He had to get ahead of the warrior. Fast.
Demon headed for the river, betting his opponent wouldn’t expect him to take such an exposed position. He clambered over the rocks, counting on the rapids’ low drumming to hide the sounds of his approach. Fortune laid a hoorah on him in the form of a short waterfall with perfect climbing crevices.
Stashing the loaded blowpipe in his boot, he pinned the warrior’s location before grabbing for the first toehold. Two-thirds of the way to the apex, he spotted the red loincloth weaving through a grove of spindly trees not nine feet away. The man was in a crouch crawl, walking from tree to tree. Demon waited until the man halted and fired off two darts, one after the other. The first one went wide, but the second hit the warrior’s broad, muscled back. The fucker took a long time to go down, but the second he crumpled, Demon took off.
Foliage blurred; he pushed himself harder, faster. His lungs burned. He widened his stride and pumped his arms, driving his legs forward. Jaw wired tight, intent on violent destruction, he halted on a dime the instant the houseboat’s flag came into view.
No member of his team moved with more stealth than Demon, and he knew two facts immediately: no one on board had heard the shot or his approach. Using a set of thick mangrove trunks to hide his bulk, he studied the boat. No one on deck.
Fuck. Not good.
The ladder at the stern was still down.
Abandoning the blowpipe—he had no darts left anyway—he crept to the river’s edge and slipped into the muddy water. A nearby hiss caught his peripheral vision, and he marked the colorful snake creeping across a low-lying branch directly in his path. He had no choice and dived for the bottom, hoping the snake wouldn’t get him before he reached the ladder.
Demon ignored the sharp sting on his right shin and swam as if Jaws rode his tail. Moving with the utmost stealth, he propelled up the ladder, stepped on deck, wrenched the snake from his leg, twisted the head, and let the reptile drop. It couldn’t be poisonous or else he’d be feeling the sting in the blood coursing through his body. Snatching the grappling hook from its alcove, he sank to his knee behind the built-in bench and studied the engine room through the open doorway.
No one in sight.
The boat rocked violently. Shouts rang out.
He bounded to his feet. The sounds of an obvious struggle roared in his ears. Jacinta’s ferocious screech had adrenaline cascading through his veins. He raced past the engine room and through the empty kitchen.
The door to the bedroom was closed.
Wishing he had more than a waterlogged .38, he nevertheless cocked the gun, readied the grappling hook, and kicked the door open in one fluid motion. He assessed the situation in three seconds flat.
Two of the warriors held Jacinta down, one man holding her wrists above her head, the other forcing her legs apart. Her jacket was gone, the T-shirt ripped apart, and the third man worked on her pants.
None of the fuckers had a chance.
The grappling hook flew in a wide arc across the small room and impaled the skull of the a-hole holding her wrists. Blood sprayed from his head, his eyes rolled back, and he went limp and collapsed against a wall. Demon went into berserker mode, fired his weapon and simultaneously dived at the lone man still standing. Jacinta’s whimpers registered in his brain some minutes later after he’d checked the nonexistent pulses of the three corpses for the third time.
Demon blinked, and the scarlet stains on the floor came into focus. Messy kills all. They had bled like gored leeches. The danger had been contained. For now.
She was jammed against the wall, knees to chest, arms hugging her shins, her face pale and wan. He reached her in one wide stride, scooped her into a bear-hugging embrace, and buried his nose in her hair, letting her warm body and her erratic breathing reinforce what his senses registered but his brain hadn’t absorbed—she was alive, gloriously alive, and appeared unhurt.
Wanting to get her out of the scene of carnage, Demon carried her to the stern, sat on the bench, and methodically checked her for injuries. Ugly red scratches marked her neck, the length of her sternum, and the cusp of one shoulder. He had been too soft on the fuckers.
Suddenly she went limp in his arms. Pressed her lips to his chest. “I knew you’d come for me. I knew all I had to do was hold them off.”
Demon wanted nothing more than to bury his cock inside her and love her until she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. Convince himself that she was safe. Make her his forever. Stamp his touch, his smell over every inch of her flesh.
But first he had to get her to safety.
“Are you going to be okay if I leave you for a bit? We need to get out of here.” He nudged her chin.
She met his gaze, and a tremulous smile quivered her lips. “I won’t be alone. You’re with me. I was so worried for you. The curare—I didn’t know if you knew about it.”
“I knew.” She awed him. That she could even think of him, far less worry, when facing certain rape. He would not fail her again. Demon opened the storage coffee table, pulled the cotton blanket out of its case, and wrapped it around her.
“It’s hot. I don’t need a blanket.” She traced his jaw and thumbed his stubble.
“Trust me. You will. In a few minutes, shock’s going to set in, and you’ll feel cold. Keep it on. Okay?”
“Okay.” She brushed her lips over his. “I can help.”
“Later. For now just stay here and keep an eye on the banks for me.” It was near four, and he wanted them stowed and safe before dark.
“There are more of them. I heard them talking. Their chief died, and there are two men who want his position. The warrior who returns to the village with the most game and brides will be chief.”
“That makes it even more imperative that we leave immediately.” Demon hesitated for a second before setting her to one side and standing. Though he willed his legs to move, he lingered, raking his gaze over her, checking for any injury he might have missed.
“You can leave me alone. I’ll be okay. Go.” She shot him that radiant, gap-toothed grin. “Do what you have to. I told you before I am
not
helpless. And I will not let you down.”
In that instant, Demon knew he’d never let her go. He’d find a way to make her love him, even if he didn’t deserve such purity and perfection and trust. Yearning to touch her, feel her pulse beating, he almost reached out to stroke her cheek but halted as the stench of the blood and vomit that coated his boots and skin hit him full force.
He made his way to the seat adjacent to the engines, used the string pull to start both motors, and the hand control to guide the boat from the cove. The narrow, winding tributary provided a perfect setting for ambush. Vigilance on full throttle, he monitored both banks and didn’t relax his concentration until they merged with the Orinoco.
An unspoken bond held them both silent until the first signs of normal river traffic turned into the regular stream of fishing skips, ferries, and passenger boats.
“Can you steer for me for a bit?”
“Yes.”
Grateful she didn’t ask the reason he wanted her to take over the duty, Demon went through a quick lesson. He made her go through the procedures and, when satisfied with her competence, gave her a quick kiss and went into the engine room.
Working quickly, he closed the connecting doors so she wouldn’t have to witness his actions, then dragged the bodies to the bow, weighted each one, and dropped them overboard.
Demon took her a bucket of water, a washcloth, towel, and a complete change of clothes. He couldn’t tell if the shock had come and gone or if she’d weathered it or not. Worried about her, but with too much to do to ensure her safety before he could afford a free second, he went back to the bunk room.
He washed the blood from the floor and walls, then stripped, sponged clean, pulled on a pair of jeans, and headed to the kitchen.
Demon groaned when he assessed the destruction.
Every drawer had been opened and its contents dumped haphazardly. The knives had been carefully placed on the counter. He guessed the warriors had intended to take the weapons when they departed. They’d opened every stupid can in the pantry. He checked the icebox; the bacon, cheese, and eggs were all gone. The two frying pans he’d used to cook breakfast contained the burned remains of yolks and whites, bits of charred bacon, and streaks of melted cheese.
The decision he’d made during the run back to the houseboat meant he had to get close to a communication tower. He hated the risk associated with mooring at a river town, but it couldn’t be helped. It would take two days to reach the larger settlement he preferred, and their food supplies needed replenishing before that unless he dug into the K rations stored in his duffel bag.
When he returned to the stern, Jacinta was clean and dressed, her face still pale, but she met his gaze, and her mouth curved.
“I’ll take over, now.” He sat next to her, and she relinquished control of the engine to him. “The kitchen’s a mess.”
“I thought to keep them busy and said I would cook for them.”
“You did good, kitten. I take it they were still hungry after the bacon and eggs?”
She rested her head on his arm. “Yes. They were like animals. Gobbling food from the cans, spitting out what they didn’t like. But for a good while, they forgot about me. Then I made the mistake of trying to get the gun out of my boot.”
He looked down at her bare feet.
“That’s when they realized I was a girl.”
“Woman.”
He had a hard enough time dealing with her age. Before Demon could voice the question he’d been avoiding, she said, “You arrived in time. They had just taken off my jacket and cut my T-shirt. Nothing happened.”
Demon closed his eyes, draped his arm over her shoulder, and hugged her close. “You don’t have to put up a brave front for me, Jacinta. Twice in less than three days, you’ve been the victim of attempted rape. It’s okay to react.”
She rested a palm on his bicep and met his gaze. “I am alive and uninjured. I am safe. And I have you. I should like to ask you something.”
He had begun to dread that phrase. “Anything.”
“Will you make love with me again? Soon? I should like to erase this memory.”
So much for his vow to leave her alone. He thumbed her lips, savoring the soft plumpness. “As soon as we’re safe. I promise.”
Daylight had started receding, and in the predusk haze, her teeth flashed white. The pink tip of her tongue showed through the gap. She sighed, her turgid nipples scraped his arm, and the slight contact fired his dick and stones.
“I will clean up the kitchen and see if there is enough left for a meal.”
“Thought you couldn’t cook.” He couldn’t resist teasing her, wanting to see that brilliant smile again.
She huffed. “I will manage.”
Cupping her chin, he gave her a swift kiss. “Okay, it’s a deal. Come back when you’re done.”
Demon watched her leave and then realigned the direction of the boat. He had identified several safe harbors the night before and knew exactly where they would moor for the night before heading to the town with the communication tower. Hundreds of islands of varying sizes dotted the Orinoco’s length. He’d found one with a horseshoe bay, which, according to Fredo’s notes, consisted of little more than large, craggy boulders where some sort of poisonous creatures nested. A perfect defensive location.
They arrived at the island after nightfall, and he relaxed somewhat when the narrow opening to the bay barely accommodated the houseboat’s width. He dropped anchor, scanned a flashlight over the rocks bordering the bay, and grinned. Virtually impenetrable if, as Fredo indicated, the thousands of insects carpeting the rocks carried venom. Attack from the rear would be difficult if not impossible, and he could pick off any ship trying to squeeze through the bay’s entrance.
Not a place anyone in their right mind would choose for an ambush.
No overhead stars shone, and no trace of the quarter moon showed. The air held the dankness that portended a storm, and the humidity had doubled even though the sun had long set. A storm brewed.
The sound of Jacinta’s bare feet slapping the deck preceded the aroma of strong, black coffee. He leaned on the deck rails and watched her approach. She’d taken out her contacts, and in the dim light spewing from the engine room, her unique turquoise eyes glittered. A vague memory of meeting a wolf face-to-face in the mountains on the border between Russia and Afghanistan surfaced. She had wolf eyes and yet had a feline grace of movement. The languid sway of her hips oozed a purring sensuality.
His dick approved. His nose too, as the scent of soap and some flower sank into his lungs when she stopped right in front of him and offered a mug.
“Black and strong. The way you like it.” She craned her neck and grinned when he drank half the cup in one go. “I found dried cod and some potatoes.”
“Oh? And the gun? Where’d you find that?” Demon finished off the java and wedged the mug into the cup holder built into the bench.
“Sister Helen always said every boat owner kept a stable of weapons. I found several in a drawer in the engine room. Put them in my boot before I came out on deck.”
The blasted nun sounded more like a guerilla than a holy woman. Demon clutched Jacinta around the waist and palmed her ass. “Stash of weapons. Sister Helen becomes more intriguing by the minute. Tell me more about her.”
“I should like to, but the food is hot.”
He had an armful of warm, curvy woman and a stomach ready to digest an entire Las Vegas-size porterhouse. And though he relished a great meal, he could eat raw meat if necessary, but she beamed with pride about the food. “Let’s have dinner, then, and for dessert I’ll let you eat all the M&M’s if you can find them.”
Urging her forward with a hand to the small of her back, he asked, “How is it that a nun knows how to use knives and guns?”
“Sister Helen and her brothers fought with FARC.”
Demon stumbled. Sister Helen had been a member of the
Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia
?
Another fucking coincidence? Pedro Nunez funded factions of FARC, which in English translated to the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, and Nunez utilized the border-based rebels for supplemental transport as needed.