty hands. “It only has one bullet, but it may save your life.”

Ambrose’s amber eyes widened in surprise. He turned his inquisitive brows on me, but I ignored him. I’d been entrusted with the weapon, and it was mine to give. We could rely on Ambrose’s hatchet and our wits until Madman arrived.