“We can’t travel through the jungle at night. It’s suicide, unless you’re a native. Even they are careful as hell about it.”
“Well, why don’t we make like Huckleberry Finn and build a raft? We could just float down to this Tres Manos you mentioned.”
“We don’t have the tools or the materials to build a raft strong enough to float us down the Amazon. We’d be asking to drown.”
“Well, I certainly don’t want to drown.” I consider Trent, angry that he keeps shooting down my ideas but knowing I shouldn’t take it out on him. “Are you sure it’s safe to make this hike?”
“The only thing for sure in the rainforest is nothing’s for sure,” Trent says. My expression falls, gaze dropping to stare at the ground.
“Uh, but I wouldn’t bet against us,” he says cheerfully. “I know my way around the jungle better than most crackers. I won’t say I know it like a native, but I know it pretty damn well. We’ll be fine.”
I purse my lips and lapse into silence, staring at the Amazon as it rolls along. Trent offers no objections, possibly because he knows he needs the time to recover. Didn’t faint my ass. Thing is, I can’t quite hate him for being a macho bag of toxic masculinity when he looks so damn good.
I hate myself for thinking it, given his demeanor and the way he tricked me when we first met. Yet I have to admit, Trent is a lean, strong tree I’d love to climb. His occasional goofiness balances out how ridiculously hot he really is. I mean, he has a movie star physique and the classic square-jawed hero look. If he weren’t a gonzo idiot from time to time, he’d be insufferable.
Even unshaven and wearing mud-spattered shorts, he manages to look utterly delicious. Drooling over Trent should make a nice distraction while we hike back to civilization…
So long as I don’t let on even a little bit how attractive I think he is. He’d never let me hear the end of it. In fact, I don’t really know that much about Trent. What if he’s leading me into a trap?
Could he work for the human traffickers? Doubtful, or I’d be dead by now. He seems to genuinely want to do the right thing, under that thick veneer of machismo. As in thick enough you could scrape for hours and not reach the bottom.
Once we’ve rested, Trent shoulders his pack and offers me a hand to my feet. He looks down at my boots and nods in approval.
“I see you picked excellent footgear for hiking through the jungle.”
“And I see you didn’t,” I say, staring at his hairy toes sticking out of his flip flops. Now that I think about, how he managed to keep them on during our crash is nothing short of a miracle!
“I’ll get by, don’t worry. I’d go barefoot but there’s a particularly venomous slug that lives in the underbrush around here.”
I gasp in alarm. “Really?”
“Oh, its spines won’t penetrate the soles of your boots, just uh, just be careful where you sit. Look before you squat should become your mantra.”
“Fantastic.” I rub my eyes and follow his broad-shouldered back as we begin our hike through the rainforest. Trent blazes the trail, using a stick he scavenged from the forest floor to check footing as he goes. Despite what seems a moderate pace, I find myself covered in sweat and gasping for breath in short order.
“So, this Factory you keep mentioning,” Trent says out of nowhere. “What’s it like?”
I sigh. I guess I’m going to have to bring Trent into this mission as an asset. That means I’m free to tell him some things, at least.
“They’re a group that tries to do the right thing, they just…don’t always use the most, shall we say, legal methods.”
“And you’re an agent of this Factory?”
“No!” I protest, but then I think about it and concede. “Well, sort of. But just this week. See, they trained me to be an accountant, paid for my schooling and everything. For free. Almost.”
“What do you mean almost?”
“They will never ask me for money. They are richer than many European countries. What they trade in are Favors,” I explain.
“Okay, let me see if I get this right. You’re down here in the rainforest getting shot at by human traffickers trying to repay a favor?”
“That about sums it up, yes. Normally, I’m freelance. I travel on auditing missions commissioned by the major accounting firms throughout the world. The Factory called in their favor, and here I am.”
“What about your folks? Couldn’t they pay for your schooling?”
I tense up. How do you explain to a perfect stranger that you were so unwanted your parents dropped you at a church door?
“They died.” And for all I know it could be truth.
