“Do you remember a man named Ryan Myers?”
Myers, Myers… I roll the name around his head a few times but nothing of note springs to mind. “Who the fuck is he?”
“Was. Small time dealer in Miami. Thought he could make it with the big boys until he got in our way. Irritated you, if I remember rightly, which never leads to a happy ending. You ordered a hit on him five years ago. Sent me to do it. Before I landed he panicked and went to ground with a suitcase of blow and three prostitutes and died in a hospital bed two weeks later.”
What a way to go.
“And I give a damn about this lowlife because…?”
“Miller isn’t Eve’s birth name, Dante. It’s Myers.”
Joseph stops talking then out of respect. I’m more than capable of connecting the dots, or rather decoding the imminent warning signs myself.
“You sure about this?” My voice is like stone.
“Eve and Ryan were siblings, no doubt about it. And that’s not all–”
I hold up my hand for silence. “Let me get rid of my brother first.”
The truth is I need a few moments to dissect this revelation. Our lives have intersected before and I’ve been the cause of untold pain for her. That’s not sitting well with me. That’s not sitting well at all.
“Emilio,” I snarl, hitting the speakerphone button.
“Dante.”
One word. That’s all it takes to make the nausea rise up from the pit of my stomach. Just one fucking word in that deep, unpleasant rasp of his. My brother’s accent is far more pronounced than mine. He’s never felt the inclination to leave Colombia, whilst I couldn’t wait to get the hell outta there as soon as I could. Our father made damn sure I put in a return appearance until my bullet exited the back of his skull. I set up residence in Africa not long after to conduct my side of the business. The distance suits me. Certain dealings force me to visit Colombia from time to time but I limit these as much as I can. There are too many blood-soaked memories lying in wait for me there and I prefer to spend as little time in the company of my brother as I can.
“You better be covered in bullet holes, asshole,” Emilio hisses, dispensing with the lingering pleasantries. “Why else would you leave that DEA scum alive?”
The heat rushes to my fists. That red mist is descending fast. Unreasonable doesn’t even cover my brother, I’ll happily chuck in sadistic, over controlling and paranoid too.
“Well?” he taunts. “Is there a priest, bedside, reading you your last rights or have you made a miraculous recovery?”
I exhale loudly. “I just bought you Garcia’s head on a plate.”
“I don’t like loose ends. It looks careless.”
I bite back my retort. Emilio feeds off conflict and I can’t be fucked to give him the satisfaction today. “The DEA got the message. I targeted three other agents before I left Miami.”
There’s a pause. “Are you going soft on me baby brother?”
What the…?
“I was ambushed!” I roar, unable to contain my anger any longer. “Shit hit the fan – it was him or me. I chose the latter.”
I know which one Emilio would have preferred. Our father was a sick bastard but he’s never forgiven me for putting that fat fuck six feet under.
“Nicolas told me about the girl. He said you refused to leave Miami without her.”
Nicolas needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. Perhaps he needs my bullet as an incentive.
My eyes flicker to Joseph. There’s a slight shake of his head. Good. We’re on the same page as far as Eve Miller is concerned. Full non-disclosure until I figure out what to do with her.
“You’re developing a nasty habit of picking up women on the job, Dante. You need to get off that compound. Move somewhere with more pussy. That way your dick won’t be infringing on business anymore.”
“I’m saying goodbye now, Emilio.” Hell will be a fucking ice rink before I take advice on women from him. “I’ll be back in Colombia next week. The new merchandise is scheduled in Florida tomorrow.”
“Fine, Sanders is standing by to receive it.” There’s a pause. “Are you screwing her?”
He sounds genuinely curious and that’s not a good thing. I don’t want Eve Miller to stand out to him anymore than she has already.
“When I can find a gag that’s big enough,” I drawl, sliding my eyeline away from Joseph. “She talks too much.”
Emilio’s laugh goes straight through me. “Gag or no gag, I bet she screams pretty. You’re a real piece of work, Dante… I pity any woman who catches your attention.”
Likewise, I think grimly. Emilio has three ex-wives. Three ex-beauty queens who have all gone missing, presumed dead. You stay on the right side of my brother or you pay with your life.
“Asshole,” I mutter, hanging up on him.
Joseph just smirks. I know he agrees with me but he’ll never say the words out loud.
“Go on then, enlighten me,” I say, leaning back in my chair and putting my hands behind my head. Bracing myself for the next revelation about my angel. “What else do you have on Miss Miller?”
9
Eve
I collapse against the white tiles and let the water run in deep rivulets down my face. I stay like that for as long as I can stand the heat and the pressure. Washing the sin and him from my skin. Every part of me aches, most of all between my legs. My tears start to intermingle with the water as memories from last night come flooding back. Is this what my life is to be like from now on? To be used and abused whenever he chooses and then locked away like a dirty secret? He didn’t use a condom. God knows what diseases he’s given me. Does he even care? At least there’s no chance of me falling pregnant, I can thank my contraceptive shot for that.
Wrapping a towel around myself, I step out of the en suite and then freeze. A gorgeous white sundress has been laid out for me on the bed and a plate of delicious-smelling pastries and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice has been placed on my nightstand. My expression hardens. Is this my reward for my total and utter submission, for allowing him to fuck me exactly how he wanted?
“Do you like it?”
I spin round in shock. He’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, staring straight at me. The air seems to vanish from the room as my periphery narrows and focuses. He’s all I can see. I can’t tear my eyes away. He’s wearing black jeans and a white t-shirt that hugs his ripped torso like a second skin. He’s so beautiful I can barely breathe. His stillness is unnerving, his expression unreadable.
“Well?”
“Why would I?” I retort angrily. “I’m your prisoner not your whore. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t treat me as such.”
He raises his eyebrows at my little outburst. “I pay my whores for subservience, Eve. I can hardly accuse you of that.”
His whores? That thought settles uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach and my cheeks start to redden.
“It’s a conciliatory gesture, my angel,” he adds, sweeping his eyes over my face and noting my discomfort. “Don’t read into it any further than that.”
“You didn’t use protection,” I blurt out. “Did you do so with your whores?”
“That’s not something you need to concern yourself with.”
“That’s not an answer! This is my health we’re talking about. My future!”
He sighs. “I’m clean and so are you, Eve. I have a file of your medical records sitting on my desk downstairs.”
He does?
“So where’s my file on you then? Am I supposed to just trust you on this?”
“Yes. I’ll leave you to eat your breakfast and get dressed.”
He turns and exits the room and I stare after him long after he’s gone. So there are rules in this twisted game of roulette he’s forcing me to play. I won’t contract an STD but he’ll shoot me in the head if I don’t do exactly as he says. Even so, a tiny spark of hope is smoldering away inside. Despite my angry words I appreciate
the clothes and the breakfast – god knows it’ll be heaven to wear anything other than a crumpled bed sheet. There’s something else that’s causing this budding optimism as well.
He’s gone and left his bedroom door wide open.
I dress quickly before he returns. He’s laid out white lingerie for me too, plus a pair of navy-blue espadrilles to go with the sundress. I slide the garment over my head, glancing at the label as I do. Designer of course, no doubt costing more than I spend on utilities in a month. Still, the silky material feels so seductive against my skin and the size fits perfectly. I never would have chosen this dress myself. It’s too low cut. The waist cinches in to show off my slenderness, which in turn emphasizes my generous chest and it stops a good six inches above my knees. At home I would have hurled it to the floor and left the changing room in disgust but here, with the relentless heat beating down on the glass windows, it’s almost impossible to refuse. I keep the shoes off, though. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of accepting every single gift he offers me.
Next, I sit on the edge of the bed and devour the pastries. I’m so hungry I consume every last morsel, spilling crumbs all over the silver tray and floor. I’m just draining the last of my orange juice when I hear heavy footsteps in the corridor outside. I scrabble to feet as he enters the room. He stops short when he sees me standing there and I watch his dark eyes raking up and down my body. I can tell he likes what he sees because that mysterious current has started to wax and wane between us again.
“Dresses suits you,” he states, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him. “You should wear them more often.”
I shake my head, feeling inexplicably shy all of a sudden. “I don’t like to stand out. To anyone.”
“Everybody stands out to someone.”
“What if it’s not reciprocated?” I tilt my chin in his direction. “Are women like me forced to suffer because of it? I have no wish to be highly prized thanks to some pretty piece of material. I have better designs for my life than that.”
Or I did until you crash-landed into it.
Those full lips start twisting again. “Duly noted. I’d be gravely disappointed if you didn’t. Not after that excellent education of yours.”
“Don’t do that,” I say, feeling dirty and violated again. “Don’t drop hints like you know everything about my life. It’s creepy and invasive. You may have some list detailing what school and college I went to but you will never know what’s in my heart, my thoughts, my desires, my favorite film, book…”
“To Kill A Mocking Bird,” he says abruptly.
“Excuse me?”
“Your favorite book.”
I frown. “How did you…?”
“It’s a genuine guess, though rather apt don’t you agree?” He’s mocking me again, I can tell. “I imagine everything feels like one long injustice to you at the moment, my angel.”
Fuck you I want to scream.
“And I know you like the dress.”
You infuriating, smug, son of a bitch... I glare at him as a flood of warmth settles deep within my core, sharpening my senses and quickening my pulse rate. I hate him. I want him. What the hell is wrong with me?
He takes a step in my direction and I take a step back. I’m frightened suddenly. In another time and place this man would be so easy to fall for. Regardless, he continues to prowl my way, his sinfully seductive eyes never once leaving my face. I’m backed up against the mattress now. There’s nowhere left to run.
“Join me for dinner,” he says softly, reaching out to brush away a stray crumb from my upper lip then frowning as I cringe away from his touch.
“No thank you.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
“Then I was right, I have no free will, not as long as you’re attracted to me.”
“I believe you were referring to a one-sided state of affair before,” he says, cocking his handsome head to one side. “I think we re-established those parameters last night, don’t you? Or do you need another reminder?”
He’s so close to me now. I can feel the raw heat radiating off his body and his rich scent is scrambling my senses. I watch him glance down at the outline of my nipples, so prominent through the thin fabric of my dress. He knows full well the effect that he has on me and he’s relishing every minute of it.
“Where are you from?” I gasp, changing the subject. “What country?”
He frowns. “I’ll tell you over dinner.”
“I don’t want to have dinner with you.”
“And I said you don’t have a choice, mi alma. Do I have to fuck you into submission again? Do you need a reminder of just how much you bend to my every whim?”
I inhale sharply. His words are like a lit match to my lust. I’m still aching from last night but this burning need to feel him inside me is overriding everything. “Screw you,” I gasp but my voice is as weak and breathless as my resolve, and it’s fading fast.
He starts tutting at me. “Don’t say such tempting things to me. You have no idea how much I’d like to lift that dress up and see how tightly your new lingerie caresses the curves of your body. Are you wet already? I bet you a million dollars you are. So white, so angelic… Just how I requested. My maid has exquisite taste, don’t you think?”
My eyes widen in shock. No man has ever spoken to me like that before. He’s right, though. My core is throbbing for him, stronger now than ever. He reaches out and slowly draws a line with his finger from my cheek all the way down to my collarbone, then lower still to my left breast before cupping and kneading the tender tissues, lightly running his thumb over my erect nipple and making me shudder.
He inclines his head and drops a kiss to my temple, intimidating me with the sheer scope of his masculinity again. With his other hand he catches the hem on my dress and draws it all the way up my thigh before sliding a teasing finger across the front of my underwear. I drop my hand to his to stop his progression but my efforts are half-hearted at best.
“Just as I thought,” he murmurs, nudging my legs apart with his foot. “You’re soaking for me, my angel. I could take you right now and just slide on in.”
As if to prove the point he pulls the material to one side and slips his finger between my folds. My head tumbles forward into the hardness of his shoulder as he withdraws and thrusts again, one finger becoming two. My cries are muffled by the soft fabric of his t-shirt as my inner muscles start gripping at him helplessly.
“Do you like that, my angel?” he murmurs.
“Yes,” I pant, aching for more, “don’t stop.”
He laughs softly. “As you wish.”
My grip on his hand slackens as he forces a slow and steady rhythm, his thumb occasionally brushing against my clitoris and shooting heart-stopping sensations throughout my pelvis. I can feel his other hand on the nape of my neck now, pressing my face tighter against his body as he rests his forehead against the top of my hair. I want to grab him and pull him closer, rip open his flies and have him climb inside of me, yet a part of me still refuses to acquiesce to this man. If I’m to learn more about my brother’s killer then I can’t let him claim me completely.
My breathing is all over the place as he continues to drive his fingers in and out of my body. I’m so close now… He could tip me over the edge at any moment. As if sensing this he presses the hard heat of his palm against my clitoris.
“Come for me,” he orders roughly and I do just that, crying out as my inner muscles convulse around his fingers, clutching his hand to hold him still and deepen the sensations as I’m consumed by the raging wildfire inside. My forehead is still tightly pressed against his chest as a solitary tear rolls down my cheek. I’m terrified by this man’s ability to turn my emotions inside out, making me dismiss all reason and doubt the second his skin touches mine.
“Now, about that dinner,” he purrs, his hot breath like a soft caress against my ear lobe.
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” I say weakly.
He smirks and grasps my upper arms, tipping me backwards onto the bed before reaching for his belt. “Then, my angel, I’ll just have to persuade you a little harder.”
He keeps me in bed with him for hours but the more pleasure he gives me the more I’m learning to despise my body. It keeps betraying me in the worst possible way and screaming out in ecstasy whenever he puts his hands on me. My lust and my hate are so tightly intertwined. All the edges are blurred. There’s a well of darkness inside him that I’m both drawn to and repulsed by.
I can’t hope to have any perspective whilst he’s dictating and dominating every part of my life. I have no sway over what happens to me here in this compound, from my choice of clothes right down to the food I’m allowed to eat. The only things I’m allowed to keep for myself are my thoughts and my heart, but he seems hell-bent on gunning for those as well.
He’s sleeping now. His chest is pressed tightly against my back and one arm is thrown carelessly around my waist, holding my close to his hard body. I’m motionless in his embrace but my mind is spinning wildly. My gaze is fixed on the bedroom door. He kicked it shut earlier before he removed the last of his clothes but he never locked it. Either he’s getting careless or there really is no escape from him but right now I’m feeling reckless enough to find out. A few minutes, that’s all I need… just a brief reprieve from my prison cell to sharpen my senses and harden my resolve.
My breath is coming out in shallow gasps at the thought of what he’ll do to me when he finds out. His rage will be terrible. I have to try it, though. I have to claim a few minutes to myself for the sake of my sanity.
With my heart crashing against my rib cage, I slowly work to free myself from his embrace, removing his arm and slithering sideways out of bed. He grunts and rolls over onto his front. I crouch there on the floor, immobile and staring, temporarily transfixed by his sleeping beauty, intimidated by the sheer length and breadth of him sprawled out across the mattress. His carved features are softened by sleep. There’s no rigidity in his expression anymore, only peace. A lock of his black hair has fallen over his face and his olive skin is stretched tight over his thick forearms and biceps. This man could snap me in two if he wanted and that thought sends an unpleasant shiver down my spine. He’s much older than me but there are no grey hairs in those silky dark waves. Still, the lines on his forehead suggest hardships and struggle. This man has endured to reach this bedroom with me.
Hearts Of Darkness (The Santiago Trilogy Book 1) Page 6