Last Hope

“With your dick?” Norse interrupts.

Davidson cups himself crudely. “The best kind of comfort there is. Gets ’em inside and out.”

Norse musters up a small laugh. I don’t even give a courtesy one, because there’s a shitload of pain in Davidson’s voice.

A cab pulls up and I direct the driver to Dulles. Norse climbs into the front seat, allowing Davidson and me the back one.

“Where is she now?” I ask quietly as we move out.

“Don’t know.”

“You going back for her?”

He stares at me. “Maybe.”

“To kill her or kidnap her?”

“Can it be both?”

That makes me laugh. “Yeah, shit, why not?”

Davidson gives a weak chuckle. “What’s this about Ava? I thought you gave up women in some kind of eternal Lent sacrifice.”

Only Garcia and Davidson knew I’d never had sex. The rest of the men thought I was just very choosy and discreet. Worked for me. Of course, now that I’ve practically banged Ava on top of them, it’s hard for them to square that with my past. And since I’m a fucking mess, it’s hard to clarify things for anyone when I haven’t worked it all out in my own mind. I want Ava. I need her but I can’t keep her. “I’m still cursed if that’s what you’re asking. After all, Garcia’s dead.”

“That’s some kind of bullshit,” Davidson snorts. “Garcia would be the first to congratulate you on busting a nut on some girl. And if it’s more than that, all the better.”

“I don’t know what it is.”

I lean my head against the door of the cab and close my eyes to signal that I’m done with the conversation. Davidson leaves me to my thoughts.

I tell myself I have people. I have Davidson back. We lost Garcia but mercenaries have short life spans. We’re all on borrowed time. We should have died back in the desert. Even before then, outside the wire, some IED or enemy fire should have killed us. I’ve been on any number of missions and hits that could have seen me dead, but I survived. Maybe it was me who should have died in the jungle and not Garcia.

But I’m alive.

And Ava’s back at the island. Healing. Getting ready to leave, if she’s not already gone. In a desperate time, she laid her hands on me. She wanted me to save Rose. She wanted me to save her. I got half of that right but it’s not enough.





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE




AVA

I don’t wait to get started on my new, self-appointed job here on the island. I figure someone will pull me aside if I’m fucking with things that shouldn’t be fucked with. I hunt down Fernanda and she gets a few other women, and we make a list of immediate needs and then not so immediate. I’m sad to hear what the immediate needs are: tampons, decent underwear, bras, birth control, medication for STIs since several of the girls came from brothels and have recurring issues, feminine hygiene products, even deodorant. It’s clear they don’t feel comfortable asking for more than the basics, not when their lives have been saved by these men and they’d feel guilty asking for more. That’s all right. I’ll ask for more on their behalf. It makes me feel good to help them.

I couldn’t help Rose, but maybe her death can propel me into helping a lot of others. It’s far more rewarding than hand modeling, at the very least. I feel good about this. I can help Rafe really make his island a refuge and a home, instead of just a place for these women to hide.

And most of all, I can help make them less afraid. After what I’ve been through in the last few weeks, this is important to me.

Because I’m staying, I put a few things on the list for me, too.

After I get the list, I head to Bennito. “I need you or some of your guys to go to the mainland and go shopping for this stuff.”

“I can go,” he says, then his brows draw together. “When did you want to leave?”

“I’m not going. I’m staying.”

He grins like a naughty boy. “Uh-huh.”

“What?”

“You’re dickmatized. Boss must be good.”

“It’s none of your business,” I say primly, but I’m smiling. I might be a bit dickmatized. So what? I happen to love the rest of the package, too.

He gestures at the list. “Seriously, though, tampons? Panties? Are you fucking with me?”

“I’m not, and I want those specific brands.” I point at the paper. I’ve taken time to write down very specific brands, sizes, and types. “I don’t care how long it takes to gather up, this is the stuff we need. It’s very important to the women on the island.”

“You speaking for them now?”

“I am,” I say, and lift my chin. “A lot of them have been abused in the past and they’re afraid to ask for basic stuff or to tell you that you’re buying a crap brand. They feel more comfortable coming to someone like me.”

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