Badass: Jungle Fever (Complete): A Billionaire Military Romance Page 2

  I keep my face blank and shove myself up from the small sofa, locating a pack of make-up wipes from amidst the seemingly thousand bottles of cosmetics. I hand them to her and tell the truth. “Yeah. You look like a Picasso painting.”

  Chapter Two – Camille

  “Camera rolling?”

  Glancing back at my production assistant, Janine checks the equipment and gives me a wink and a nod. Then we’re up, sweeping into the sky from the base of the metro cable, in one of the many gondolas floating above the city of Medellin, Colombia.

  I begin snapping digital pictures as the video camera Janine is manning captures our ascent across this heartbreakingly beautiful city.

  Heartbreaking and beautiful.

  It’s one of the reasons I chose this city to be included in my documentary, Humans in Contrast.

  For a growing portion of the city, the citizens are happy, generous and doing well. For that majority, there are clay roofs and clean water. Family and traditions that keep a smile on these lovely peoples’ faces.

  The city is experiencing a period of reinvention. A large cinema complex and many tourist attractions are dotted around the area. Good places to eat and about twenty modern shopping centers large enough to keep those with disposable incomes very happy. Nightlife in Medellin is also very active with many bars, pubs and discos to choose from.

  The city was named ‘Most Visionary City’ a few years back and commended for their dedication to progression. One part of their innovation is the glass box I’m currently riding in.

  Then, there is another side, the heartbreaking side, where fear and poverty run rampant. There, the situation is desperate. Violence is pervasive. Those sections of the city are dirty, the roofs made of asbestos, the floor of the earth. Fear is the common denominator in those violence infested areas. In contrast to the United States, the rich here mostly live in the central, flatter areas while those less fortunate are cast off into the surrounding hillside.

  Looking through the viewfinder of my camera, I gaze out at the panorama stretching out to meet the rise of the Andes mountains all around us. We’re five thousand feet above sea level in the Aburra Valley in the ‘city of eternal spring’. The weather is splendid, the sky the bluest of blues, and below me is a patchwork of homes and businesses that cover nearly every inch.

  My production team and I arrived just last night for our five-day stay to capture the beautiful and ugly, the wealthy and desperate. It’s the sixth city I’ve visited in the past year. I’ve been to Madagascar and Malawi as well as Ethiopia, Guinea and Haiti. I’ve also captured the inner city of New York and Chicago in addition to the hills of Appalachia.

  “There’s Arvi Park,” Janine says and I turn my camera, always at the ready for some shots. In a couple days, we’ll visit the park, which is a nature preserve and pre-Hispanic archeological site. It’s one of the locations we’ll be filming for B-roll. One of the ‘good’ sides of Medellin.

  For hours, we ride up and down on each of the three metro cables, capturing various angles and taking advantage of the change in lighting. I can’t wait until tomorrow night, when we’ll be shooting at sundown. I can already imagine the sky bursting in color and the glimmer of its fading light on the river as well as the thousands upon thousands of bright clay roofs.

  As we pass by the cathedral again, I drop my camera and, this time, simply stare in awe. The Catedral Basílica Metropolitana de la Inmaculada Concepción de María is tremendous in size and the attention to detail is exquisite. It took over fifty years to build and was constructed with over a million adobe bricks, making it one of the largest baked clay structures in the world. I can’t wait for the chance to go inside and have the opportunity to see its majesty for myself.

  Other ‘good’ parts of the city we’ll be visiting is the Museum of Antioquia, the Modern Art Museum and Ciudad Del Rio Park. I’m also looking forward to capturing the Botanical Gardens on film. We’ll be touring Medellin’s Casa de la Memoria — House of Memory Museum — a space that reconstructs the violent history of Medellin and promotes peaceful co-existence. I’ve scheduled an interview with a leader within the museum to speak more about the decades of armed violence that has haunted the city for generations. Haunts parts of it still.

  Then, it will be time to go into one of the very poor sections of the city, although the government is taking steps to help these residents as well. The metro cable I’m riding is an example, providing clean, efficient transportation across the city and hopefully better paying jobs to those whose opportunities were limited in the past. In another poor section, an electric escalator hauls people up and down the steep slope on which they live, giving them real support to break out of the poverty boundary.

  I wipe away a tear that I didn’t even know was falling as I pass over a desperately poor section again, noting the way they’ve tried to pretty the area up by painting the roofs and exteriors of the shacks. Then my breath catches as a church door opens and a woman stumbles out, falling to her knees. With her face turned to the sky, she wails a cry so pitifully long, it causes a shiver to work its way up my spine, even from my elevated distance.

  Behind her, others file out, then two pallbearers carry a tiny casket. I lift my camera to capture the moment, then lower it again, unable to break into the privacy of the grieving mother.

  “Are you okay?”

  I wipe the tears again before turning and giving Janine an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, this section of this city is so sad. I feel like a voyeur up here, looking down, judging. Even my sympathy feels somehow misplaced.”

  Janine grins, but it has a hint of ugliness behind it. “Well, we all can’t be born with a billion bucks in the bank.”

  Irritation flows through me. Irritation at her and at myself. I shouldn’t have gotten involved with her, not with someone I work with. Not with anyone.

  I know better.

  As an heiress to the Duffy fortune, I’ve spent my life keeping most people at a distance. It’s easier that way. Easier to be alone than to wonder who will turn on me next. Wonder who my true friends are. Wonder who will want something from me. Who will name drop or sell me out.

  That happened earlier this year when the affair I’d started with a model ended up on the front page of the tabloids. I try to keep my affairs private, more for the sake of my family than any embarrassment to myself, but there I was, front page with my lips on the neck of a popular lingerie model. We were both topless, our breasts pressed together. I’d been terribly hurt to discover she had tipped off the paparazzi and staged the entire thing. And ever since my playboy brother got married and settled down, the press’ attention has been landing squarely on me. Especially since they learned I like both men and women.

  I know, I know … pitiful little me. Poor little rich girl, crying because the silver spoon won’t come out of her mouth. Pouting about her lack of privacy. Boo hoo hoo.

  That’s what Janine and most people would probably think if I voiced those thoughts out loud. Those doubts. Those insecurities. The responsibility.

  I get it. Even when I think the least bit negatively about my life, guilt immediately follows. I’m extremely wealthy. I’m attractive enough to have been offered modeling contracts I didn’t accept. I get invitations to all the exciting events. I’m the luckiest girl on the planet.

  I’m happy.

  Very happy.

  Dammit.

  “When we get to Santa Elena, I want to get off this time,” I tell Janine, changing the subject and forcing a bright smile on my face. “I need a break and I’d like to explore the Avri, see the best location for our night time vista shots.”

  “Is it safe?” she asks and I look down at the ‘Go – No Go’ map in my hand. There are ten sections of the city with big red X’s marked over the top. Cities too dangerous to go into without heavily armed escorts and even then, you better make sure your life insurance and will is updated.

  “According to the handy map, it’s very touristy and listed as saf
e. But if you’re worried, we can wait until the security team arrives tomorrow.”

  She shakes her head, then lifts her hands into the air and stretches. “A break actually sounds wonderful.” Then she smiles at me. The comforting, warm smile that reminds me of why I was attracted to her in the first place.

  It was still stupid to mix business with pleasure and I’ll certainly never do it again. I don’t date people for long. I don’t want to get attached. And I absolutely don’t want to be tied down to anyone who resents my travel schedule or wants more demands of my time.

  When Janine joined the team for the Haiti trip, we’d been sitting by the fire drinking way, way, way too much Crémasse. I was surprised when she leaned over and kissed me. Very surprised when her hand crept up to my breast. I wish I could say I’d been smart enough to tell her no. I wasn’t. I let her take my hand and lead me to her tent. I let her undress me. Let her make love to me. Then, I’d made love to her.

  Afterwards, we talked for hours, laughed and touched, talked about things both serious and dumb. That’s what I like best about women. The after. Sure, the sex is good, but I honestly prefer sex with a man better. It’s the after. The closeness I’ve never experienced with a man.

  Despite what the tabloids say, I don’t have a new date on my arm every night. Besides Janine and the backstabbing model, I’ve only been with one other person in over a year. Tate Rodgers. My brother’s best friend. And I’ve not seen him in over six months.

  The asshole.

  Okay, asshole isn’t quite fair. He’s simply a man who knows what he wants and doesn’t waste time in getting it. He’s driven. He has a high level of integrity, so much so he only sees the world in black and white. He’s honest to a fault and expects total honesty in return. Trust me … never ask him if your ass looks big in something because he will absolutely tell you if it does.

  Besides all that, he’s controlling. In bed and out. I admit, the in bed part is kind of fun. But not all the time, and with Tate it’s only his way all of the time. And there never is an afterwards. He practically rolls off and leaves, the door not having time to slam him on his chiseled ass as he walks out.

  But dear heavens, he has a dick the size of an eggplant.

  Whew.

  I squirm a little every time I think of how it felt to be with him. Big fingers. Gorgeously long and thick cock. No barriers. Completely open to anything. And strong. God, so very strong. And surprisingly flexible for a man of his size.

  But … no afterwards. No tenderness. No slow, long kisses that last all day.

  And that doesn’t work for me.

  I crave tenderness. I crave being cared for. I crave the feeling of being worshipped and being able to worship right back.

  So we decided to remain friends, with the option for occasional hook ups if our schedules put us within a few hours of each other. And that probably won’t happen until Christmas, which is about seven months from now.

  “Almost there.”

  Janine’s soft words pull me from my daydream and I look up to see the station is about a hundred yards ahead. I stow away my camera and help Janine pack up hers. Then we jump off the gondola that never stops.

  My first priority is finding the bathroom and I’m thrilled to find they are surprisingly clean. I’ve mastered the squat after being in third world facilities so many times, but it’s nice to know I could have sat if number two had been calling for freedom.

  Back outside, I locate a bottle of water in my pack and hand one over to Janine. I start to remove my camera again to take a down slope shot of the metro cable system when a little voice says, “Hello, beautiful ladies. I give tours. Ten dolla.”

  I turn to find a boy no older than ten standing to my right. He’s beautiful. Big brown eyes and long black hair swept straight back from his forehead. A big wide smile spreading across his too thin face.

  “Tours, huh?”

  He nods eagerly. “Yes. Yes. Very good tours. Very happy show you beautiful gardens.” He reaches for the backpack sitting beside me. “I carry. Very helpful. Ten dolla only.”

  I look over at Janine and she lifts an ‘up to you’ shoulder and I dig some money from my purse. “Dollars or pesos?” I ask the little guy.

  “Pesos much happy.”

  Glancing down the length of the boy, I notice is clothes are very worn, but clean. I do a quick exchange calculation and count out thirty-two thousand Colombian pesos. He quickly stuffs them deep in his pocket, nodding and grinning. “Gracias. Mucho gracias. Good tour. Very good tour.”

  “What’s your name?” I ask him.

  “Juan, beautiful lady. Follow me.”

  He trots off, leaving us to tag along, pointing at this thing and that, speaking too quickly in his broken English while I pretend to understand everything he’s saying.

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re walking down a narrow trail. “Hey, kid, are we close?” Janine asks, her voice growing sharp in irritation.

  “Yes, yes. Very close. Good tour, I promise.”

  Janine exhales, long and deep. “Yes, you little shit. Good tour,” she mumbles under her breath and I give her a ‘cool it’ glance.

  “Entrance just there,” Juan points. “Almost there. See.”

  I’m relieved to see that he’s telling the truth and the directional signs are indeed pointing in that direction. I power up my camera, wanting some good shots of the entrance gate. Then I stop short.

  It’s closed.

  Shit!

  Juan scratches his head and looks back at us. “What day this is?”

  Janine grinds out, “Monday.”

  The boy’s eyes grow big. “I sorry. Sorry, sorry. No open Mondays. Fix things on that day.” His eyes flash past my shoulder and he takes three quick steps backwards.

  I feel it before I see it. A presence coming up behind us.

  “Vete, chico!”

  I whirl and terror fills me as I take in three men right behind us. Two medium sized and one as big as a house. How I didn’t at least hear him come up behind me, I’ll never know. But I didn’t and now Juan …

  I turn, but the kid is gone.

  “What do you want?” Janine asks in a shrill voice.

  The middle guy simply smiles and flicks his eyes down her body. Then, his eyes meet mine. “I want everything.”

  Chapter Three – Tate

  It’s one o’clock in the morning before the pop princess decides she’s had enough of her fans and we can happily hand her over to the hotel guards for the night. As we lead her to her suite’s door, she looks at Duff and says, “I’m sorry for being so aggressive tonight. I hope you and your wife are happy.”

  Only the slight widening of his eyes gives away his surprise. “Apology accepted, Miss Abraham. Best of luck to you on your remaining tour.”

  Ainslee turns to me and raises up on her tiptoes before circling her hands around my neck and pulling down my head for a kiss on the cheek. Then she holds my head down and whispers in my ear. “Thank you for letting me cry on your shoulder. I’ve already thought of the chorus of the song I’m going to write.”

  I pat her back and feel like I’m burping a baby, but unsure what else to do with my hands while she holds onto me for way more seconds than is comfortable. I finally pull away, gently taking her hands from around my neck and tell the truth. “I look forward to hearing it.” And dammit, I actually do.

  Finally hustling her inside to her night guards and giving final instructions to the one posted at her door, I turn to leave, Duff at my side. He’s smirking at me. “What the hell was that all about?” he asks.

  I shake my head and push the call button for the elevator. “I just gave her a life lesson that maybe she won’t forget by tomorrow.” Then I laugh at how ancient I sound. “How old am I again? I think I’ve officially crossed into ‘old geezer’ zone.”

  Duff laughs. “I hope thirty-three doesn’t equal old geezer, because I’m just a few years behind you.”

  “Duff, you geezered out w
hen you married and settled down with a shitload of kids screaming around the Tennessee hills. Next time I see you, you’ll be wearing overalls and that damn farmer’s hat Grace’s papaw gave you last Christmas.”

  He’s grinning so big I can’t help but grin too. He’s happy. And deserves every fucking minute of it. Duff has been through hell and walked out of its burning fire with plenty of scars to remember the journey. But finally, he’s stopped picking at the scabs and let them heal. Most of them anyway.

  “When are you breaking ground on the Alabama complex?” I ask him as I step off the elevator and head down the hall to the only room that was available in this entire hotel on such short notice.

  Duff has spent a huge majority of his fortune building apartment complexes for veterans who would otherwise be homeless, but the complexes don’t just stop at providing room and board. There are fitness centers that each man is required to utilize at least three times a week as well as a health clinic and a psychologist to help the men process the post-traumatic stress the majority of homeless vets are dealing with. They are served healthy meals in a central canteen and have rec rooms to beat their isolation. Additionally, each man is provided a PTSD trained canine companion that stays with them twenty-four-seven.

  The vet complexes haven’t eliminated the number of suicides completely among the vets who end up living there, but the deaths per capita have been greatly reduced. Good food. Exercise. Comrades. The dogs. Someone who understands and gives a shit has gone a long way toward helping these men get back on their feet, get jobs. Some might even get the chance to live with their family again someday.

  And for those who successfully complete the training, I hire them for my security firm, or Duff puts them to work in some of his other companies — many are hired by his construction crew to travel state to state to build similar complexes. Duff’s goal is to have a complex outside of every major city in America and his family, along with their massive resources, has stepped in big time with their support.