Badass: Jungle Fever (Complete): A Billionaire Military Romance

by Leslie Johnson

  Instead of trying to shoot me, she throws them at the open door. In a sweep of wind, they’re gone! Was she hoping I’d jump after them? What was she thinking? Pissed beyond measure, I yank her up and slam her into the chair again. I pin her down with my knee and duct tape her down, using a bit more than necessary. A second later, her cursing and yelling is cut off as another piece is slapped across her mouth.

  Moving back to the front, I take the wheel, tossing our last Uzi at my feet. “Good job, Cam. You did a really good job.”

  She only nods and brings her trembling hands to her cheeks. I give her a smile, but when her eyes only widen further, I drop the attempt. My poker face isn’t having a good day.

  Checking the gauges, I note only three gallons of gas. The open door has slowed us down. Which now, because we’re still above an endless jungle, is a good thing. I stop beating myself up for being reckless back there. In a crash, slow is good.

  Although I’m completely against deforestation of the rain forest, I’d give my left nut to see a clear cut area down below, but no luck. Green, green, only green surrounds us in all directions.

  I’ve got another decision to make. I can run the fuel all the way out, which will lessen the risk of explosion when we go down. Or keep a gallon or so to use as a source for fires if we survive.

  Survive. Maybe I am an eternal optimist.

  We’re only six hundred feet above the tree line now and moving lower.

  Two gallons left. Three hundred feet.

  With a gallon left, we’re practically brushing against the tree tops.

  I pull the nose of the plane up, as limbs scratch the bottom of the little Cessna, and turn the key to cut the engine. This is it. Make it or break it time. No amount of flying skill will determine how this crash will turn out. There are too many factors I have no control of. A million fucking trees being one of them.

  As the screech of the tree limbs tear at the metal, a small, blood-soaked hand comes to rest on my arm. “Are we going to make it?” Camille asks, tears clogging her throat.

  Leaves begin to consume us, the view outside the window going from blue to green. And I do the kindest thing I’ve ever done. I lie.

  “Of course we are.”

  Chapter Four – Camille

  He’s lying.

  The surprise of that truth nearly outweighs what is happening around us. His face is grim, reflecting sadness. Anger. Regret. Guilt. Fear. Every emotion rolled into one. But his eyes are still golden and they soften into love as he reaches for me.

  “Head down.”

  To make certain I comply with his demand, his hand wraps around my neck and pushes until my cheek is pressed against my knees. The hand stays there, the fingers widening to cover my entire head. And still, I don’t take my eyes off him.

  Not even as metal screams. Not even as branches explode through the front glass. Not even as we tilt on our side, then are tossed nose down and I’m thrown into the dashboard, Tate’s hand cushioning the blow.

  The ringing in my ears is louder than the snapping of trees, as we plow through them. Louder than the cries coming from my mouth. So loud it consumes my attention and I finally close my eyes as I await what happens next, my heart hammering so hard and so fast it consumes the oxygen I need to breathe.

  I’ve heard that your life flashes in front of your eyes when face to face with death, but regret seems to be my companion in this moment. All the things I haven’t said. The people I didn’t defend. The fear I allowed to rule so much of my life. The places I ran from. Or ran to, trying to escape into a privacy I thought I needed. Deserved.

  The plane twists and my world is consumed by the grinding crunch of us slamming into something that knocks us sideways. We spin, before rolling onto our side. I’m once again pressed against the glass, looking down at an earth intent on consuming us.

  Then something surprising happens. We begin to slow. In my imagination, I thought we would tumble until death stopped the existence of movement, but the trees beneath me become less blurry and take on definition and shape. The shriek of metal becomes a moan, as we settle thirty feet above the ground. The crack of another tree and we settle to a resting place. Everything grows quiet. Too quiet. Except for the roar of my pulse beating through my ears.

  I’m alive.

  I can’t believe it.

  With all the strength left inside me, I push myself up from the glass, wanting to turn enough to see if Tate is alive too. Please God, please let him be okay. For a moment, fear freezes me, because right now — as far as I know — he is alive. I have no evidence proving otherwise. If I turn and he’s not … it will be a reality I can’t accept.

  Because … I stare down into the jungle below me … there’s no way I can survive this without him. But there’s a bigger reason. I love him. And he saved me. He can’t die because of me. I can’t live with that.

  “You okay?” Tate’s voice asks from behind me.

  My arms grow weak and I collapse back onto the glass. Thank God. Thank you, God. Thank you so much. I can’t help it; I begin to cry.

  “Camille, are you hurt?”

  Am I? I do an internal systems check. My hand is on fire, and I’m sore as hell. “I’m fine, Tate. Tell me that you are too.”

  “I’m peachy.”

  That gets a laugh from me and I try to push up from the glass again, but scream as a limb snaps.

  We drop a couple of feet, before becoming wedged in a fork. Our settling place isn’t all that settled, I realize. We could continue our fall at any moment.

  “We need to get out of here,” he says, and I don’t disagree as smoke fills my lungs and I begin to cough. “I’m going to disconnect your seatbelt. Brace yourself against the glass.”

  “Okay.” I lock my elbows, but still tumble down as I’m released from the seat. I turn, managing to get into a sitting position and look up. He’s dangling from his seat above me, blood dripping from his forehead, his shoulder and his hands. I feel the warmth of it splatter down on me in large drops. He’s hurt, but I don’t know how badly. “What can I do to help?”

  “Can you head toward the back? I need to disconnect and don’t want to fall on you. Go slow until we know how well the plane takes our shifting weight.”

  I nod and feel like I’m in slow motion, as I creep out of the way. I can’t go too far, because the cargo door yawns open to the jungle below. And because a dangling Janine is hovering above it, filling the rest of the space. Her eyes are wide in terror and the duct tape on her mouth is moving, muffling whatever it is she’s trying to say.

  There’s a crash behind me and I turn to find Tate where I’d just been sitting. He gives me a thumbs up. He pats down his pockets, pulls a small knife from one of them and begins to cut the seatbelt straps off the chairs. I have no idea why, but I take them when he hands them to me. “Toss them to the ground.” I do as he says and he proceeds to cut the belts from the pilot seat. I toss them down too.

  “Move to the back of the plane,” he instructs me, then holds my arm as I step over the open mouth of the door and pass the still squirming Janine, who is getting louder by the moment. “Look around. We’ll need every available resource.” I spot the box with the food and bottles of water and am thrilled that the top hasn’t opened and nothing seems to be leaking through the cardboard. I’m not a fan of plastic, but I’m thrilled with its resilience right now.

  Heaving the box to the opening, I ask, “Just push it out?” I cough again, holding a hand to my mouth. I don’t know if we’re on fire, or if the smoke is from something electric or what. But it’s getting thicker.

  “Yes, then give me the two bales of drugs. Don’t push them out.”

  I stare at him as I shove the box. He wants coke at a time like this? He does coke? What?

  “Go!” he yells. “They have small parachutes attached to them. Think resources. Grab anything we can use. String. Rope. Flares. Emergency kits.” He picks up a roll of duct tape, kisses it, then throws it out the door. />
  As I crawl to the back, he crawls to the front. I come back with a bail of cocaine, while he returns with an Uzi. It’s enough to make me nearly giggle at the ridiculousness of it all. But I don’t, because there is no time. Tate’s cutting a small parachute from one of the bales and instructing me to give him my belt and gather anything else I can find.

  I don’t even question him. I’m in do-whatever-he-tells-me mode. Who am I to argue? I’d still be pressed against that glass in the front seat, if not for him.

  Gathering anything that moves, I also find a first aid kit and an emergency kit with flares. Janine is trying to get the duct tape off her mouth, using her tongue to push it off. She’s getting louder as she finds more success, and I wish Tate hadn’t tossed the tape. “Shut up,” I tell her through gritted teeth. She just yells louder and struggles harder against her bindings.

  “Ignore her,” Tate says to me. “If she continues to scream, we’ll leave her there.”

  She stops yelling and rage transforms into fear. I almost feel sorry for her when tears appear in her eyes. Then my hand pulses and the memory of her shooting that man point blank reminds me that she gets no sympathy. I turn my back to her.

  Crawling back to the door, I toss my latest finds to the ground. I hand him my belt and watch him thread it through the Uzi, buckle it and sling it over his shoulder.

  I scream, as another limb snaps and we drop about a foot before coming to a jarring halt. I’m propelled forward, my balance gone, and begin a head first descent through the opening. Reaching out, I search desperately for a handhold and my hand smacks the metal of the doorframe I’m going through. For a moment, I gulp in a breath of fresh air, before I’m hauled back into the plane by my shirt. Then I’m on Tate’s lap and he’s pulling me against his chest. “We’re out of time. We’ve got to get out.”

  Still on his lap, I watch him open one of the parachutes. “I’m going to lower you to the ground with this.” The nylon of the chute spills out all around us, along with hundreds of feet of cord.

  “Take this,” he instructs, holding the Uzi out to me. “It’s on safety. If you need to shoot, push this,” he points to a little switch, “to here.”

  I nod as he thrusts it into my hands. “Just to be safe, keep it pointed to the ground, then point it at Janine when I lower her.” He looks at the woman. “If she even looks at you funny, shoot her. Understand?”

  Swallowing hard, I nod.

  A few seconds later, he’s twisted a knot in the chute and slips my foot into the hole. “Hold this.” He places another section of nylon in my good hand. “I’ll lower you. As soon as you’re down, be on the lookout for any animals, snakes, big spiders. Use the gun if you have to.”

  Shit.

  Suddenly, the smoke up here doesn’t seem so bad.

  Before I can say or do anything else, he eases me over the edge and I’m swinging down through the leaves. I have a moment when I almost do the Tarzan call, but my mouth is so dry, my lips feel sealed shut.

  Then I’m on the ground. In the middle of the jungle. The sounds of the insects closing in from every direction. It’s dark down here, even though it’s bright and sunny above the trees. And hot and damp. I immediately begin to sweat harder than I was in the plane.

  Tate pulls the chute back up the second I step off and I lift the gun, spinning around in a circle. I expect something to come rushing out at me from the shadows, licking its lips in anticipation. Nothing. Nothing to see at least, but I know. I know there are creatures everywhere. Creatures who see me as a tasty dinner.

  “Coming down.”

  I expect Janine, but the bales of coke fall and a few other things. I rush forward and begin pulling them away from the plane, listening hard for any noise that would indicate the Cessna is about to fall on my head

  “Coming down,” Tate calls out again and this time, it is Janine. “Remember to shoot her if she moves,” he reminds me. “Take the gun off safety and hold it on her until I get there.”

  Watching her carefully, I do as Tate says, pointing the gun at her after making sure the little switch is flipped over. On the ground, Janine hugs herself and turns in a circle, much as I did a few minutes ago. A full circle later, she’s looking at me and cries out as the rest of the parachute falls on top of her.

  I look up, eyes wide, a new type of fear running through me. I hadn’t thought this far ahead. Hadn’t thought about how Tate would get down. I assumed he’d use the parachute too, maybe tie it off and climb down its length. Apparently not, because when I can finally see him again, he’s climbing down a thick vine.

  Damn. He makes it look easy.

  “Watch—”

  Before he can finish, I’m rammed hard, knocked to the ground. Shit. I took my eyes off Janine, allowed myself to become distracted. I grip the gun harder, screaming as she tries to rip it from my hands. The pain is incredible, but I hang on. She’s on top and I kick, bucking beneath her, digging my heels into the jungle floor, trying to roll her off.

  Then her weight is lifted and she’s flying backwards, before landing in a heap on the ground. A second later, Tate is pulling her up and shaking her hard. “Listen to me.” The words are low, deadly. “Try that shit one more time and I’ll personally feed you to the first carnivore I see. One part at a time. Understand?” Janine lifts her chin and he shakes her once more. “Do you understand?”

  She nods, tears spilling again, and she falls on her ass when he lets her go. I stare at her, unable to believe she’s the same woman I’d first made love with months ago. The smiling, happy and fun person who’d been so gentle with me. Was that woman still inside the one lying on this jungle floor? Or was it all an act? Did she not care about me at all?

  Unable to tear my eyes away, I watch her press her hands to her face, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Had she joined my team, kissed me that first night, because she was simply acting out her role in the plan? Or had the plan come later? After she realized how gullible I am?

  I’m pulled from the questions by Tate, who steps closer to me and takes the gun from where it’s hanging by my side. He pulls me against him and I curl my hands around his waist, my face pressed into his sweat soaked shirt.

  “Don’t look at her that way. She doesn’t deserve your sympathy, Cam.”

  I hug him tighter. “I know, I just—”

  “Just nothing. You can’t think about anything but survival. Eyes open. Ears listening. Every sense at attention. Watch the shadows. Watch her. Trust nothing.”

  I look up at him. “Except you. I trust you.”

  He kisses my forehead.

  The creak of metal above us makes me jump and look up. The plane has shifted again. “Grab everything.” He looks at Janine. “You, too.” When she just stands there, he yells, “Move.”

  Within a few minutes we’ve gathered all of our supplies, because there wasn’t very much to pick up. He takes out one brick of the coke and tosses the rest in the bushes. He also picks up some pieces of metal, examines them and keeps a few, or discards others in turn. I don’t know why he chooses one and not another, but I’m too tired and adrenaline punch drunk to ask.

  A noise behind me causes me to whirl around and I peer into the tangle all around us. It’s thick here and I don’t see anything. But I feel it. I feel watched. I feel something waiting for me to get just a little too close. Hair raises up on my arms.

  The plane creaks above us again and the tree shudders as it falls a few feet. “If it falls,” Tate says, “it will fall here, so you two take everything over there.” He points and hands me the gun. “Keep your eyes on her.” He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

  “Where are you going?”

  He looks up into the trees. “To get the propeller.” He picks up a small bundle he’d tossed from the plane and unrolls it to reveal a small set of tools. He frowns, but rolls it up again and stuffs it in a pocket. How many pockets does he have?

  “Why?” I can’t help the question. It seems like an unnecessary risk.<
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  “We need a blade to cut through this.” He points around at the tightly woven vegetation. “And it can serve as a weapon, if needed.” He grins. “It will work better than my pocket knife.”

  “Can you radio for help while you’re up there?” Janine asks him.

  He glares at her. “You don’t know your friends very well, do you? You climb in bed with a bunch of drug dealers and don’t know how merciless they are? You think they have radios on their drug planes so the pilots can call for help if they go down?” His voice grows harsh. So does of fury on his face. “Radio signals can be intercepted. By the police or by other runners who would love to beat them to a free stash.” He stalks toward her and she cowers, then lifts her chin in a small display of defiance. “If one plane goes down, they mark it off the list and pull out the next one. There is no search and rescue. Don’t you get it yet? They don’t give a damn about people.”

  He pauses and looks up, paces a few feet, before turning around. Wisely, Janine says nothing and I watch her swallow hard when Tate turns away again, then she sinks to the ground.

  “The drugs, yes,” he continues, but it’s more like he’s talking to himself, “this is a small load. Street value of not even a hundred grand or so. No radio, but probably a tracker, so they can regain possession of their assets.” He looks at me and shakes his head, his mouth set into a grim line. “And you are a very valuable asset.”

  I hug myself, feeling cold, in spite of the furnace I’m surrounded by. “What does that mean?”

  He paces again. “It means we’re fucked if Janine’s friends decide to hunt us down. I could find and kill the tracker, but…”

  I watch him pace. “But what?”

  He stops and looks at me again, wiping away the sweat beading on his forehead. “But that tracker, if there is one, could also be our salvation.”

  Salvation?

  “How?”

  He paces again, and I can almost see him working through all the possibilities. “Deakins knows my last location was at the first house. A team has probably already been to the house, discovered it empty. Discovered all the electronics left behind. He would have lost track of me after that, and he’d begin a radius search, trying to intercept signals. There’s a slight possibility he would have intercepted the tracking signal on the plane, and if he did and I kill it, he can’t follow.”