14. Chapter 11 – Maddox
The air smelled of frosted sugar, singed metal, and liberty.
The jungle surroundings welcomed me, the open arms of a mother I never knew. Birds chirped high above the trees, the air sweet with rot and life underneath the scorched earth and ozone. Rolling my neck and shoulders, I shook out my arms, enjoying the free-flow of blood and unbound bone.
Euphoria was a taste just beyond my tongue. Not the manufactured kind, the oily feel of relief from heroin, or the taser of adrenaline from cocaine. This lightness bled to every part of my body, despite the pain from hours trapped in shackles.
After decades of nothing but bearded convicts with rough skin and sweaty assholes, the woman of my wettest dreams—her likeness to Ana Patricia so close I thought I’d hallucinated when first seeing her—had just set me free.
She could have left me to die—should have left me to die—but those soft green eyes and the bleeding heart on her sleeve saved a weapon of destruction without even asking for a trade.
I didn’t have scruples. Hesitation was a quick path to death, and crises of conscience were a waste of time.
But every man had a code of some kind, even the savages.
Marley West. Captain Marley West had defended my honor, unarmed, against a detective two times her size. I owed the woman, my ángel, a life debt. So now, I would be a weapon for her while I remained in her presence.
The violently quiet American who’d tackled Diaz and removed his gun also qualified for my protection. So had the flight attendant who casually threatened the cabrón, immediately believing the declarations of a criminal, when he could have sided with the fictional badge of law.
Prison life honed the skill of judging a book by its cover. Convicts fell into gang life quickly. Recruiting poorly—loose-lipped slime or violent men without a code—resulted in the deaths of loyal men.
I knew how to judge instantly and judge well. The three did not know they were now included in Clube de Morte—my gang. If anyone fucked with them, they would have to answer to me. I would keep watch over them until I found my best exit.
I stood on the rocky edge of the riverbed several hundred meters away from the original crash.
My captain had led us here after she’d bandaged up the Venezuelan man and checked everyone for concussions.
My pain was a paper cut. My neck and shoulders ached as they had when Silva hung me from a metal bar for three days, but my skin failed to bleed and my skull was unshaken.
Daylight from behind the trees was dimming, the coming darkness threatening us with its monsters. I did not feel fear like the others. Wild animals only sought to kill to eat. There were far worse ways to die.
The remaining passengers stood in a wide circle, dumping the contents of their bags on the cracked ground. I had nothing to contribute. Instead, I stood, watching, waiting for any threats that would harm the members of my gang—my life’s work.
I would not need rescuing, like the others. Santos had promised me a better life in Mexico, and he’d been right. I wouldn’t choose between a new prison and the wilds of the jungle. I would choose the beasts of prey over the beasts of man.
Ambrose sat on his heels, body coiled like taut ribbon as if waiting to be attacked.
He’d protected his laptop—a device I’d never seen until entering the plane—with the manic resolve of a junkie protecting pills.
My defender had his own vices, a slave to his technology.
This jungle trip would be a painful detox.
Nikki and my captain directed the survivors in the middle of the riverbed. They would be safe awaiting rescue. By then, I will have long retreated into my own sanctuary. Indigenous tribes moved on these lands, and cartels free from the threat of man’s law.
I would be safe here.
“We need enough rations for five days,” Marley explained. “Five days is the maximum for a lost plane protocol. Nikki salvaged some of the food supplies from the plane, but we should combine resources for food to make sure everyone is taken care of in the meantime. Does anyone have any allergies?”
Tuning them out, I turned my attention to the detective who’d stolen me away from my crumbling palace.
He hovered, but at a safe enough distance I couldn’t lean over and snap his neck.
An unabashed sneer molded my cheekbones into knives.
The man reeked of incompetence masking as arrogance, a tiny dick hiding behind the power of his gun.
The effects of the drug he’d injected me with had long worn off, but mild cravings had already started. I couldn’t count how many times he’d filled me with poison, but it had kept me sedated for three days. Enough to force a desire for it, not enough to force a need.
Should I kill him now or later? The others could already see he was a liability. Snapping his neck would require very little effort if I leaped quickly. We could use his body as bait.
Changing tactics to draw closer to the man I would kill, I browsed the pile of rations, inspecting their contents. I was used to having nothing, needing nothing. The excess of everyday living beyond my walls was as foreign as this riverbed.
Gazing at the pile in front of me, I weighed their chances of survival.
Miniature water bottles and tiny muffins in plastic packaging, protein bars in brands I’d never heard of, batatas and nuts, basic pharmaceuticals like ibuprofen dangerous men would slice a person’s spleen for.
If help arrived as soon as my captain expected, they would border on dehydration and minor starvation, but they’d live.
I’d live. My survival was not in question.
One of the Canadian women, the brunette who spoke while her friend remained mute, tossed a full package of pirulitos on top of the mound—a brand of lollipops in English writing I did not recognize.
My belly fluttered at the sweet treat, a privilege I had only enjoyed by bribing an official.
Ignoring the others, I scooped them up and tore open the bag, inhaling the sweet vapor before unwrapping the plastic and shoving a single treat into my mouth.
The fruity, chalky texture coated my tongue, the delicious sweet zing the icing on my cake of freedom.
She hastily moved away from me to retrieve a stack of battery packs and tripods and camera gear I’d never seen—a ring that lit up into a bright halo at the flick of a button, and carefully laid them on the ground next to the other rations.
“We’re travel influencers,” she explained with pink cheeks before she delicately placed it in the center. She looked forlornly at the equipment. “I wish we’d brought our second cell phones. We could have documented what’s happening to us so we could tell the story later—it would get great views.”
These two would not live long.
Nikki exchanged a look with my captain—one that only two people who knew each other well would understand—then forced his lips into a cheerful smile.
He was very interesting to watch, timing his grins and his words with planned precision. In prison, we called men like him chameleons. They were very useful for recruiting and trading, and dangerous. Their smooth lies were often laced with poison.
I’d give him credit—I had caught none on his tongue—yet. But I hadn’t missed the longing in his stare when he’d added a small bottle of vodka to the pile to sterilize the man—Danny’s—wounds.
Rolling the candy over my tongue, I savored its flavor and slowly crept forward on silent feet, keeping my gaze on the pile and the passengers. The cowardly cabrón who’d shoved needle after needle into my flesh was now only two meters away from me. Close enough to grab and choke in a single step.
“Detective Diaz,” my ángel called out in a stern, silky voice made for seduction. “May you bring your bag forward? You’re the only one we’re waiting on.”
Irritation flushed up my neck with a hot brush when all attention turned in our direction. I shoved my hands into my pockets, leaving the lollipop to dissolve on my tongue.
“I’ll put my bag into the pile when you return my handcuffs and keys,” Diaz snapped back, crossing his arms across his chest. “I shouldn’t have to convince you to protect the rest of your passengers by locking up a dangerous criminal.”
My blood boiled at his disrespect, but I waited. Watched. I would force his apology if necessary. Before I killed him.
Nikki turned his gaze to me from across the circle, eyes lit with curiosity through broken glasses. “What were you in for, if you don’t mind my asking, mate? Let’s put this to bed with Detective Dick, shall we?”
Staring hard at him, I considered my response. I was finally free, with nothing to lose. My gang deserved the truth.
Seeking my angel of life, I needed to look her in the eye with my confession. Catching her stare, I held it, searching those beautiful green eyes for the compassion she’d already shown me.
Reluctantly, I removed my lollipop.
“Murder,” I finally replied, bleeding my face dry of all emotion. “But I didn’t do it.”
The two influencing women—whatever that could mean—shrank away from me, their fear scenting the dank air. They were of no consequence, my focus remained on Marley. Would she be afraid of me, too? I wasn’t sure.
Her brows lowered, and she cocked her head to one side as if weighing my capacity for danger. But her gaze remained on mine, undaunted.
“You see?” Detective Dick—I liked the nickname—crowed as if this admission were more important than surviving the jungle tonight.
“Murder. Murder,” he emphasized, as if no one had heard me.
“This beast,” he spat, “needs to be cuffed. You won’t need to waste your rations on him.
As long as he is still breathing by the time we get to Mexico, we’ll all have done our jobs. ”
His determination to get me to Mexico halted my enthusiasm for his death. His survival was on the line as much as mine, yet my transport remained his priority. Who in my birth country paid for my life?
What had he been promised to deliver me?
“No one is starving on our watch, Diaz.” Marley’s pouty lips curled in disgust, but not for my sins. “And no, you’re not getting the cuffs back. The only person who has been a threat to anyone’s safety is you.”
My captain returned her gaze to me, the determination in them quietly commanding. Her hips swayed as she walked toward me, quickening my pulse. My body enjoyed her attention.
“I’m sorry, but I’m having trouble remembering your name,” she admitted, a tentative smile pulling at those full lips. “All I know you by is Torres. What do you prefer to be called?”
My lollipop, now just a stick, fell from my lips. I caught it in my palm.
“Maddox is my name, but I don’t like it. In prison, they call me Mad Dog.”
Her brows flew up, then down, and a deep crease folded the smooth skin. The pouty lips I would one day bite pursed into an O, then flattened back into a rueful smile. “Yeah, I’m not calling you that.”
Feisty and fearless, the perfect combination to match a man like me. My cock stiffened against my jeans.
“How about Madman?” Nikki’s cheerful smile genuinely met his eyes when he moved to stand next to Marley, his distance enough to be professional and protective. The chameleon.
I matched his grin. Whoever this man was, this new member of my crew, I liked him.
“I like madman.” Dipping my head in acknowledgment, I smirked at her. “You may call me Madman.”
It wasn’t her pink cheeks, melons for breasts, or squeezable ass—the crooked, awkward smile she gifted me in return did me in. I’d never had a woman before, but Captain Marley West would be my first.
I made my vow in silence, but I’d convince her soon enough.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Detective Dick barked, throwing his hands up in the air as if he held any power, ruining the shared moment with my ángel. “You’re all obstructing justice, and I’ll charge every single one of you when we are rescued.”
Rising to my full height, I took a threatening step toward him, wearing the mask of a man who’d killed many.
“Careful, cabrón,” I growled, “or you will give us no reason to keep you alive.”
But I would keep him alive, I’d decided, when he breathed hard through his nostrils and sneered like his glower could kill me where I stood. I would put up with his little jabs and desperation for control.
Then, when the time was right, I would torture every answer from his lips and beat his body into bloody pulp before disappearing as a free man.