Page 47 of Last Destination

And rang. And rang. Straight to voicemail. I blew out the breath I’d held when my father’s personal message came through the line. The familiar tenor of his careful, heavily enunciated English burned the back of my nose and throat, and before I lost my nerve, I left a voicemail.

“Hey, abeoji.” I scratched the back of my neck, completely at a loss for what to say. “I’m — um — alive, I guess I should tell you. A few of us survived, and we’re waiting for rescue now. I’m —” My voice broke as the emotion I’d tried to avoid clawed up my throat like a demon. “I’m sorry you heard about my failures from someone else. I’m sorry I got on the wrong plane … Joesonghamnida. I’m sorry for everything.”

Blowing out a shaky breath, I continued. “I won’t have much service here, but I’ll call again soon. Salanghaeyo.” I love you.

I hung up the line with a solemn click, the sound heavy and final.

The voicemail would have to be enough. He’d listen to it within the next day — maybe the next few hours. Disappointment filled my bones like lead, but I had very little time. If I couldn’t get hold of my father, I could at least see when the earliest flight was leaving from Panama City.

I typed in the request and agonized over each buffering letter in the search engine. When several flight options finally popped up on the screen in all their pixelated glory, my pulse mimicked the bullet train, and a hot flush of panic sweat coated my already disgusting skin.

Fuck. I couldn’t do it. New fear — no, terror — unlocked. Bile bubbled at the base of my esophagus, and I swallowed it down before I made an even bigger mess of myself. It was official: I’d never fly on a plane again.

So how the fuck was I getting home? Speedboat?

I slammed the laptop screen shut and yanked the cords from our phones and shoved everything back into my case, forcing my renewed homesickness and frustrating fears into the bag alongside them.

Nikki was drunk, Marley was falling apart, and the one person who wasn’t facing a personal crisis was a murderer for hire. I had to get my shit together. They needed to get home, too. Maybe they’d even have the balls to get back on a plane.

I ignored the rapid Spanish tirade of the power baron and stalked back down the path toward our hole-in-the-wall, unlatching our shack door with an exhausted fumbling of the key as every bit of my rested edge evaporated.

Nikki was still asleep, his snores had softened from buzzing chainsaws to a low refrigerator hum. I shook his shoulder until he startled awake and his glazed eyes took a few seconds to focus on me.

“Hey.” I kept my words soft, knowing they’d probably feel like a bass drum inside his skull. I forced a half-assed smile anyone with eyes could see through. “Let’s get some water and go sit by the river. Marley will be here soon, right?”

He smacked his lips and reached for his glasses on the metal chair. “Yeah. Good idea, mate. I could use some water.”

Before I could push off the cot, his palm gripped the side of my face, pulling me down for a bruising, boozy kiss. Old me would have hated it, but this new, survivalist, apparently less-prissy version of me pressed into it a bit too forcefully, the flavor of vodka now a permanent nostalgic memory of my first delivered blow job. His soft lips and teasing tongue didn’t linger, but they’d done what he’d intended.

Earlier, I’d laid it on the line to distract him. He was doing the same to me. And I didn’t hate it.

When he pulled back, he quirked an eyebrow as if to say, “Better?”

A genuine smirk broke through my exhausted fog, and he returned it with a knowing grin of his own. I stole another quick kiss and hopped up from the bed, holding out my hand for him to pull himself up with.

I could tell Nikki about the news article and my voicemail later. It didn’t change our trajectory or our plan to leave — not yet. In the end, their future was their own to decide. I’d have to do the same. But no matter what, I’d do anything in my power to get them home safe. I owed them that, at the very least.

Right now, it was time to collect the rest of our crew.

An anxious knot retied itself in my gut. Hopefully, they would all arrive in one piece.

The current was stronger than I had hoped. The plastic mattress folded with each bump along the river and each abrupt downward slope froze my heart with fear.

Not for me. For my ángel, who had not moved since I laid her in the center a few hours ago.

The bed was bigger than my metal slab in prison, but only large enough for two small children to sleep on comfortably. My captain was curled into the fetal position and her long eyelashes fanned her face as she slept.

Jamie had taken the right side of the mattress, leaning his torso over the back end, knuckles white from gripping the edge so tightly. He kicked his legs alongside me, our bodies so close together our feet often brushed. Personal space was a luxury in prison; his touch did not bother me, but his ferocious hold on the plastic concerned me. If he popped it in fear, we would have to swim.

Only one of us could make that journey.

We didn't need to push hard through many portions of the river, but the water held many creatures and I kept my legs as close to the surface as possible. I’d met many men far more dangerous than anacondas, but I had no desire to meet another one in this lifetime. My muscles ached from use and my shoulder burned with each jolt of the mattress. The jungle had drained me of my strength. This push was solely adrenaline.

My captain needed help. We would get her to our destination. There was no other choice.

The sun sat low in the sky with dusk just around the corner. Many of our nights in the jungle had been spent in pitch blackness, and tonight could be no different. Without stars or the moon to guide us, we would float blind.

“We need to go faster,” I grunted and kicked my feet harder into the wake behind us. Jamie dipped his head, but made no sound. His kicking picked up pace and we propelled a small bit faster as the river picked up speed.