His kiss was fire. Slow and hard, grinding her so close to the edge of pleasure she almost came apart in his arms. Warmth poured through her body, pure sunlight in her bones, and when Amiri finally broke off the kiss it was all she could do to breathe again, to see past the stars dancing in her eyes. Senses, strumming on a razor’s edge.
Amiri’s breathing was ragged. She swallowed hard. Focusing on the pleasure still aching between her legs. She could hardly speak. “Is it always like that with you?”
He shook his head, not even attempting a smile. “Never.”
“Well,” she breathed. Amiri untangled himself and rolled to his feet. He pulled Rikki with him and they stood together in the dappled morning sunlight, covered in dirt and leaves. Her hands were lost in his loose grip; just glimpses of pale skin caught in long fingers the color of rich earth; buttery, smooth, glimmering with a hint of gold. He was a beautiful man.
Amiri gave her an uncertain look. “We should go.”
Rikki tried to smile, but it felt shaky. “Death and destruction on our heels.”
“And more to come.”
“You shining optimist.”
“I will leave that to you, mpenzi.” Amiri kissed her hand. “You, who truly do shine.”
Her smile steadied. “You’ll be quoting poetry next.”
“If you like.” He turned to look down the path, and then back at her, his mouth quirking. “This makes it easier, you know.”
“Easier?”
“When I tell you the wind has shifted, and that I smell people. You will not think I am crazy.”
“Just a bragger,” she said. “Do you really smell anyone nearby?”
“Old scents. But it means we may be close to some kind of village.”
“Finally.” Rikki let out her breath, slowly. “What are we going to do, Amiri?”
“One thing at a time.” He tugged her into a swift walk. “We do not know what we will find.”
And that, she thought, was far too true for comfort.
Two hours later they stumbled upon a wide stream filled with naked women. Rikki no longer had the ability to consider that even remotely odd.
She and Amiri lay on their stomachs. Stones and branches pressed uncomfortably into her skin. Insects crawled over her arms, and the air was hot as an oven. No breeze, not at ground level, surrounded by walls of thick vegetation. Her stomach hurt and her throat was dry. She would have knocked out her two front teeth for a pizza and beer.
Below, at the bottom of the tumbling hill, the women splashed in a winding stream cut with gentle turns of white water. Some of them held babies. Several washed clothes. She heard gentle chatter, some giggles.
“Well,” said Rikki. “Do you think they’re dangerous?”
He looked, caught her smile, and shook his head. “Only if you believe we have stumbled upon the last living tribe of Amazons.”
Rikki’s smile widened. “Anything’s possible.”
He grunted. “And if we are contagious?”
“Oh, the irony of you bringing that up.” She pressed her cheek on her arm, thinking hard. “I don’t believe we are. Despite Eddie.”
“We still have not become ill.”
“That, and too many people have been throwing themselves in our faces, unprotected.”
“Unless they have a vaccine.”
Wonderful thought. Rikki chewed her bottom lip—and caught Amiri watching, raw hunger in his eyes. Unabashed, naked. Heat thrilled.
Below, the women continued to splash in the water, laughing. Rikki imagined Amiri in that water, him taking her hard on some flat sun-warmed rock, and the flash-fantasy was enough to make her mouth dry, her lower extremities throb.
She cleared her throat. “Our only alternative is to keep on walking.”
“We need help. We have no time for anything else.”
“Agreed. I just wish I knew why this was happening.”
His mouth tightened. “It is a game. There is no why. No reason. It means nothing.”
“Except that people are dying.”
“It still means nothing. Life is cheap, to some.”
Rikki touched him, lay her fingers on his arm. Squeezed once. “Tough guy,” she said. “We don’t have to go down there. You could leave me somewhere. Run ahead, find a different way back to civilization. You’d be faster alone.”
He gave her a dark look. “Unacceptable.”
“I thought you were a pragmatist.”
Amiri reached out and touched her chin. “I am the man who promised to protect you. I would rather lose my skin than be pragmatic with you. Anyone but you.”
His touch, his voice: like a velvet chain, supple and binding. Rikki slowly exhaled. Amiri’s eyes glowed, warm as the sun. “I will take care of you, Rikki Kinn. I will keep you safe. And someday, when we are far and away from this place, I will tell you of all the foolish, awful things I have done. And you will either shake your head at my stupidity, or be unable to look at me for shame. But we will be alive. We will be alive, and so will others.”
“Cheerleader,” she said, breathless. “Pollyanna.”
“Indeed,” he replied, and kissed her mouth. He started gentle, but she held on and he dug in deeper, kissing her as though it were the last time he would ever have the chance. It felt so good that for the first time in years she wanted to be naked. She wanted to sink her body onto his. He was resting on his stomach, but she knew he was hard. She could feel his arousal in his kiss, in the jump of his muscles as her hand trailed down his back, sliding into the crease of his ass. Rikki nipped his bottom lip.
And then he was on top of her. No warning. His body sinking between her thighs. She felt a moment of panic, but quashed it. Amiri was not trying to hurt her. He was not trying to take off her clothes. But he was pressed so tight against her they might as well have been naked. The hospital scrubs were flimsy, already torn. His erection rubbed hard between her legs and it made her so hot she found herself—despite all her caution—reaching to tug the elastic past her hips. He caught her hand, stopping her, but when her fingers made a detour from the edge of her pants to his underwear, he shook like a thunderstorm. His eyes glowed like fire.
“We must not,” he hissed. “It is not safe.”
“It never is,” she whispered, but she had a feeling he meant something else, something more than mere discovery, and she did not care. She had spent her whole life living on the edge of disaster—her whole life pretending not to—and she was done, done pretending. She wanted this. She wanted him. The danger meant nothing.
Rikki stroked him, encouraging Amiri to move against her. He did, with a look of such agonized hunger on his face that for a moment she almost wondered if he were right, if he had his reasons, but then his hand slid down the front of her pants to touch her and pleasure rocked her so hard she arched off the ground, breath hissing. Amiri slid down her body, tugging her pants with him. His hands began to trail up her stomach toward her ribs. She grabbed his wrists, pushing away. Giving him a warning look.
He blinked, obviously surprised, but said nothing. His hands moved down again, spreading apart her legs. She was naked to him and she did not care. She was naked and she was not afraid. She was naked and there were strangers at the bottom of the hill, and she would not give a rat’s ass if they saw her. All she wanted was his touch.
He gave it to her. She covered her mouth, trying not to cry out, but the pleasure was deep and hard and his tongue was firm where it should be firm, hot and wet and supple, while his fingers stroked and ebbed and sank, pressing and tightening, tearing her apart with desire. She forgot pain. She forgot everything. Writhing, shaking, building around that blinding breaking touch.
A strangled gasp escaped her that Amiri covered with his mouth, moving fast to kiss her, one hand still caressing between her thighs. She shuddered, tightening her legs around his hand, twisting with pleasure. He kissed her so deeply she almost came a second time—fingers digging into his shoulders like claws.
He was still hard. Rikki caught his erection, her grip featherlight, holding him against her damp inner thigh. Amiri trembled, his gaze hot, wild. Glowing.
“Careful,” he rasped. “I have nothing to protect us.”
“Then you better be quick,” she muttered, hoarse. “Because I want you in me now.”
He made a low, strangled sound, and began moving against her thigh. That was not good enough for Rikki. She pushed at him, and he rolled onto his back. She sank between his legs and covered him with her mouth. Her heart thundered so hard she could hardly see straight, and Amiri’s harsh breathing was so desperate she wanted to make him scream. But in the back of her mind she could still hear those women bathing, and she wrapped her tongue around his head, sucking fast, fingers sliding up his shaft, and set a rhythm that sent him bucking deeper into her mouth, that made her body ache all over again to feel him inside her, pumping and thrusting, and when he came there was just enough warning to move her head, which was good because he jerked so hard she might have choked on him.
Her ears rang. Rikki collapsed on his chest. Sweat-soaked. Delirious. Like an anchor had been torn off her shoulders. She felt so light she could fly. Crazy, crazy, girl. She could not believe this. What the hell was she doing—what the hell—
“Wow,” she breathed.
Beneath her, Amiri said, “Oh.”
Oh. Not exactly the enthusiastic response she had been expecting. Rather less enthusiastic than any man had a right to be. So unenthusiastic that Rikki thought she might just have to rip his balls off.
She raised her head, staring. But Amiri was looking in another direction entirely.
Rikki heard a sharp cracking sound. A real knuckle-crunching flex of hard metal. She twisted, blinking hard. A row of women stood behind her. Dripping. Half-naked. Looking rather unhappy.
And carrying enough firepower to blast her ass back to the United States.
“Damn,” Rikki muttered. “They really are Amazons.”
Chapter Twelve
The village had no name, but it was nestled in the thick of the jungle, surrounded by deep groves of banana trees and plantains, small fields of sugar cane, and long plots of potatoes. This was farmland hacked into existence with machetes and strong backs. Bush meat smoked over open fires, and the homes were simple and small, made of mud and sticks, with wide flat leaves as thatching for the roofs.
Some children fetched water from a pump, while others kicked a dusty red ball in need of air. Several of the older boys and girls held worn books in their laps. They sat in the shade, concentrating on the pages like the world rested on their shoulders. Amiri felt a deep melancholy, seeing them. He remembered his students, and wanted to go to those children. Peer over their shoulders.
Everyone stared when Amiri and Rikki were led into the village. He saw no men, only boys in their teens. There were no elderly, though several of the women had gray in their hair, despite the smooth youth of their faces. They watched Amiri with haunted eyes, and for the first time in his life he felt like a monster simply for being a man. Carrying the sins of his gender.
Rikki stayed close. Her scent was carved into his body, deep as blood and bone. His skin tingled. He could taste her still on his lips. Feel her mouth, her kiss. Shot down, crippled, mind lost and wild—he did not know whether to be ecstatic or ashamed. Years of struggle, fighting his instincts, lust … and in one moment he had lost himself. He had wanted her and so had taken her.
And she had taken him. Taken him as surely as death would. He was hers now. Even the cheetah could not resist.
Some of the women from the stream—those with children—split off as they entered the heart of the village. The rest, still armed, guided Amiri and Rikki to the edge of the potato field. Another woman met them there. She carried a hoe, and wore a white blouse and yellow-checkered wrap around her lean waist. A gold cross glittered against her throat, and her skin was so dark it was almost blue. Her lips were full, her nose straight and broad. Hair shorn to the scalp. Gaze sharp as a knifepoint.
She rattled something off to the women—listened to their responses—then fixed her gaze once again on Amiri. She leaned close to examine his eyes, a furrow forming in her brow. He did not like the way her expression faltered, ever so slightly.
She spoke to him in Bantu, then Lingalese.
“I speak only French, English, or Swahili,” he replied, and repeated himself in all those languages.
The woman frowned, and looked at Rikki. Studied her, then examined once again their held hands. Her scowl deepened.
“Excuse me,” Rikki began, but the woman jammed her hoe into the ground and fixed her with a distrusting look.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” she asked in heavily accented English. Her voice was as cutting as her gaze, and Rikki’s spine straightened, a stubborn light kicking into her eyes.
“We were attacked,” she lied stiffly. “Near the river, several days ago. We ran, and got lost.”
“Lost.” The woman sucked in her cheek, chewing thoughtfully, and again examined Amiri. “You are her guide?”
She said it with some disdain, and Amiri raised his chin. “I am her protector.”
She raked her gaze over his nearly naked body. “You must not be very good, to have had all your clothes and weapons stolen. Or were you too busy fucking to notice they had gone missing?”
Amiri did not take the bait. Rikki gave the woman a dirty look. “We need a phone or radio, if you have one. Otherwise, we’ll leave.”
“There is no phone here. Close, but not here.” She tapped the handle of her hoe, still thoughtful. “You … your clothing. I worked in a hospital once. Are you a doctor?”
Rikki almost lied; Amiri could taste it in her hesitation. But they were obvious enough as it was, if someone came looking for them, and he was unsurprised when she said, “Yes, I am.”
“And are you skilled?”
“That depends on what you need.”
“What I need is competence.”
“Then you’ll get it,” Rikki said in a hard voice.
The woman grunted, eyeing her. “A white doctor and her bodyguard, appearing from the jungle without supplies, or clothing. Escaping from an attack. I do not think I like the sound of that.”
“So, we will go,” Amiri said. “And you will not be troubled any further.”
“Unlikely,” replied the women, and said a sharp word in Bantu.
Guns lowered. Amiri did not feel much safer. The woman handed her hoe to a young girl, who carried it into the field. No one spoke. Everyone watched. He felt like he was back in Russia, sitting in the cage. All those eyes, as claustrophobic as bars and walls.
Rikki squeezed his hand. The woman said, “I am Mireille.”
She led them a short distance away to a small collection of tents that had been erected on the edge of the banana grove. Made of tarps and canvas, some were adorned with small belongings; others, devoid of any decoration. Hastily built. It was eerily reminiscent of the refugee camp he and Rikki had left behind.
Seated in the shade, and on cots, were more than twenty hollow-cheeked women and children; quiet, listless, eyes dull. No energy to care for themselves, or even react to the appearance of two strangers. Compared to the bustle, the brief bursts of laughter from the rest of the camp, it felt like a death zone.
Indeed, up close a foul scent filled the air; rotten, wet, like a body had perished in some dark hole and was slowly decomposing. The women, he realized. Several were quite ill, indeed.
“What happened to them?” asked Rikki, though she looked as though she already knew.
“They were raped.” Mireille gazed steadily at Amiri, as if he had been the one to inquire. “Almost all the women in this place have been degraded, often and repeatedly. Some still suffer severe internal injuries.”
Rikki knelt in the dust, eyeing a little boy sitting some distance away, his clothing ragged, his arms clutched around a brown sewn ball. “Do you have any medical supplies?”
“Some.”
Rikki gave her a sharp look. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“You can see for yourself, Doctor.”
“My name is Rikki.” She turned back to the look at the boy, her gaze drifting over the tents. “You organized this?”
“Someone had to.”
“Where did you get the supplies?”
“Donations.”
Rikki frowned. “And these people? How long have they been here?”
“Long enough.”
“Where did they come from?”
Mireille remained silent.
Amiri said, “This camp is completely isolated. There are no roads. How did they find you?”
“People find what they need most, when they need it,” she replied cagily, and then said, “You. What are you good for, beside fucking women and losing guns?”
Amiri set his jaw. “I used to be a schoolteacher. Or if you need meat, I can hunt. Take your pick. But I would like to know the location of that phone.”
Rikki and Mireille stared at him.
“The phone,” he said. “Where is it?”
“A teacher,” Mireille said, ignoring him. “What are your subjects?”
“Literature, mathematics, history.” He glanced at Rikki, and found her staring at him with a faint, somewhat amazed, smile. “I taught for seven years.”
“And now you play with guns,” said Mireille, and there was a trace of sadness in her eyes that was at odds with the sharpness of her mouth. “These are bad days for men.”
“The days have always been bad,” Amiri replied. “It is what we make of them that matters.”
The woman grunted. “Come with me. I will show you the children. They could use a proper lesson. Normalcy.”
Amiri hesitated. “It has been days since the doctor had a proper meal. Do you have any food to spare?”
“All I need is water,” Rikki said. “And some help if you want any progress made with these people.”
The Last Twilight Page 18