Hearts Of Darkness (The Santiago Trilogy Book 1)

by Catherine Wiltcher

  Or in the cabinets in his office?

  The reporter in me wants to tear this place apart until I find the answers to all my questions. What turns a man into one of the deadliest drug dealers in the world? What buttons were pressed? What hardships has he endured? Can he ever redeem himself? There’s still light in him, I’ve sensed it. I can’t save him but perhaps, in time, I could learn to understand him.

  What the hell am I thinking?

  Never in a million years will I ever surrender to his touch again. I’ll never understand his motives, nor will I ever forgive them.

  I slide the drawer towards me and then freeze. There are photos in here. Hundreds and hundreds of photos – black and white, color… The top one catches my attention straightaway and I hold it up for a closer inspection. It’s a picture of a little girl with black hair, no older than three or four. She’s holding out a half-eaten ice cream for the lens and smiling at whoever is holding the camera. Her eyes are reeling me in straightaway, holding me captive… two tiny pools of emotion with pupils so brown they’re almost black, a coloration so achingly familiar to me.

  Dante.

  I let out a cry and drop the photo in shock. He has a daughter! At the same time another shockwave ripples through the bunker. The explosions are becoming weaker. Most of Dante’s men are almost certainly dead by now. We need to hold fast and pray this bunker remains hidden, at least until Manuel can work his computer magic. When we’re back online I’m going to demand he contact the police. I’m a kidnapped American, surely someone, somewhere, has to care about that. My parents must be tearing the world apart looking for me.

  All the remaining photos seem to be of this girl but there are none that portray her any older than this. There are no surprise tenth birthday party shots, no gawky teenager with her girlfriends, no graduation portraits. Did something happen to her? Is she still alive? What about her mother, was she Dante’s first love? I’m devastated by how much her very existence rips at my insides. Is this jealously? It’s an unfamiliar emotion to me. I’ve never felt it before with other men. How is this deceiver, this killer, managing to twist my affections when he’s not even in the same country? Incensed, I rip open the next drawer and take a step back in shock.

  Military Medals.

  A Purple Heart, a Silver Star… Holy shit is that a Congressional Medal of Honor?

  Who is this man?

  I reel away from the drawer, unable to equate the cold-hearted criminal with this… this… hero. Did he steal the medals from his victims? Is this some sort of sick trophy drawer?

  I’m exhausted suddenly. The clock on the nightstand is flashing 9am. I’ve been awake since Sofía flung herself onto my chest and informed me of this new nightmare, effectively yanking me onto this battlefield between two warring master criminals.

  I use the bathroom and take the time to splash cold water onto my face but the weariness I’m feeling is bone-deep. It’s entrenched in every fissure of my fractured heart. I can hear the king size bed calling to me – so tempting, so seductive. I won’t have to feel a thing when I’m unconscious. No conflict, no bitterness, just peace and oblivion.

  Kicking off my shoes, I curl up on top of the white cover, dragging the nearest pillow towards me and burying my face in it. There are no traces of his scent here, no sharp, poignant reminders, but as I shift position I feel the lethal solidity of his flick knife pressing against the side of my ribcage. I slide my hand into my bra and remove it, turning it over in my fingers before closing my fist around it. Dante and I will always be this terrible illogicality. I miss him so much it hurts but if I ever saw him again I’d run far, far, away. I hate him with every broken part of me. I crave him with all this feverish passion he’s unleashed in me.

  Another shudder rumbles through the bunker.

  “Where are you, Dante?” I murmur. And I swear I hear him answer me from the shadows.

  “I’m here, my angel… always.”

  23

  Eve

  I have no idea how long I sleep for. When I come round the clock face is turned away but I get the impression of minutes not hours from the scant clues around me. The strobes are still glaring down from the ceiling, the closet door is still ajar – exactly how I left it, the photo of the little girl is still lying on the nightstand as if I’d hoped somehow that my dreams would knit together the missing pieces for me. His knife is still tightly clasped in my fist.

  I go to stretch and then freeze. There’s a strange prickling sensation on the back of my arms. It sets in flux a chain reaction that spreads unease throughout the rest of my body. My stomach muscles tighten, my breath quickens and my heart begins to thud.

  I’m not alone in this room.

  His presence hits me immediately. It’s like our bodies are connected on some intrinsic level. I can sense his anger, his frustration, his inner turmoil…

  With a gasp, I wrench myself up to a sitting position. He’s sat on the floor against the far wall, his dark eyes coolly appraising me. His long legs are stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. The black fatigues he’s wearing are stained and torn. The tan skin on his face is dirty and bruised and there’s an ugly red wheal lacerating one side of his forehead. Scratches and cuts cover most his powerful forearms. There’s a handgun resting lightly in his lap.

  “Hello Eve,” he says grimly.

  At first I’m too shocked to speak. He waits patiently, cat-like, as if he has all the time in the world. His eyes are flickering over my face constantly.

  “The compound,” I mutter. “Your men…”

  “Gone.”

  That one single word is so cold and brutal in its finality. He seems curiously unmoved by it though, as if his focus has shifted to something far greater than the ruin of his empire.

  “Is your brother…?”

  “Not yet. But he soon will be.”

  Another shiver of fear courses through me. He’s seems so calm but I know that storm is always raging just below the surface with him. I glance at the gun in his lap.

  “What happened to you?”

  He cocks his beautiful, battered head to one side. “Do you really want to know, my angel, or are you just stalling for time? Why don’t you ask me the one question you’re desperate to? I think we both know that the rest is just bullshit.”

  He’s right.

  I have to know the truth.

  My fingers tighten around his knife in my palm. I fell asleep clutching it, like I was seeking out his protection even when I was unconscious. I take a deep, unsteady breath.

  “Did you murder my brother?”

  He carefully considers my question. There’s no flicker in his face to betray his shock at my asking it. There’s no downward turn of his mouth to suggest a hint of remorse, just more of this cold indifference.

  “Yes.”

  I let out a cry. My face crumples beneath an avalanche of grief. I drop the knife, pull my knees up to my chest and try to stem the torrent of tears with my hands. “You bastard!” I scream at him. “How could you keep me prisoner here knowing what you did? Haven’t my family suffered enough?”

  He makes no move to contradict or comfort. He just sits there.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  He wants me to react badly, to hurl angry words at him, to draw blood. That way he can come back at me with a strong contradiction, just to show me how powerful he is and how weak I am. I guess that’s what makes his next move so unexpected. He lifts his gun from his lap and slides it across the floor in my direction. It skids across the tiles and lands within touching distance of the bed.

  “Take it,” he says harshly. “You get a free shot at me today, my angel.”

  Without thinking, I lurch forward and scoop it up. I aim the muzzle at his head, though I can scarcely see through my tears.

  “You sicken me, Dante Santiago.”

  “I sicken myself sometimes.”

  “How can you even look at yourself in the mirror?” I’m trembl
ing all over. The gun is shaking all over the place. “How many people have you killed? How many lives have you shattered?

  “My life is not a tale of morality, Eve. But you knew that already.”

  “I knew nothing!” I cry, wiping my face and swinging my legs off of the bed. “Because you chose to deceive me, instead. What gave you the right to bend my every rule, my every impulse in your favor?”

  He laughs but it’s a bitter, twisted sound. “Do you really think the odds are in my favor right now, Eve? My business is fucked, my brother betrayed me and the woman I desire most in the world is pointing a goddamn gun at my head.”

  My breath quickens. “You deserve it. You deserve everything that’s coming for you. I hope you rot to death in some African jail cell.”

  “Does that mean you’re not going to kill me?” He sounds almost disappointed.

  “Do you wish to die that badly, Dante?” I say rising to my feet, the gun still trained at his head. “Isn’t there any part of you that feels pain or regret, or are you just numb all over?”

  “I’ve felt something these past two weeks. With you. I’ve felt more than I have in years.”

  “Don’t say those things!” I scream at him. “You don’t have the right anymore.”

  “Maybe so, but if today is the day I die then I do so with all truths unveiled.”

  “Truths? You want to talk about the truth?” I gasp, stunned by the nerve of this man. “Who’s the little girl in the photographs then, Dante?” I jerk my head at the nightstand. “Is she your daughter?”

  There’s a slight jolt of his shoulders as I say it, like a mild electric current is passing through his body. It’s the first visible reaction he’s given me since I woke up and found him sitting there on the floor.

  “Why do you care?” he says, recovering fast. “Take your vengeance and do it swiftly. Oh, and don’t forget to unclip the safety first.”

  My eyes widen at his contempt. He’s trying to goad me. He wants to see how far I’m willing to go for my revenge. That’s when it hits me. This man doesn’t just enjoy inflicting pain on others. He enjoys inflicting it on himself.

  “Don’t think I won’t do it, Dante. You have no idea how long I’ve dreamt of this moment.”

  “Five years isn’t it, my angel?”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  “Just fucking do it!” he roars at me suddenly.

  My tears are trickling down my cheeks now, rivulets of my own pain. The world tilts and distorts. I can barely see his face anymore.

  “I put a price on his head, Eve,” he says softly, goading me again. “I never pulled the trigger but I may as well have. He kept calling me, begging and pleading for his miserable life…”

  “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

  “I sent Grayson to finish him off but by the time he landed in Miami he’d already OD-ed. He couldn’t be bothered to waste the bullet.”

  My tears are an unstoppable force now. I can barely catch my breath.

  “Jesus Christ, haven’t you heard enough?” He springs up from the floor and throws himself onto his knees in front of me. Before I can stop him he’s grabbed the muzzle of the gun and is pressing it tightly against his own forehead. “Pull the trigger, Eve,” he orders, gazing up at me. “This is your one shot. You will never get another chance after today.”

  He looks so beautiful, so terrible… so determined to die. His cuts and bruises are shocking close-up. I can’t tear my eyes away from them. What hell and high water has this man experienced to get back to me today?

  We stay locked like this for the longest time. Me, barely standing on shaking legs by the edge of the bed, and him, knelt down before me. Connected only by a loaded gun and the ruin of his actions. Just staring at each other, neither one of us willing to break eye contact first.

  I can’t stop thinking about Ryan on the last day I saw him alive. He was so excited and hopeful, joking about some new ‘get rich quick’ scheme he was going to invest in. I had no reason to suspect narcotics, none of did. We’d both grown up in the shadow of my father’s work. We knew all the cautionary stories, the tragedies. The statistics. Damn him for thinking he was any different. I can’t stop thinking about my parents either, how they’d broken down on the day of his funeral and the guilt they must have felt. And then I think about a panicked phone call not long before he died, a pleading for money that was refused. A decision I will regret for the rest of my life. My finger flicks the safety off and the noise splinters the silence in the room.

  “Do you feel any remorse for the things you’ve done?” I whisper, searching his face for one final bargaining chip. Something that will make this criminal’s life worth saving. Something that will make my finger loosen on this trigger.

  There’s the longest pause. “Every damn day, Eve,” he sighs eventually. “Every damn day.”

  Moments later the gun drops from my fingertips and hits the floor with a dull thud. “So help me god, Dante Santiago, you better pick up that gun and shoot me because I will find another way to destroy you for what you’ve done.”

  There’s no triumph in his face, no relief. Even so, his next words devastate me.

  “No you won’t, my angel. You can’t pull that trigger on me, anymore than I can pull that trigger on you.”

  With a gut-wrenching sob I run for the en suite. Slamming the door on his face, I smash the lock across and slide down the white tiles in a crumpled heap. I hate myself a thousand times over. I had the chance to exact revenge for my brother and my family and I couldn’t do it.

  There’s a sharp rap on the door.

  “Open up, Eve.”

  He sounds stronger, more like the old Dante. I’ve played into his hands like a dream. He knew I’d never kill him, no matter how hard he pushed, no matter how cruel his taunts but he had to give me that chance in order for us to try and move past this.

  “Go to hell!”

  “I’m there already, Eve. Believe me.”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “We need to talk about this. Stand back.”

  “Don’t you dare…”

  “Do it, Eve.”

  A moment later the whole frame shudders and caves inwards beneath his fists. I cover my head with my arms as I’m pelted with splintered wood and plaster fragments. Through the broken remains of the door I see his silhouette and then a large hand is reaching out for me.

  “Don’t you dare touch me,” I hiss, cringing against the tiles, but he grabs my upper arm and drags me to my feet regardless. Pulling me out of the bathroom, he throws me onto the bed and stands there, looking down at me, a familiar fire raging in his eyes. I can’t help laughing but there’s no humor in it.

  “Don’t think that because I didn’t kill you I still want to fuck you, Dante Santiago.”

  I watch his eyes grow darker and harder. “If I wanted to fuck you, Eve, I’d do so and, by god, you’d be screaming out my name.”

  “So you’re adding rapist to your long list of dubious accolades?”

  It’s my turn to goad him now.

  “Would it really be rape, my angel? Despite everything, I know you still burn for my touch? Besides, you already think I’m the devil incarnate. One more sin isn’t going to change that.”

  “You just said you regretted everything?” I whisper in horror.

  “Not everything,” he corrects with a grimace. “Don’t chip away at my armour, Eve. You might not like what’s underneath.”

  “You lied to me!”

  “Not lied exactly, more ‘creative with the truth’. I do regret my part in your brother’s death, though. That I can assure you. I never, ever want to be the cause of pain for you.”

  Is he for real?

  “You will always be the cause of untold pain for me, Dante… Let me go. There’s nothing left for us now.”

  There’s a pause. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  My head jerks up. His words are like a blunt knife penetrating my heart.

  “My aircra
ft is on standby to take you back to America. I only ask that you take one of my men with you. I’m in the midst of hell now, Eve. I can’t have any distractions and the other side won’t take prisoners. They need to think you’re history. It’s the only way to keep you alive. I’ll have a security detail waiting for you when you land. They’ll be discreet.”

  “You’re letting me go?” I can scarcely believe it. I’ve wished for this moment for weeks but now that it’s here I feel sick with disappointment. How has this play flipped so far in his favor? Is this just more of his skillful manipulation?

  “Yes I am.” He grits his jaw, like it’s painful for him to say it.

  “Just like that?”

  “The rules of the game have changed.”

  “So that’s all I am to you, a fucking pawn?”

  He frowns. “I thought this was what you wanted?”

  Is it? Then why do I feel like I’m being betrayed all over again? I swivel sideways and push myself off the bed.

  “I’d like to leave now,” I say quietly.

  He nods. “It’s for the best, Eve.”

  “Is the compound safe?”

  “Yes, it’s back under my control. My brother and his men were long gone before I returned.”

  I nod and turn towards the door. I can’t look in his direction or I’ll lose whatever self-discipline I have left.

  “Give my pilot an hour to refuel.”

  He’s speaking so formally to me now. His sentences are short and concise, his tone devoid of emotion. It’s like we’re strangers already.

  I pull the door towards me but he moves swiftly and slams it shut again, his large palm lingering on the wood panel above my shoulder. He’s standing right behind me, I can feel his hot breath on my neck. Our bodies are thrumming with energy from their close proximity with one another. His scent is so strong, so masculine. Two days without washing has made it even more potent. I inhale deeply and close my eyes. I want to submerge myself in it and never resurface.

  “Eve…”

  “Don’t.”

  “Let me look upon you one last time.” He sounds weary suddenly.

  “You don’t deserve it.”