Page 64 of Last Destination

I’d have to convince my companions, and I’d beg on my knees if I had to.

For the first time in weeks — perhaps years — my heart held onto pure, blissful hope.

Two weeks later – A tropical island off the coast of Mexico

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

The dull hum of the cellphone Nikki’s sister had given me vibrated within my pocket, but I ignored it as I had the several other messages that had come through this morning.

Clube de Morte remaining in contact over a group text while we remained thousands of kilometers apart pleased me. The incessant interruption to my exploration of the island did not.

A prehistoric creature with leather for skin and a spiky bony helm watched me from the grassy knoll across the street from my park bench. Its black eyes tracked my movements even as its wrinkled face remained as impassive as mine.

The first tortoise I’d witnessed had been coming off the ferry, the last of many transports to get here. She’d captivated my attention, a stoic being that outlasted most men, just as this one did now.

Their bite was powerful enough to snap bone, the petite guide had told us, but the creatures were naturally gentle.

Gentleness was not in my nature, but the call to kill no longer held me in its grip. I was now a simple man pursuing a simple life. Perhaps I could be a tortoise, content but deadly.

What pursuits were available to a docile but dangerous ex-convict? Spending precious energy on hopeful fantasies was the quickest path to madness in prison. I did not have a prepared dream or a preferred destination.

I would find it on this island.

Shaggy hair fell along my forehead, obscuring my view. I shoved it away, irritated by its presence as much as my technology. One day soon, I would shave it.

The ink across my skin, signaling my affiliations to others, had been covered and my skin remained sensitive from the needlework. Jungle vines, the heads of jaguars, and colorful birds now decorated my torso, paying homage to the start of my new life. The proceeds from the cocaine had been deposited into a bank account, my very first, with the help of my camaleón.

The tortoise released an abrupt burst of air through large flared nostrils and dismissed me, the slow shift of neck muscle as unhurried as my schedule. My ángel and my second remained at the cottage only the wealthiest could believe was small. I walked the small township alone. The quaint cluster of buildings held less people than my prison.

I stood and walked along the gravel pathway toward the main street of the town. The island held a beauty that surpassed any photo on a screen: azure blue skies with green groves and volcanic lunar landscapes. The whole of it was freshened by crisp sea air, even under the intense heat of the sun. It teemed with life that had no interest in eating us to survive.

The Darién held its own captivating beauty, treacherous and mysterious. Our island was its opposite. “A living laboratory,” the guide had called it. A healing place for my ángel, and perhaps for us all.

Even the strength of Nikki’s demons were waning.

“Marley said you might help me, mate,” he had confessed to me after she’d fallen asleep. The two of us had been seated on the patio overlooking the ocean at dusk. “I’m-I’m going to need rehab, I think. But I don’t want to leave you all, not yet. Do you think I’m a lost cause, or do you have a few tricks up your sleeve that’ll get me through?”

I understood his predicament. I had left them once and returned. I would only do it again at my captain’s request. Nikki’s desire for alcohol had overshadowed all other needs when we’d acquired safety, his health likely better in the rainforest, even with limited food and water.

“There are no tricks, camaleón.” I stared into the whites of his eyes, pressing the point. “It will be harder than surviving the jungle, and more painful than a jaguar's claw. I will help you, but only if you commit to it without excuse. Are you willing for this pain?”

He nodded his head with resolution, tidy curls bobbing with the action. “For the first time in my life, yes — at least, I think so.” He cracked a smile and stuck out his hand to shake. “Don’t go easy on me, yeah?”

I shook his hand in mine with a solemn vow. “I will be harder on you than anyone. But it will be worth your suffering when you can see clearly again.”

The next day, I’d drained every bottle in the villa. I gripped his shoulders so hard my fingerprints bruised his skin when we’d waited for our air transport next to a bar. I’d endured his tears and his tantrums as he begged me for a gradual reduction instead of the immediate elimination I’d imposed. His pressure was an annoyance, but expected. I’d only relented to giving him a mild sedative for the flight to soothe his nerves and put him into a peaceful sleep.

Now, two weeks later, his shakes were gone, his charm returning. His road to recovery would last a lifetime, but we would continue to support the journey. My second had requested my help and I would not give up on him.

Marley had opted for mild sedation for the plane portion as well. I held the weight of her against my chest in the cramped seats, the touch reminiscent of the many moments I’d kept her upright in the jungle.

My first plane ride had held me hostage under the haze of heroin, but the second and third were far more pleasant with my ángel in my arms and my second by my side. No longer a transported prisoner, I was a new man.

Salvadore Ramirez. The skin of Maddox Torres had been shed, and a new birthright was mine to uncover. My successful passage through the jungle had been from my captain’s skills and Clube de Morte’s combined efforts, but I could not rely on them to secure my future. My captain was still unsure of her place in the world, and Nikki had to vanquish his demons before he would have clarity to decide the next steps. Clube de Morte — this version, with people I would choose to make a home with — was not under my control.

I was no longer confined to the oppression of my childhood or the rigid hierarchy of gang life in prison. Working damp earth between my palms, supporting life instead of destroying it — landscaping had brought me pleasure in my youth.

My gang was a business, logistics — managing operations, delegating tasks — this, I was good at. Would I want employees I could not threaten if they chose not to comply with our rules? Human resources outside of prison was not a task I held patience for.