Saving Valencia_A Steamy Alpha Male Romance Page 3

  There was nothing around us, and yet there was everything.

  It was the oddest feeling I’d ever known.

  “Look. Up there,” Grant said.

  I squinted my eyes before I stepped in front of him. I saw what he saw. It looked like a cave. I strode over the jungle floor and headed straight for it, breathing in the deep smell of clean air. No smoke meant no wreckage, but it also meant we were further away from the crash site than I wanted to be. Sticking close to it meant our chances of survival were higher because we’d be easier to find. But the thickness of that smoke would be too much on our lungs.

  I stopped at the mouth of the cave and peered in, trying to figure out if anything was lurking inside.

  I watched a rock being tossed into the dark cavernous expanse and I turned to look at my side. Grant was standing there, his eyes trained on Angel before he picked up another rock. He tossed seven or eight of them into the cave, listening as it knocked against walls and echoed off deep caverns.

  “It’s all we’ve got,” Grant said. “Come on.”

  I carried Angel into the cave and we settled back into the darkness. I had no idea what the hell we were going to do. With Angel hurt and no provisions in sight, it wasn’t like Grant or I had any sort of survival experience. Common sense drove me most of the time, and Grant was a technological guru. No one could hack a tree. It wasn’t possible to run electricity through some fucking rocks in a cave. I passed Angel over to Grant and watched his shadowed form settle down. Angel whimpered with each little movement and I knew we had to set her ankle somehow.

  But beyond that, I didn’t know what to do. For the first time in my fucking life, I couldn't take care of those around me.

  And I hated the feeling.

  Valencia

  “Here is a file I compiled for you of the four men on the plane.”

  I took the folder from Grier, not really understanding why he felt the need to put it together. Rescue missions didn’t require intel. It didn’t require me to know what the pilot’s favorite color was as a teenager. All I needed to know was what they looked like and their physical stats so I knew when I spotted them.

  Then again, they’d be the only four people trapped in the middle of an active volcano sight.

  “Silas Hopkins is the owner and CEO of Worldly Financial. He’s a billionaire philanthropist whose hobbies include reading, traveling, and skydiving.”

  “How ironic,” I said flatly.

  “Grant Robbins is the CTO--that’s Chief Technical Officer.”

  I slowly raised my gaze to the man sitting in front of me. What the hell did he think I was, an idiot?

  “Anyway,” he said with a sigh, “he’s Silas’ right hand man and a very good friend. He helped Silas create--”

  “Mr. Grier, I’m not here to make friends,” I said as I flipped through the pages. “I’m here to rescue a bunch of men who went down in a plane before getting back to my life.”

  “You don’t want any information on the men you’re saving?”

  “Not going to do much for me if they’re dead,” I said.

  The airplane ride into Antigua and Barbuda had been relatively silent, and I was unnerved by the amount of talking Mr. Grier thought he had to do on the helicopter ride over. We were crossing the ocean between the two islands and already Montserrat’s volcanic ash was making traveling rough. This mission had to be quick. Between the volcanic spewage and the storms that were known in this part of the world this time of the year, it would be easy to get trapped and not have a way out. Storms over the Leeward Islands sometimes spanned days. Weeks, even. I had a small window of time I was theoretically working with, which meant I needed to spend less time getting to know these men and more time memorizing what they looked like so I would know when I came across them.

  And again, they’d be the only four men in the middle of the fucking Montserrat Jungle.

  The pictures were pretty typical. Grant with his brown hair and brown eyes. The pilots would be identifiable by their uniforms. And Silas? Well, he had jet black hair and green eyes. Not much else I needed other than those features. If one of them was injured, I’d have no issues carrying them on my back. Carrying anyone on someone else’s back was never about strength. It was about leverage. And so long as I wasn’t carrying dead weight on my own, I’d be fine.

  “There it is,” Mr. Grier said. “Captain, circle that trail of smoke.”

  I flipped the file folder closed and tossed it off to the side. I peered out the window as the helicopter tilted, giving me a bird’s eye view of the thin trail of smoke poking up from beyond the treetops. I saw between the mangled trees the wreckage of the plane as the helicopter spun lower and lower. And it looked rough. Even with the somewhat easy landing, the nose was completely decimated into the ground.

  I unbuckled my seatbelt as the helicopter hovered, preparing to rope myself down.

  I slung my backpack over my shoulder and began my descent. The wind the helicopter blades kicked up rustled the tops of the trees, so I had a clear view from beginning to end. I dropped down onto the forest floor and began surveying the crash site in front of me. The windows of the cockpit were smashed, and the bloodied remains of what looked like two different people were scattered along the interior and dripping down the nose of the plane.

  So much for the pilot and the copilot.

  I didn’t see a fire raging from the plane, so I chanced a walk inside. I stepped into the what should’ve been the cabin, though the wind had been ripped clear off it. If I had to venture a guess as to what happened, they probably had engine trouble. A wing caught on fire for whatever reason and that was what turned the plane into a spiraling death trap. I looked for any signs of other bodies. Anything to indicate that anyone else other than the two pilots had been hurt or killed in the crash.

  “Anything?”

  I almost forgot about the radio on my hip.

  Grier had fitted me with a tracker in my pocket and a radio on my hip. I plucked it off my side as I swept the rest of the cabin, satisfied that no one else had been hurt.

  Which meant I was still looking for Silas and Grant.

  “The pilot and copilot are dead,” I said. “No signs of the other two men.”

  “Are you sure they’re dead?”

  I stepped out of the plane and ventured around to the front, taking in the blood and brain matter that encompassed the cockpit. I’d seen a lot of things in my life, but nothing like that.

  I felt my jaw tremble for the first time in years before I cleared my throat.

  “I’m very sure,” I said. “I’m going on the hunt for the two men.”

  “Stay close,” Grier said.

  “As close as I can.”

  My eyes scanned the ground, looking for anything that would lead me to them. Footprints. Drag marks. Anything to indicate which direction they had gone in. I walked through the wreckage one last time, calling out their names while I did so. Making sure they weren’t trapped underneath what looked like the remains of a mattress and a leather-clad interior.

  Decadent.

  Too bad that money spent didn’t cushion their fall.

  Something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. A piece of fluttering fabric. It was attached to the edge of the torn plane wing, and as my eyes fell in front of it I found more pieces of clothing. The arm of a shirt. A few buttons. A shredded trail of fabric that led deeper into the jungle. I grinned to myself as I followed the path. At least one of them had a bit of sense. The trail led me deeper into the jungle. Through vines and around trees that were poisonous to the touch.

  But then, the trail ceased to exist.

  I looked around me, but all I saw was dense foliage. I moved my foot around on the ground to see if leaves or anything else had covered up the path, but there was nothing. And it didn’t shock me. Fabric was only as good as the anchor that kept it together. For all I knew, a gust from the volcano could’ve come down the mountain and swept it all away. But the path
had been pretty consistent. A straight-shot path through the thick, dense forest.

  So, I pressed onward, keeping a forward trajectory in hopes I’d come upon something eventually.

  “Anything?”

  I groaned at the sound of Grier’s voice.

  “When I have something, I’ll let you know,” I said into the radio. “Now leave me to track and think.”

  I was tempted to turn the damn thing off.

  I’d read up a little bit on Montserrat on the ride over. Five hours in the air gave a person time to do some digging. Red-footed tortoise and racer snakes encompassed the area. Southern stingray and peacock flounder were only a couple of the marine wildlife that permeated the shores of the area. The volcanic explosion back in 2003 buried the capital of Plymouth in molten rock and ash, forcing a lot of people off the island. And all of this knowledge worked in my favor in many ways.

  If the worst-case scenario happened, there was the potential for a great deal of shelter. Houses and churches still standing that would protect us from the elements if we could get to them. And the wildlife on the island was nowhere near as big or as poisonous as most jungle areas. Most of it was edible if someone had the right tools to hunt and catch in such a primitive surrounding.

  And luckily, I had all of those tools with me.

  Running water on the island would also provide a source of freshwater, especially if I could find it bubbling up from the ground. The entire island was undergirded with volcanic rock, which acted as a natural water filtration system. Any water bubbling up from the surface that was at least two hundred feet away from the shoreline was good enough to drink without having to boil it over water.

  We’d need a lot of it if we got trapped on this humid wasteland.

  The only issue would be finding food for long periods of time, especially if we got caught in the storms. Which was why I pressed onward as quickly as I could. I watched out for the trees I hung onto. Many of them in the Montserrat jungle were poisonous to the touch. Some drop of sap from some of the trees would produce second-and-third degree burns if not washed off within a specific amount of time. And I didn’t hear any running water near me to help if I fucked up.

  I kept my eyes towards the ground, making sure not to run into the devious Montserrat tarantula. I expected to come across footsteps or voices or footprints of some sort, but there were none. I drew in a deep breath and sighed. I’d walk five hundred more feet before darting off in a different direction. So long as I kept the sun at my back--

  My gut told me to freeze, so I did. I held my breath and waited, searching for whatever it was my body had picked up on before my senses. I stood as still as I could, waiting for the moment to arrive.

  And then, I heard it.

  The sound of rustling in the distance.

  I ducked behind a thick tree and started digging through my backpack. I pulled out the machete I had packed, unsheathed it, then zipped my bag back up. I held the machete at my hand, ready to go to war with whatever predator was rustling the leaves on the forest floor.

  I peeked out from behind the trunk to get a good look at whatever it was making that noise, but I didn’t find what I expected to see.

  Through the thickness of the forest, about one hundred feet in front of me, was a cave. And standing in the mouth of that cave was a man. Black hair. Piercing green eyes. That same chiseled jawline.

  Silas Hopkins.

  I stood there for a second, studying him. For some reason, my eyes wouldn’t move away from him. He stood tall. Strong. He had a pair of very nice gray slacks on along with a sleeveless white tank top. It stretched across his muscles and clung to his broad, tan form. His forearms bulged with veins and the muscles of his chest glistened with the sweat trickling down his body. His shoulders tapered into a slim waist and hips before his legs boasted of a strength that made the back of my neck heat up.

  It was a good thing he was upright. It meant he wasn’t seriously injured. Because even I didn’t think leverage on my back would be able to carry that big of a man.

  My eyes lingered on him much longer than I had intended. But there was something about him that entranced me. His eyes squinted as he looked out into the forest. Almost as if he was keeping watch. His fists clenched at his sides, readying himself for a fight. The motion did nothing but serve to flex his muscles, and they rippled underneath the soaked fabric of his tank top undershirt.

  I shook myself from my trance. There was no reason for me to be ogling a man. I was here to rescue them. Nothing more, nothing less.

  So, to begin the extraction process, I girded my loins and stepped out from behind the tree. And as I stood upright with my machete at my side and my hair falling into my face, our eyes connected.

  Those piercing green eyes hooked onto mine, and for a split second I felt inferior to the man standing at the mouth of that gaping cave.

  Silas

  Angel had cried herself to sleep, and after listening to all of that sniffling and not being able to do a damn thing about her pain, I needed a break. It had been at least four hours since we had crashed, but I honestly had no way of knowing. I was flying by the seat of my tailored silken pants, and I knew our time was running thin already. I had been able to use my suit jacket and a couple of thick branches to brace Angel’s broken ankle, but I still didn’t know if I had set it right. And after that, the extent of my knowledge on what the fuck to do on a deserted island was wiped out.

  I stood in the mouth of the cave and looked out into the wilderness. I glanced back and took in the shadow of Grant, watching him cradle Angel close to his chest. His eyes stared off at the rock wall of the cave, unwavering as he tried to process what was going on.

  Grant did that when he was overwhelmed. He stared off and lost himself in his own thoughts.

  I had no idea what we would do come nightfall. No fire. No lay of the land. No food or water at our disposal. We were sitting ducks, just waiting for some unassuming bear or lion or whatever the hell was on this island to come creeping up and devour us whole. I looked up through the tree tops and took in the setting sun. Everything seemed a little darker than the last time I’d peeked out of the cave. Soon, there would be nothing. And we could be stuck waiting out the night in a dank cave that probably housed rabies-infested bats.

  My eyes caught the smallest movement off in the distance and I clenched my fists. The rustling of leaves and breaking of twigs caught my ear and my entire body poised itself for a fight. Whatever it was, it had to get past me to get to Angel and Grant. I’d already lost two people to nothing more than a damn engine failure. I wasn’t losing anymore if I could help it.

  The closer it got, the more detailed it became. I figured it was a large animal that perused the island. I searched for any distinctive signs. The whites of its eyes. What I did know was it was upright. Large. Though, oddly shorter than me.

  Walking on two legs?

  I reached for a random stick leaning against the mouth of the cave and clenched it in my fist. But before I could get it poised over my head for a strike, an odd sound hit my ears. Soft. Cold. Stoic. Commanding.

  It was a human’s voice.

  A woman’s voice.

  “I’ve got them. Follow my tracker.”

  A woman emerged from the shadows and I took her in. She was short. No more than five-two. Barely came up to my damn chest. Her eyes were a brooding brown and her long blonde hair was wild around her face. She studied me carefully, clutching a very impressive knife at her side. The way she crept with her legs and the way her body flexed told me she kept herself up in the gym. She was toned. Beautiful, for the wild woman she seemed to be.

  She had a small bag on her back, and as she continued to walk closer I got a better look at her. The creamy skin of her body. The unwavering tone of her eyes. The pout of her lower lip. She looked positively primal with the sweat dripping down her brow and cascading beneath her shirt. In her other hand was a radio, and I recognized the voice coming from the other end.
r />   “Tracking you now.”

  It was Grier.

  She was working with my security team.

  “Silas Hopkins?”

  Her voice ripped me from my trance as she stood only a few feet away from me.

  “Yeah?”

  “Is Grant Robbins with you?” she asked.

  “Yes. As well as his personal assistant, Angel Ratcliffe. Now, who are you?”

  I watched her face fall before she scrambled for her radio. Her movements suddenly became frantic as she pressed the button down on the radio. Her eyes darted along the mouth of the cave as she clenched her hand tightly around the machete in her hand.

  “Your manifest was wrong, Grier. Five people were on that plane.”

  “What?” Grier asked.

  “Angel Ratcliffe. Name ring a bell?”

  “Grant’s secretary? What the hell was she doing on that flight? She flew in separately for this business trip. She had a separate flight booked out for it.”

  “Not what happened, apparently.”

  The woman’s eyes fell onto mine, and I couldn't help but feel as if she was chastising me for something.

  I heard Angel cry out in pain and the woman in front of me took off. The radio fell to the ground and she ran past me, moving at the speed of light. I whipped around and watched as a light suddenly illuminated the cave. The strange jungle woman had pulled a flashlight from her backpack.

  I wondered what else she had in there at her disposal.

  The sounds of helicopter blades overhead flooded my body with relief. Holy hell, I was going to have to give Grier a raise for all this. I watched as two men clad in black roped down from the treetops, dropping to the ground before they pulled out two guns.

  “No need,” I said. “Nothing here except trees, dirt, and us.”