CHAPTER 9 MATEO
MATEO
Thunder rumbled in the distance with a constant, living hum despite the nearby campsites.
Like every other time, his men knew how to set up quick camps, focusing on enough room to sleep and cook.
Mateo had built their makeshift restroom two hundred feet from water sources and ensured his men knew that as well.
Dinner was a quiet affair between him and Gabriella. He’d retreated temporarily to grab a shirt, since his torso was covered in insect bites from being exposed. He wasn’t sure if her fear of bugs would extend to seeing or being near bites, and he worried the sight might upset her even further.
She had mentioned how much she hated bugs once to him, but he’d chalked it up to an aversion—not a phobia. He made a mental note to ask her about it, assuming she would ever open up to him again.
Mateo handed her an MRE without comment, the packet already warmed with river water he’d boiled and treated. She eyed it like it might bite back before tearing it open with aggression, not waiting for it to cool.
“Bon appétit,” she muttered acerbically, jamming her biodegradable utensil into it.
The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. His prisoner, much to his delight, had a snarky side to her. Even in the dark with shadows playing on her face from the campfire, her stern face that glared at him occasionally did little to hide the natural beauty of her.
She has every right to be angry, he thought to himself, taking note of how exhausted she looked.
Even he was starting to feel the fatigue of the last twelve hours as old pains were pulled from deep within him.
His shoulder ached from a stab wound he took once.
His knee shook slightly from overstraining it after years of intense military training.
Regardless, none of those would help prepare him for how to explain everything to Gabriella, much less earn her forgiveness. He knew to err is human, and to forgive was divine. But based on the scowl on her face, her divinity seemed stretched pretty thin.
He finished his food, feeling dejected. Sitting here with her now, she'd stopped sharing those soft smiles he had learned to seek during the weeks they spent together.
Her smile, radiant, illuminated his heart, and now she wouldn't even look him in the eye …
not that he could blame her. He knew if situations were reversed, he would've treated his captor with even more hostility.
The hardest part of the situation was that telling her the truth could fix everything, but it would be certain death for both of them. He couldn't risk that.
He watched her as she ate, sitting on a fallen log, knees pulled close to her chest, posture defensive. Hunger won over pride quickly. He knew that she hadn’t realized how empty she was until the first bite hit her stomach, and she inhaled the rest with impressive speed.
When he offered her a canteen, she hesitated only a second before taking it, drinking deeply. Water dribbled down her chin. When he imagined her delicate pink tongue running along his lips it tightened both his chest and his balls. Dammit! I need to cut that shit out.
She wiped the last drops of water with the back of her hand, refusing to acknowledge the way his eyes followed the motion.
Earlier when he had helped her down, her back to his chest as she earned her legs back, he saw the way her pulse fluttered against her skin.
It had taken immeasurable power not to run his tongue along her neck.
José’s voice drifted from somewhere down the line, complaining loudly in Spanish about the pace, about the heat, about everything. Mateo ignored him.
Night deepened around them. September in Costa Rica was damp, and it brought a chill when the temperature dropped enough, the humidity turning their sweat into an uncomfortable and clammy embrace against their skin.
He glanced over to the tent. “You should sleep,” he said as he watched her scrape the last of her meal.
She loosed a brittle sounding laugh. “You think I could?”
Her brain must have been a mess. He had observed her enough already to see the way her muscles began to tremble—not from the temperature alone, but from the descent that followed an adrenaline rush.
He watched as she hugged herself tighter, jaw clenched, eyes flashing with steel, determined not to give him another reason to look at her with that infuriating mix of guilt and hunger he felt.
“No. But your body doesn’t care what you think.” And it was true. He knew she would crash soon and hard. Yet, despite her snapping her teeth at him like a feral dog, he would be there to catch her.
She opened her mouth to deliver what he assumed was going to be a blistering reply, but she stopped. Eyes wide, mouth a large O of surprise, she raised a shaking hand to point at a harlequin beetle crawling on the wet foliage between them.
She jumped up, her chest heaving. “What is that? What the fuck is that!?” Her hands twisted at her shirt, unable to tear her eyes away from it. “Mateo! Please?” What was she begging for? For him to remove it? For him to comfort her?
He stood quickly, ready to intervene. A vibrant black, red, and yellowish-green mosaic shell glimmered in the firelight along with the male's distinctively long forelegs that moved with slow twitches. “It is just a harlequin beetle.”
“Is it dangerous?” she squeaked.
He chuckled, trying to lighten the situation and ease her anxiety. “No, not at all. I know he’s a scary looking little guy—”
“That’s not little,” she said with panic threading through her voice.
Mateo exhaled, keeping his frustration at bay. She is scared of bugs. On top of everything else I’ve put her through today, now this. “I promise you that they are not dangerous. He doesn’t want anything to do with you. Look at him.” Mateo gestured to the beetle. “He is minding his own business.”
Her wide eyes looked at him. “I really … I really cannot emphasize just how much I do not like bugs, and I am having a hard time with … everything right now. I just need space.” The beetle stopped crawling, spread out its wings as if taunting her, then resumed its walk across the jungle floor. “I need bug-free space!”
He held his tongue reminding her that they were camped in the middle of a jungle and instead chose a path of patience.
“Okay. I understand.” Mateo crouched down, scooped up the harlequin beetle, and turned to leave.
“I’m going to check on my men, ensure they’re setting up proper patrols along the perimeter. ”
Although I know they will. They know well enough without me hovering over them. He scanned the darkness around Gabriella before he walked away. “Scream if you need me,” he said over his shoulder.
He barely heard her reply. “When hell freezes over.”