Page 52 of Last Destination

Ambrose had shared that the world presumed us dead. A fresh slate awaited me, as long as I could get on the other side of the border. But no moves would be made until our captain had healed, or at minimum, her inner wounds bandaged.

I clenched my fists at my sides to hide my helplessness.

“None of us know if she was seeing or hearing things before then and just not saying anything, though,” Ambrose continued, scratching the back of his neck in resignation.

The three men of my crew exchanged glances of concern, but we could say nothing more. We were on our twelfth day in the jungle and for at least one third of our journey, my ángel had been struggling. How long ago had it started?

I’d failed to notice the internal battle taking her hostage. The pain of my oversight was a heavy weight on my chest, as it always was whenever I’d failed my men.

“Was she on any medication?”

Another glance around the room, pursed lips and furrowed brows unable to come up with an answer.

“Risperidone.” My ángel’s reply came out thickly on her tongue, her mouth filled with marbles she could not spit out. “We lowered my dose a month ago because the side effects were affecting my flying.”

I recognized the antipsychotic. Men traded for it in prison, though it was a rare request, used only to put them into deep sleeps to escape their reality.

“What was the dosage?” The doctor’s pen scratched across his chart, an irritating sharpness that set my hackles on edge.

She struggled to sit upright and face the doctor directly. “Four milligrams, single dose.”

He looked up from his paperwork and offered her a small, compassionate smile.

“I don’t have any risperidone here, but I can order it in. It will be here by tomorrow morning.”

Hummingbirds brushed against the inside of my rib cage. The microdose of hope hit more powerfully than heroin. “What can we do for her while we wait?”

The doctor’s gaze flitted to mine, after taking a moment to catch every pair of eyes in the room.

“Let her sleep. She’s passing out because her brain is fighting for survival. I can prescribe a sedative for the day while we wait.”

“And for the amnesia?” Nikki stroked a calming hand down my ángel’s back, though the rest of his body held the twitchy energy of facing his own battle. He’d handed me the vodka bottle the previous night, seeking my promise I would keep it away from him. I’d tucked the bottle into my pack. It would be a useful disinfectant on the rest of my journey. His lips would never touch it, but I was unconvinced they would never touch another.

“Trauma-induced amnesia is fairly common. She has a mild concussion, so that could explain her symptoms, but a history of trauma makes the brain more susceptible to further trauma. There is a strong chance she’ll never remember.”

“Thank fuck,” Nikki said, releasing a breath. “What?” he asked when our captain turned to him, her head cocked in question. “If I could choose for you, I don’t want you to have to relive those moments, baby girl. Not having those memories is a blessing.”

“He’s right.” Jamie broke his silence.

He stared at his feet, refusing to meet our eyes. “If I could take mine away, I’d do it in a heartbeat. It was the worst moment of my life, but I’m not sure I can say the same for you, Marl.” His head rose to meet her eyes. “I think you’ve had to survive way worse. Trust me, you don’t need those to add to the mix.”

I’d been drugged and shackled when the plane had fallen from the sky like an errant arrow, confusion and terror controlling every movement and prayer until I’d woken up in the smoke-filled plane, with Diaz threatening to complete the task the crash had not.

I had not considered the strength of those memories for Marley, or how they would affect her if they returned. It was not until now that I cared about their effect on the captain who’d abandoned his vessel and left us behind.

The doctor ripped off the paper for her to sign with the bill. “How will you be paying?”

“I will be paying.” I glanced at the bill and threw out a few American twenties I’d taken off the poisoned bodies days ago. My cash was dwindling, but the kilo of cocaine in my bag was enough to pay for my passage to anywhere on the continent.

Marley accepted the cup with two white pills in it, along with a small cup of distilled water.

“These will work quickly, considering you are malnourished. Get some food on the way out.”

My shoulder had oozed and burned at the edges since the river ride, and I’d awoken with a fever. It was time to tend to my own wound.

“We will need one more thing.” I removed my jacket and T-shirt, and the cotton of the stolen shirt stuck to the infected flesh. I winced when it peeled off my skin and the putrid smell of decay was far stronger without the layer to mask its bite.

“Jesus, Madman!” Ambrose’s nose wrinkled, and he stepped farther away from me, as if my gash was contagious.