Page 45 of Last Destination

Pulling up my shorts, I smirked. “I can’t wait to see how many times I can make you come, baby. But next time, it won’t be inside your pants. It’ll be inside me.”

His eyelids fluttered closed like I’d made him come again with the promise. Holding out my hand, I pulled him toward me and pressed a light kiss to his mouth. The taste of vodka and my cum on my lips was nearly enough to make me beg for round two, but the kiss itself was tentative, gentle. A revelation.

Ambrose stood when we finally broke apart and lay down on the canvas cot with a grimace.

“Lie with me?” he asked, patting the minuscule space next to him. My sated body slumped down beside his, the little spoon slotting into his big spoon. The cloth fabric was barely strong enough to hold our combined weight.

I sank into the comfort of his warmth and his touch, and closed my eyes, eager to catch a small window of rest before Marley returned. Within minutes, his breathing evened out, his arm heavy across my waist. He’d fallen asleep.

Dread seeped into my bones while I lay in the comfort of his hold. Was Madman comforting Marley right now? Had he wrapped her against his chest and soothed her nightmares enough to bring her back to us? Her terrified face lost in her own reality came back to me in vivid detail like she sat in the chair next to the bed, and my heart ached for her in ways I never knew it could.

The bottle of vodka was an arm’s reach away, and I indeed reached for it, holding the cheap plastic in my hand, taunted by its contents. There were about five shots left — five long swigs of calm before my beautiful baby girl came back to me.

Before I could think about the consequences, I removed the cap and poured the burning liquid down my gullet, gulping down the swill like it was the only thing that could save me from myself.

Perhaps it was.

The familiar sensation of warmth spread through my limbs, relaxing me into the cot and Ambrose’s hold, each synapse of my brain tingling with the light glow of refreshed dopamine. Until the dizziness took hold, and the vodka slammed my eyelids shut like the wallop of a sledgehammer.

I probably shouldn’t have done that. I slipped into unconsciousness.

Nikki’s snores could have woken a fucking bear in hibernation. I only noticed when I roused from my post-orgasmic coma, struggling to open my eyes in the muggy din.

The whole was a testament to how damn tired we were, considering I’d laid on the scratchiest burlap sack I’d ever felt, pigeon-holed between a chalky damp wall and a hot human body smelling of sex and vodka and the now-familiar permanent earthy scent of the tropical jungle.

The mind-blowing orgasm certainly helped. It didn’t seem to matter if he was the giver or the taker. He held the same control over me, and the memory of the way he’d given me orders stirred my cock again. His back shook as he let out another violent snore, shaking the weak frame of the cot. I gingerly climbed out of it, careful not to wake him, but my heart sunk into my chest at the empty vodka bottle on the floor.

There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d tipped it over in sleep. I’d seen the way he’d looked at it: the same way Theresa had looked at children. Yearning, longing. Desperation. I picked it up from the dirty floor and tipped it downward — not a single drop was left.

Too bad I was so fucking horny I hadn’t used the entire bottle, or I could have saved him from himself.

He looked peaceful in his passed-out sleep, at least. He cradled his head with one palm underneath his cheek, lips slightly parted and still puffy from our kisses. His glasses crushed into his cheeks and his wild curls had fallen forward across his forehead, hiding half of his face from my view. He was so fucking gorgeous it hurt to look at him without an ache in my pants and a twinge in my heart.

I gently pulled off his glasses, smirking at the deep indent they’d left on his skin, and placed them on the chair next to the bed. He didn’t stir whatsoever. If I hadn’t heard the snores, I might think he was dead.

I pulled my watch out of my pocket: six pm. Ten hours had passed since we’d left on the boats this morning — four hours since we’d landed on this side of the river. That was one hell of a power nap. I had some time to kill, and watching Nikki sleep himself out of a stupor wasn’t going to cut it. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I unlatched the door with a soft click, stepped through, then slowly I pulled it shut behind me, locking it from the other side.

I didn’t like locking him in like a prisoner, but I didn’t trust a single person in this village. I didn’t plan to be long, anyway. It was a long shot, but I needed to find a power outlet, a power bank — anything to give me a connection.

The tree-lined path brought me back out to the main road, where nothing had changed since we’d stood here a few hours ago, except for there being less people. The bus depot was barely visible in the distance, but hundreds of people waited in big crowds at the end of the road.

A cop — police — whatever title they held in Panama, crossed my path, and I figured he was the best bet.

“Sir, do you know where I can charge my phone?” I asked in halting Spanish, trying to play the part of displaced migrant.

The small man in La Policía Nacional de Panamá fatigues and a constipated frown looked me up and down. He must have figured I wasn’t a threat by the sneer of distaste. He pointed toward a vestibule on the other side of the road. A telephone pole with several exterior outlets rested in the center and a man stood next to it with a sign that read “Cargo de $1.”

Thanking the guy who thought I was worth less than scum, I took a US dollar bill out of my pocket, one of my last — I didn’t think they’d honor breaking a twenty around here — and handed it to the toothless, sun-weathered man, who pointed at one of the outlets to use.

Bees swarmed my stomach while I withdrew my laptop from its shockproof and waterproof case. Holding my breath, I plugged it into the outlet that could either power or fry the shit out of my computer. I couldn’t access my satellite WiFi in the middle of the Darién, but this close to civilization, I might at least get access to my email.

I withdrew my cell phone and Nikki’s, plugging them into the secondary outlet, hoping to hell it wouldn’t draw enough power to set the precarious pole on fire. I’d taken all of our cellphones before we’d joined the human train, knowing they were best protected in my pack. The humidity might have fucked them all — I didn’t have a specialized case designed for disgusting air — but it was our last shot. I didn’t have much left to use to get out of here.

The electrical merchant came over waving his fist, pointing at my second use of power. I removed another dollar bill and shoved it into his palm, not in the mood to haggle when I could potentially access the rest of the world at the end of the charging cord. Satisfied, he left me alone, and I resumed the task of signing into what remained of what I’d left behind.

My screen blinked twice, then stabilized, bringing up my password page. I eagerly typed in the words and watched the spinning wheel of death as it attempted the log-in. The charging capability was ten watts at most. At this rate, I’d have enough power for a game of Wordle once I unplugged, so I prioritized what I needed while I was actually connected. Marley could be here in the next few hours — at least, I sure as hell hoped so.

I’d stayed strong for Nikki while he was spiraling in the wooden plank these people dared to call a boat, but my gut churned at the possibility we’d made a mistake.