Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
DEAN
E very step I take is heavy. My legs sob for a break, but I don’t stop. I keep dragging my exhausted body through this humid, buzzing shithole of a forest. It’s so humid here that it’s hard to take a single breath. I had no idea the Colombian air would be so fucking oppressive. But I keep going. I can’t stop—not until I get to her.
There’s a deep, resounding ache in my chest. It’s been there for six long years, growing like a cavern, destroying me from the inside out. If I don’t find her soon, I’m not sure how much of me will be left. That thought fills me with anxiety. What if she doesn’t forgive me? What if she doesn’t like the man I’ve become? Hell, I barely like who I am. I’m not sure anyone does.
The bag strapped to my back starts to ring, loud enough to scatter birds in the trees. I pause and pull it off my shoulders. The sound grows louder as I unzip the bag and see the satellite phone I stole from my boss’s plane. His name flashes across the screen.
Swallowing hard, I answer. “Dean.”
“I’m going to kill you, motherfucker.”
“Declan,” I begin, only to be cut off.
“You stole my plane and punched the pilot.”
“Co-pilot,” I correct. “And it’s not like he was the only co-pilot on that plane.”
“It doesn’t fucking matter, Dean,” Declan spits. “You disobeyed a direct order. What the hell are you thinking?” The angrier he gets, the more his Irish accent bleeds through.
“I found her.”
“I’ve heard that before,” he scoffs. “You’ve been looking for my little sister for six years. Maybe it’s time we accept she doesn’t want to be found.”
His words rattle that cavern in my chest, pain radiating like a swarm of bats. Declan doesn’t understand. He thinks I’m doing this as a favor to him—finding his baby sister who took off while he was on his honeymoon. He doesn’t know how I feel, or how I’m involved in why she left.
“How much have you been drinking, Dean?” Declan’s rough voice breaks through my thoughts.
My gaze drops to the bag, where a few empty mini whiskey bottles sit. “I’m fine. Sober.”
“You haven’t been sober in years. Stop lying to me. How much?”
“Just a few bottles on the plane.”
I can practically hear Declan clench his teeth. Shame floods me. I hate lying to the man I’ve looked up to for twenty-four years, but what am I supposed to do? Deal with her absence on my own? Hell no. I’d rather drink myself into oblivion than admit she might never come back—that I might never see her again.
Instinctively, I reach into my bag, rummaging through the bottles until I find one that’s half-full. Twisting off the cap and draining the amber liquid feels almost robotic now.
“I can hear the bottles rattling,” Declan spits. “You need to quit drinking, Dean.”
A laugh escapes me. “Can an Irishman even go without alcohol? Isn’t it like water for us?”
“This isn’t a fucking joke,” Declan snaps. “You need help.”
Anger surges through me, snuffing out the pain. “I need help? Says the guy who shot his own brother.”
Declan growls. “You’re going to regret that.”
“I’m three thousand miles away. You can’t do shit.”
I’m treading on thin ice, and I know it. Declan has been a different man since he killed his brother seven years ago—especially when he found out his brother was innocent.
“See you soon,” he snarls, then hangs up.
“Fuuuuuck,” I shout.
My head tips back. If Declan comes here, he really will murder me. There’s only one thing to do: find his sister and save both of our asses. She’s here. She has to be. My muscles coil with anxiety. The algorithm I designed to find her code signature isn’t always accurate; I’m no genius hacker like she is. Nobody’s surprised I haven’t found her yet. The program only searches public servers, and Juliette avoids those. I’m lucky she popped up last night. It’s been way too long since I last caught her signal, and I can’t waste this chance. The GPS tracker in my hand says she’s six-point-four kilometers from here—just over four miles. I can cover that in about an hour.
The last few mini bottles call to me like a siren luring a sailor. I know I should resist, but I don’t. I pull out two bottles and down them in quick, burning gulps. This will only numb me for so long. I just hope I find her before it wears off.
Zipping up my backpack, I push through the thick brush. For the next hour, my eyes flick between the dense green path and the blinking red dot on my device. It’s like Christmas—if Christmas took place in a sweltering jungle.
As the red dot gets closer, a familiar ache twists in my gut. It always happens when I’m near her. I haven’t seen Juliette since the night I broke her heart. Her bright blue eyes blaze in my memory, the love for me snuffed out right before she walked away. Sure, I had my reasons, but I don’t give a shit about them anymore. I’ll forgive her for what she did. I just need her back. I need her to love me again.
If I could just find her, I’d tell her how sorry I am. But Juliette was always a master of hide-and-seek. We’re ten years apart, so we never really grew up together—she was just Declan’s baby sister, one of three. Then on her nineteenth birthday, she smiled at me, and I felt something in me come alive for the first time. After that, I was hooked. Stopped visiting brothels and fooling around. I fell in love with her. That’s why it cut so deep when I found out she was cheating on me. My eyes sting with sweat and unshed tears. It destroyed me, and I lashed out. Never did I think it would be the last time I saw her.
Suddenly, I spot a rickety shack up ahead—like the neglected corner of the perimeter where they stick the lazy guard who does nothing all day. My suspicion is confirmed as I draw closer: there’s a guy leaning back, feet propped on a tiny desk, laughing at something on his screen while he snacks on a powdered-sugar-coated dessert.
Rookie mistake. You should always be ready for an attack, from any angle. He finally notices me when I’m just a few feet away and stumbles out of the shack, shouting in a language I don’t understand. His black mustache is dusted with sugar.
“English?” I ask, but it only riles him up more. He charges like he’s ready to tackle me. Even buzzed, I’m quicker than this guy. I dodge to the side and slam a fist into the back of his head, but it’s not enough to knock him out.
He manages a weak hit to my side, barely more than a tap, so I swing again. My second blow sends him crashing to the ground.
I leave him sprawled there and step into the shack. It’s cramped, a flimsy fan sputtering on the desk. His computer screen is full of cat videos.
“Must’ve been hilarious,” I mutter under my breath.
A big bottle of tequila sits next to his half-eaten dessert. Not my drink of choice, but it’ll do. I pick it up, unscrew the cap, then tip it upside down and watch the liquid pool on the ground as I walk backward, avoiding the splash.
Juliette’s definitely not in this sorry excuse for a guard post. She’s probably holed up in the big mansion owned by whoever runs this shithole. My girl loves luxury, so if she’s with anyone, he’s loaded. And how do you get a rich man’s attention? You blow his shit up.
I step aside, flick my lighter, and toss it into the shack. The explosion is everything I hoped for. Whoever’s harboring Juliette will come running, and I’ll be here, ready to take his ass out for thinking he can steal my girl.