Hearts On Fire
The Santiago Trilogy: book 3
Catherine Wiltcher
Copyright 2019 © by Catherine Wiltcher
www.catherinewiltcher.com
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review. The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, the author shall not have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.
ISBN: 978-1-9164455-4-3 (eBook)
ISBN: 978-1-9164455-5-0 (Paperback)
Cover design by Steamy Designs.
Contents
Untitled
1. Dante – Afghanistan 2002
2. Dante
3. Eve
4. Dante
5. Joseph
6. Eve
7. Eve
8. Eve
9. Eve
10. Dante
11. Eve
12. Eve
13. Eve
14. Dante
15. Dante
16. Dante
17. Eve
18. Joseph
19. Dante
20. Joseph
21. Eve
22. Eve
23. Dante – Afghanistan 2002
24. Eve
25. Dante – Afghanistan 2002
26. Dante
27. Eve
28. Eve
29. Eve
30. Dante – Afghanistan 2002
31. Eve
32. Eve
33. Dante
34. Eve
35. Dante – Afghanistan 2002
36. Dante
37. Joseph – Afghanistan 2002
38. Dante
39. Eve
40. Dante – One Month Later
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
“The thing to know was what he belonged to, how many powers of darkness claimed him for their own…”
― Joseph Conrad
This is the concluding part of the Santiago Trilogy, and a continuation of Dante & Eve’s journey.
Book 1: Hearts Of Darkness
Book 2: Hearts Divine
Book 3: Hearts On Fire
1
Dante – Afghanistan 2002
The bruised sky splits open like a gaping wound. The rumble of thunder masks the stillness for a few brief, savage moments. It fades like the promise of a reckoning before a second flash of lightning puts that shit to rest. At the same time the M-ATV hits another dip in the road, rattling the crap out of the suspension and forcing me to adjust my position. I take a drag from my canteen, my eyes fixed on the scorched horizon. Panning left to right, stretching out as far as the eye can see. Not a fucking tree in sight. Religion bleeds from every pore of this place but it feels like God abandoned it a long time ago.
The steady rumble of the engine continues as we weave a course through the wilderness. My team has been moving in convoy for two days now. We’re on a reconnaissance trip for B Squadron. The target is a potential Taliban stronghold that the US Government has deemed hot property. We’ve been sent in to scope it out and weigh up the civilian cost, but every single man here knows that’s bullshit. This mission is nothing but a decoy to appease the US media and their tireless anti-drone rhetoric. Somewhere in Washington there’s a trigger-happy general just itching to deliver retribution, whether he blows up a hundred innocents or not.
“You done with that, Captain?”
I feel a light tap on my shoulder. Wordlessly, I pass the canteen to one of the two men sat behind me. As I do, I catch the eye of the other guy. Chilly blue-grays slam into mine, and my eyebrows lift a notch. Pretty boy has some balls looking at me like that. He’s a rookie, an unknown. He was only drafted in for the job after Lewis got the back of his head blown off by a rogue insurgent at a roadblock a week ago.
“What’s your name again, soldier?” I grit out.
There’s a pause. “Grayson, sir.”
“Look at me like that again, Grayson, and we got a serious problem.”
Blue-grays don’t flicker, even when his comrade elbows him in the ribs. “Yes, sir,” he mutters, refusing to lower his gaze. There’s another pause. “I heard about you.”
“You heard shit.”
An uneasy silence settles over the vehicle. I have a reputation, and it’s one that will continue long after I leave the US Military. I go where others fear to tread, I live my life so far on the edge I’m already pitching into thin air, and I don’t know the meaning of mercy. Even the President knows my name – it’s a false fucking name, but still. Leaders only hear what they want to hear.
My Sergeant Major’s voice comes over the radio from the vehicle behind, slicing through the heavy atmosphere like a blade. “Three miles out, Captain. Dust storm incoming.”
“Roger that. Over.”
I rub my hand across my jaw. Is this the part where I feel apprehensive? Fuck that shit. I have the same numbness inside that I always do. The only time I feel is when I kill, when dark satisfaction furls around my soul like thick, black smoke.
I read an article once about people with the gift to see color in their emotions. I remember thinking at the time that it was a neat trick. They experience something like grief and their whole world turns a shade of blue. If I had that ability, if I could span a lifetime, there would only be one color in my palate.
Crimson.
The same color that used to pour from my dead mother’s mouth after my father’s fists went to town on her.
I glance at my driver. His grip on the steering wheel is tight. His face is set. Lips pale. For those who can actually still feel a goddamn thing out here there are two constants – fear and pain. I’ve seen grown men weep. I’ve seen others torn apart and die with dignity. And that color? Crimson. I don’t even have to imagine it. So rich and vivid, so omnipresent… Staining the battleground beneath their broken bodies, haunting their eyes, polluting their last breath.
I reach out and angle the rear-view mirror to see how the High School jock is holding up. Cool as ice. Grayson looks likes he’s on his way to a date with the Prom Queen. Shoulders relaxed, finger resting lightly on the trigger. He shakes a fly off his left hand and the sunlight catches on the gold of a wedding band. How old is this guy, twenty-two? Twenty-three? And hitched already? Tsk tsk, pretty boy. To me, that’s the worst kind of weakness.
He glances up and his eyes lock onto mine. He catches the sardonic tilt of my lips and now it’s his turn to lift his eyebrows.
Motherfucker.
I open my mouth to rip him a new asshole when a searing white light outside catches my eye. That wasn’t lightning. I grab the wheel to steer us out of the rocket’s path but it’s too late. Screaming hell fire rains down upon us as the M-ATV pitches sideways with a violent jerk. A blinding pain pierces through my left leg and I have one final thought before everything goes black.
Turns out I can still feel something after all.
2
Dante
“Will you
continue to let the past dictate, Dante?” Andrei Petrov’s composure is slipping. He’s starting to sound petulant and it doesn’t suit him. “Time is of the essence. Kill or be killed.”
I take a sip of my bourbon and stare out at the indigo vista beyond my office walls. Miles and miles of the Pacific are stretching out before me. It’s a horizon that would intimidate a lesser man.
Kill or be killed?
Christ, the bullshit that comes out of this Russian’s mouth. I’ve been shot six times and I’m still presiding over my Island of Immorality. I’ve been laughing in the face of death for so long, I almost welcome him as a friend.
“Did you hear what I said?” Petrov’s rasp is an unwelcome tempest crashing against my rocks. “Stand united with me or we all rue the consequences.”
I’ve had enough of his supplications. “Put Sanders on,” I snarl, not bothering to dignify them with a response. He doesn’t deserve it. My one weakness in this world, my one reason for living, is currently asleep in my bed with fucking bruises all over her body. Bruises that I’m holding this man directly responsible for.
Petrov growls in frustration, and the line goes silent for a moment. I curl my tongue around another mouthful of bourbon, savouring the kick of the alcohol as I lean backward against my desk. Something else needs to share the weight of my own frustration today.
“Dante.”
Rick’s pissed. He practically spits my name at me, but I know I’m not the focus.
“How bad is it?” I say sharply. “I don't want tantrums. I want details.”
“Fucking anarchy.” Rick draws in a breath and shoots for composure before continuing. “His Bratva took control of New York City last night. They made their presence known with every dealer and supplier of mine. Three hundred dead. Miami and South Beach are a rout. Even my goddamn nightclubs are burning.”
Every word he delivers is a landmine he’s itching to detonate. Rick’s nice guy persona belies what a savage he is underneath it all. They’ll be hell to pay for this violation, and he’ll be the pale rider leading the final charge alongside Petrov and me. In the last twenty-four hours Rick’s cocaine empire has been seized in a coup d’état that’s caught us all with our dicks in our hands.
“Sevastien.” The name leaves my mouth like a bullet taking aim. We’ve crippled his trafficking business and his reprisal has been swifter than we’d anticipated. “Any news on the girl?”
“Peters has the Feds all over it. They roughed her up pretty bad. There’s blood and shit all over Eve’s apartment.” Rick’s voice takes on a sinister ‘fuck you’ quality. As far as he’s concerned, that girl is unfinished business, and Rick never leaves a pussy unsatisfied. “It might be a blessing if she is dead… Things ain’t going to go pretty for her.”
Like my daughter.
Like Petrov’s.
“History doesn’t get to repeat itself here, not on my watch.” I straighten my back and slam my empty tumbler down on the desk, the harsh sound echoing throughout my office. “Eve’s been through hell already.” I won't let her down again. “I want hourly updates. I’ve sent a team to Florida to assist with the search.” I glance at my wristwatch. “They’re scheduled to arrive at 08:00. And stick close to Petrov,” I add, lowering my voice a fraction. “I want eyes and ears on him constantly. I’ll be back in Miami to deal with him myself soon.”
“And Sevastien? That prick can’t lay low forever.”
“We have a potential sighting in Morocco. Grayson is on his way there now.”
Joseph was halfway out of the door when the intel came through. We get Sevastien. We get the girl. Intuition tells me that my second-in-command’s priorities don’t revolve solely around me anymore. He and Rick can duel it out when she’s back in Florida, hopefully with all four limbs still attached. I know how this Bratva operate.
“That’s all well and good, Dante, but in the meantime those bastards are profiting from my fucking business.”
Rick’s belligerence brings me the first smirk of the day. Nothing makes the American lose his hard-on faster than watching his money go up in smoke.
“You’ll get it back. With interest. I’ll make sure of it… Tell Petrov I’ll call him later.”
I slam the receiver down and turn away from the window. There’s work to be done, a man to destroy, an innocent to rescue… My heart is as heavy as it is full these days.
“Dante?”
Her soft voice calls to me from the doorway. It’s a voice I’d slay a hundred thousand Bratva for. I rake my eyes across her face – seeking her love, her truth, her everything.
“You’re awake.”
“You let me sleep too long.”
For all the fucking good it’s done her. Her face is pale. Too pale. Unshed tears glisten in her eyes. Eve is a strong woman, the strongest damn woman I’ve ever known, yet this latest turn of events has taken a toll on her steely fragility. I choose to ignore the note of accusation in her voice.
“I feel so guilty...” Her small hands are working into fists as she tussles with her emotions. They’re bucking against her like wild horses in a rodeo. “I should have been helping to find…” She tails off as she glances about the room, temporarily side-tracked.
I follow her gaze and frown. I should have had my office cleared out this morning. Joseph should have insisted on it before he left. There’s glass and debris everywhere. My wall of screens is now a wall of destruction, smarting with exposed wires and twisted brackets. My bar in the corner is smashed to shit, every bottle drunk dry. Cabinets lie overturned like metal carcasses strewn across a deserted battlefield. Only my glass desk and chair are still standing.
“What the hell happened in here?”
“You left,” I state bluntly.
I watch her eyes widen as my charge hits home. “You made me, you asshole!”
“Well, aren’t I the fucking fool?”
“Your words, not mine.”
“Careful, Eve,” I murmur, pushing back at an unwanted memory as my dick starts to swell. My moment of lunacy when I banished her from my island is a place I’ll never revisit again.
“Is there still a part of you that holds me accountable for what he’s done?” she ventures cautiously. Timidly. Fearfully.
“No.” I mean it too. “The sins of your father are his alone. Come here.” I beckon her over and she moves slowly, gracefully, despite her injuries. I catch the wince on her face and it ricochets through my body like it was my own pain.
It’s been three days since the events of Miami. Three days since I rescued her from that den of iniquity. Her bruises have yet to fade, the psychological effects even less so. But she comes to me without hesitation because her heart is mine now. We’re bonded together by something far greater than the diamonds on her finger.
I fold her into my embrace just to breathe her in, filling my senses with her scent until my head is spinning with citrus and light. Her arms snake around my waist, slotting us together, the only fucking jigsaw puzzle that makes sense to me. I want to pound my fist into a sheet of glass, to mix pain with pleasure for the ultimate high, because that’s how right she feels pressed up against me.
“I’m scared for her, Dante,” I hear her mumble into my chest. “I saw what those bastards do to women.”
What they did to her.
You’re still a dead man, Petrov.
I won’t forgive.
I’ll never forget.
“We will find her, mi alma,” I croon, filling the air with my reassurance.
“What if it’s too late?” She pulls back to look at me, her eyes darting across my face. I search this woman for truth. She’s searching me for hope.
“She’s tougher than she looks.”
Eve shakes her head. “It’s all a front. You don’t know her like I do.”
“My fucking jaw does.” I finger the remnants of my own bruise. “I paid her a visit when I first flew into Miami.”
“You never said!”
I shrug. “I
knew you were up to your neck with Petrov, and I had a guess she’d know a little something about it. What I didn’t count on was her right hook as a welcome present.”
“She hit you?” Her mouth drops in amazement.
“Said I deserved it for making you fall in love with me the way I did.”
“Way to go, Anna!” She exhales sharply in quiet awe and I raise my eyebrows at her. If I didn’t owe this woman everything, if I didn’t love this woman as much I did, if she didn’t lay waste to every fragment of my darkness, there would be some serious consequences for that fucking reaction.
“You didn’t hurt her, did you?” She gently pushes at my chest.
“Never.” I reach out and rim her mouth with my finger to stop her chewing on her lower lip, wishing I was rimming her cunt with my tongue instead. I’d never hurt anyone Eve loves, except her son-of-a-bitch father, but I have a hunch that parental tie severed permanently sometime over the last few days. Petrov told me about the photos. More damning evidence of Myer’s collusion with Sevastien… I’m planning to make him choke on them before I slit his throat.
“Promise me, Dante?”
“I earned that hit after everything I put you through last year.” I chuckle darkly, taking her jaw between my hands and bringing her closer, closing my eyes as her warm breath ignites my skin.
Hearts On Fire (The Santiago Trilogy Book 3) Page 1