“No. No, you can’t,” she said. “If I leave the country, it will be seen as cowardice and I will never have a life here again. Please, I must stay. I’m safe, I assure you.”
“You’re not safe. There’s a man headed this way. His name is Bora. He’s a former American Marine.”
“Former?” she frowned.
“Former. He’s no doubt going to attempt to take you and probably use you with the cartel.” She frowned, then noticed the man behind her. “He’s with me. So are those other two men. Listen, I can’t force you to come with me, but I don’t think you’re safe here.”
“I promise, I am safe. These are my people and they care for me. They’re hiding me and I will be safe until the time is right to make an appearance. You have to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
“Are you ready?” asked a young girl standing beside the table. Rita nodded and stood. The girl couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen but she was holding an old rifle that looked bigger than she was.
“She is leading me to the safe house for tonight.” The girl started to speak but Rita squeezed her hand. “It’s alright. These men won’t harm me. I will remain here. I will work from the inside to become the rightful ruler of Bolivia, while you help me from the outside. I do not fear this American. They won’t allow him to lead our country. Just keep the cartel away from my door.”
She bent over the napkin on the table and scribbled a phone number.
“You can reach me at this number. Text or call me and I will keep you informed of what’s happening here. For now, you must leave.”
Before they could stop her, she scurried out the back door with the young girl in tow and disappeared into the night.
“That’s a brave fucking woman,” said Tobias.
“Or stupid,” said Rush. “If Bora really wants this, he won’t stop until he gets it, even if that means killing her.” Jalen nodded.
“Then I guess we kill Bora first.”
“Get the fuck out of there. He’s headed straight for you,”said AJ.
“On our way, brother.”
As the four men left the cantina someone called Bora.
“They’ve just left, heading into the jungle on the south side. They’re armed.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The thick, humid air of the Bolivian jungle clung to the four men as they crouched beneath a tangle of broad-leafed ferns.
Jalen, was usually considered the group’s sharp-eyed tactician. He scanned the shadows, his breaths steady but alert.
Beside him, JT tightened the straps on his battered backpack, every muscle in his frame taut with readiness. That backpack had saved his life more than a few times and he knew exactly where everything was and how to reach it. Including ammunition. No one touched his backpack.
Rush, with his tall, wide body, silently gripped his machete, while Tobias—whose calm voice often guided their decisions—checked their location and coordinates, whispering encouragement.
They knew they would survive but they also knew that the man chasing them wanted them dead. They weren’t stupid and neither was he.
Bora’s reputation was well known in the teams. He’d been a tough as nails leader for the Corps but his last few years everyone had seen changes in his behavior and personality.
Considered ruthless, cunning, and relentless, he had grown up in the jungle via the Corps and moved like a shadow through its depths. His men were likely, equally hardened, carried rifles and machetes, their boots crushing undergrowth with a predatory rhythm.
For Jalen and his companions, the chase had become a kind of reckoning—a contest of wits, endurance, and willpower against one of the jungle’s most feared hunters. What they wouldn’t tell their wives, was that it was also fun. They were doing what they loved and they were outwitting one of the best.
The jungle swallowed sound and light, its canopy diffusing the sun into shifting emerald shadows. The air was thick with the cries of unseen birds and the drone of insects. Vines hung low, and roots curled treacherously underfoot.
Every step forward was a test, the men’s boots sinking into mud that threatened to swallow them whole. They knew this land could kill them as surely as Bora’s bullets.
The pursuit began at dusk, just after they left Rita in the cantina. Bora’s scouts had spotted them at the river crossing, and shots rang out, echoing through the trees. But Jalen’s command was swift—scatter, regroup at the fallen ceiba tree. Then they disappeared into the foliage, moving like ghosts, every sense honed for survival.
JT led them through a maze of tangled roots and thorny bushes, his knowledge of tracking helping them mask their trail. He used river water to wash away footprints and scattered pepper to confound dogs if they had them.
