“Because you’re a juicy piece.” I grin as I drag the boat to the sand so I can climb inside. The danger’s gone and her smile of joy is making me giddy.
“Juicy piece of what?” She smiles back and my heart goes into overdrive. I might just die of a heart attack on the banks of the Amazon.
There’s a small, selfish part of me that wants to stay in the jungle, where I can keep Ava to myself. I’d tell her that we couldn’t find our way out and we’d live in the cave, just the two of us. The jungle is full of food and water, and I could provide for her.
When I take her back to civilization, she’ll go back to her fancy life with her model friends and the rich men that hang around them. I’ll be reduced to stalking her, watching her from afar and jerking off in my hand.
My hand tightens on the prow of the boat for just a moment as I contemplate the jungle fantasy once more. Then I throw the nylon sack of supplies into the boat along with the damn purse of Ava’s. “You’re juicy everywhere.”
The words come out more gruff than I intend, and I can see by the tightening of her lips that she’s disappointed in me. And that’s why I need to get her back. Because here in the jungle, I might be happy, but she would never be. She needs soft sheets, expensive clothes, and a man who knows how to pleasure her.
Because even if I didn’t have a dick the size of a club, I had no experience and my ability to bring this woman to orgasm while fucking is probably slimmer than a piece of paper in that damn bag of Ava’s. I give her a tight smile and start to swing into the boat, when I hear the unmistakable sound of a chamber being loaded.
Jesus fuck. Can’t we catch even one break?
Ava gasps and raises the gun but then lowers it almost immediately.
“What?” I mouth and reach in to grab the machete I took from Afonso.
“They’re kids,” she whispers in horror.
I lift my hands, knife clenched in one, and turn around slowly.
And see a band of boys, tense and dirty. The tallest one is about ten inches shorter than me. He’s not holding the semiautomatic, though. That would be his friend to the right, who is about Ava’s height but has good muscle tone. From the look of his face and hair growth, though, this kid is just out of puberty. He might be thirteen, if that.
The rest of the kids range from ten to thirteen and they are armed to the hilt, looking like boy soldiers from Uganda. Their dark skin is decorated with homemade tattoos and belts of ammunition. Whatever happened to the good old days when natives were armed with homemade spears and wore leaves around their groins? Now they have more guns than a survivalist camp in Utah and wear cargo pants where they store a dozen more magazines for their toys.
Too bad he isn’t holding a handgun on me. I’d flip that shit on his face so fast, he’d forget he even knew how to hold a gun. But a semi with a bullet in the chamber at this close range? I’d likely be shot in the other eye.
“Do you speak Spanish?” I ask with my hands still raised.
The leader turns to the tall boy next to him, who nods.
“Who are you?” Tall Boy asks.
He doesn’t want to know my name. He wants to know if I present a danger to him. I do. I’m six feet five inches of muscle with seventeen years of killing to my name. Even if one of these children does get a shot off, I have the ability to take them all to hell with me. But I’m no kid killer. I never was.
I take a risk. When we were in Rio, the Tears of God favela was well known. People from all over sought refuge there. We became known for not only meting out vengeance but providing a safe haven for others, too. No matter what your past was, so long as you could prove to us you had changed or presented no danger to the community, you were welcome.
I lower my hands and then turn my right biceps toward the group. Once you are part of the Tears of God, you receive a tattoo. It’s a large stylized eye with a knife spearing a teardrop beneath it. Everyone has one—every man, woman, and every child over the age of thirteen. Mine is crude because Davidson did it with a knife and ink for a fountain pen when we escaped the desert where we’d formulated our plans.
“I am from the Tears of God. You touch us and the entire world will become blanketed with death. You will die, your mother will die. Every person who is related to you will be dust and even heaven itself will forget you. Help me and I will do everything in my power to destroy your enemies and give you aid when you need it.”
Tall Boy’s eyes widen. He turns to his friend and starts speaking swiftly. I catch a word or two. They are speaking a variant of Spanish. Special Forces required you to pick up several languages depending on where the government thought you would do your best work. I didn’t know enough to speak but I could understand.
“He . . . Tears of God . . . help us . . . enemies.”
“What’s going on?” Ava asks.
“I told him that I would hurt him if he hurt us and that I’d help him if he helped us.”