Hearts Of Darkness (The Santiago Trilogy Book 1)

by Catherine Wiltcher

  “Are you hungry? I cooked pasta.”

  “What, no hot date with Anna?” I joke, trying to put him at ease.

  He rolls his eyes and shakes his head but something tells me he’s not fully onboard with that plan.

  “I asked Dante not to give you hard time,” I wail, reading between the lines.

  “He didn’t,” he grins. “But my first priority is you, señorita. Perhaps when Señor Santiago returns…”

  The cell on my nightstand starts ringing, interrupting us. I tilt my head to see who’s calling but the number’s withheld. I bet it’s Dante on one of his crazy, high security lines that zips around the world forty-eight times before connecting. “Hold that thought,” I say, picking it up.

  “Miss Miller?”

  “Yes.”

  “Miss Eve Miller?”

  I pause. Something about the caller’s heavy accent is making the skin on the back of my arms tingle and not in a good Dante-like way. At the same time I hear a faint knocking at my front door.

  “I’ll get it,” Manuel whispers.

  “Who’s calling, please?” I say, nodding my thanks at him.

  The caller chuckles. “You let that good-looking bodyguard of yours answer the door, Miss Miller, and all will be revealed.”

  My blood turns to ice.

  “Manuel, stop!” I scream, flying from my bed, not bothering to hang up. “Don’t open the door!”

  But it’s too late. It will always be too late.

  The next few seconds play out in horrific slow motion. Manuel’s hand is still resting on the handle, his profile half-lit from the light in the hallway outside, when I see his expression switch from surprise to anger. At the same time his other hand dives under the back of his shirt for his gun. The next thing I hear is a dull roar and a distant, piercing scream. The back of my bodyguard’s head explodes in a cascade of crimson as his body is propelled backwards into my living room, coming to rest sprawled out across my broken glass coffee table.

  More seconds tick.

  I can’t take my eyes off Manuel’s dead body. There’s nothing left of his head other than a bloody, bleeding stump. Reality hits me like a hard slap to my face and my stomach roils in revulsion.

  “My brother’s whore, I presume?”

  Recognizing the same contemptuous voice from the call I drag my gaze upwards. Three men are standing in my doorway all staring at me but I only see one. He’s tall and rail thin, olive-skinned with slicked back dark hair, a solid jawline and the same razor-sharp cheekbones that I’ve kissed a million times… I meet his cold, unflinching gaze as random thoughts slice my mind like shrapnel from a detonated bomb.

  He’s in Colombia.

  Dante promised me.

  Is my security detail dead too?

  “You’re a hard woman to track down, Eve Miller,” Emilio Santiago sighs, stepping further into my living room. “I tortured every single man in Dante’s compound and I still couldn’t get the location of your little rat cave.”

  Revolted, I watch him rake his gaze up my bare legs and then linger over the heavy swell of my breasts beneath my grey college sweater.

  “Well, he has taste, I’ll give him that,” he murmurs and his men laugh.

  “W-what are you doing here?” I stutter, tugging down my sweater to cover as much exposed skin as I can.

  He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he transfers his gun to his other hand and calmly shuts the door behind him. “Do you know who I am?”

  I nod weakly.

  “Good. That spares us the painful, drawn-out introductions.” He glances around my small apartment, wincing in distaste at the colorful chaos of my overloaded bookcase, my collection of mismatched well-loved furniture and the dark bloodstains spreading across my favorite cream rug. “I’m afraid I don’t share Dante’s affection for this country, Miss Miller. I loathe both the place and the people.”

  “Go back to Colombia then,” I whisper earning me a tight smile, but it’s one that never reaches his eyes. It doesn’t even come close.

  “Oh I’m planning on it. Just as soon as my business here is done.”

  “I can’t help you, I don’t know where Dante is,” I say quickly, inching backwards towards my bedroom.

  “I know you don’t.”

  My steps falter.

  What does he want with me then?

  At the same time I realize I’m still clutching my cell. I angle my wrist away from the men and slide it carefully behind my back and out of view. If I can somehow get to my room and barricade the door shut it might buy me enough time to call for help.

  Emilio looks faintly amused. “Would you like to hand over your cell phone now, Miss Miller, or do I have to break every one of those delicate little fingers in the process?”

  I stare back at him all wide-eyed and innocent, though my heart is pounding right out of my chest. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Diego, please show her how I deal with liars.”

  I cringe backwards as the largest of his two men makes his towards me with an unpleasant expression on his face. Ripping the phone out of my hand, I see a blur of his fist before my left eye socket explodes in a blaze of blinding agony. He throws me to the floor as my hand flies to my face to staunch the heat that’s radiating like molten lava down through my jaw and up into my hairline. When I pull my trembling fingers away again they’re drenched in blood.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “Not so pretty with a broken cheekbone,” Emilio sighs, a note of quiet satisfaction in his voice. “Still, I know how much my brother enjoys inflicting pain on his bitches. I’m sure you’re used to it by now.”

  “How did you find me?” I gasp, choking down the urge to vomit again. I can’t seem to think straight. Any minute now I’m going to pass out.

  “Dante shouldn’t put so much trust in his confidantes.” Emilio crouches down on his haunches and brings his face level with mine. I recoil in horror against the wall. His cold, dead eyes are even more terrible close-up. His aftershave is bitter and overpowering and my stomach starts roiling all over again.

  “Time to leave, sweetheart,” he grins, “and, guess what? You’re coming too.”

  31

  Dante

  “Dante, come take a look at this.”

  Joseph’s words drag me away from my Eve-related thoughts. I’m here in my shitty monochrome kitchen again, arms crossed, back against the breakfast counter, idling away the minutes until Tomas does whatever the hell he needs to do so we can get the fuck out of here. He insisted on swinging by to collect some personal items on our way to Miami-Opa Locka. He’s taking his sweet time about it, though. My aircraft is fueled and waiting. We should be halfway to Colombia by now.

  “What it is?” I say, glancing over.

  Joseph’s mouth is stretched into a grim line. Instantly I’m on high alert. I take the iPad from his outstretched fingers and scan the email.

  “What the hell is this?” I hiss moments later, an icy-cool breeze washing over me. “Tomas contacted them right? He’s been across this from the start, as soon as we learned Emilio was back in South America?

  “The latest coordinates didn’t add up. We were chasing our tails so I asked the guys looking into your daughter’s disappearance to do some investigation on the quiet. That email confirms my suspicions. Tomas never instructed a team in Cartagena after we terminated Nicolas. Whatever status reports he’s been showing us detailing Emilio’s whereabouts have all been fabricated.”

  I spring away from the counter as if it’s burning. “Are you saying my brother might not be in Colombia?”

  “I’m saying no one knows where the hell he is because Tomas never looked into it.”

  “But why the fuck would he…?” I trail off and stare at Joseph. Seconds later I’m tossing the iPad onto the counter and retrieving my gun as Joseph does the same.

  “He’s still in the house,” he hisses.

  I curse and motion him back from the open doorway. “If Tomas
is working with Emilio he knows everything… the location of the island, the deal with Sanders, Eve’s whereabouts.” I can’t even comprehend that right now. “Go bring the car round. We need to get the fuck out of here. We need to warn Manuel–”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

  Joseph and I whip round together, guns raised, poised for action. Tomas is standing right behind us swinging a cell phone between his forefinger and his thumb, cool as anything, like he doesn’t have the two new deadliest mercenaries on the block pointing their trigger fingers in his direction.

  “You double-crossing asshole,” I say calmly. “You orchestrated the ambush in Colombia as well, didn’t you?”

  Tomas’ smug expression makes me want to smash the butt of my gun against the side of his face, repeatedly. Bullets are too good to waste on this son of a bitch.

  “They were men you helped train yourself,” I hear Joseph say, and I know this is deeply personal to him. He vetted Tomas before he joined our organization. He came to us highly recommended.

  As one point did my brother turn him?

  “All expendable,” he drawls, unmoved by his words. “Lower your weapons please, gentlemen.”

  No one makes a move.

  Stalemate.

  I’m filled with rage then, for Tomas, my brother, myself… I’ve been too distracted by Eve. I knew from the get-go that she and my business would be a match made in hell.

  Meanwhile Tomas’ tan skin is turning his blue eyes into chips of ice. “I said lower them, Dante, or you don’t get to see that pretty girl alive again.”

  The beast inside me roars to life. “What have you done with her?” I growl, my hands tightening around the trigger. “If that sick bastard has touched a single hair on her head…”

  “Dante.” Joseph’s hand is on my shoulder. He knows I’m a bomb mere seconds from detonating. If I kill Tomas I may never see Eve again.

  There are noises in the front lobby now. Men’s voices. Accented. Unfamiliar. I don’t even need to ask whose command they’re following. Tomas used one of his old SA contacts as security for this house. All of my new US recruits are out tracking Eve. My guess is they’re already dead.

  “How long have you been playing us?” I hear Joseph ask him.

  “Long enough.”

  “Take me to her.” I slam my weapon down on the counter and slide it in his direction. Hesitating, Joseph follows my lead. Tomas catches them easily and then has the nerve to smile at us.

  My anger is like a veil of red descending over me. I find myself halfway across the kitchen before Joseph manages to pull me back.

  “Rein it in, Santiago,” Tomas growls, his smile fading fast, and we find ourselves staring down the barrels of our own weapons. “Believe me when I say you’re not in control of this situation anymore. Not even close.”

  Guns never faze me. They’re just pretty pieces of metal that satisfy a dark, lingering hunger. The ones with their fingers on the trigger have far more of an affect, and right now they’ve definitely caught my attention.

  Joseph and I are sat in the back of an SUV with two muzzles trained on us by a couple of the hardest-eyed motherfuckers I’ve ever encountered. They wouldn’t think twice about blowing the back of our heads off. Violence is their only anthem. I can’t even glance at Joseph without a fist connecting with my face. My nose is broken in two places already but I don’t feel the familiar, smarting ache because the beast inside is consuming me again, blocking out all nerve-endings and pain receptors. My hands are tied behind my back but he’s prowling up and down the bars of his cage regardless, just waiting for his opportunity to unleash hell. Still, there’s a growing unease inside of me too, and it’s one that won’t quit. With Sanders on my side I figured I could outgun and outsmart anyone. What I didn’t count on was Tomas and his army of buzz-cut brothers stepping up to wreck the party.

  But I should have.

  The car breaks sharply and we’re forced out at gunpoint. The salty air hits my senses. We’re right on the edge of the container docks, next to a grim, grey line of empty warehouses with broken windows. The rasping cries of the gulls above our heads are loud enough to drown out whatever unpleasantness is about to transpire.

  “Move it,” says Tomas, shoving me towards the open doorway of the nearest warehouse as more men exit the cars behind us. They start to converge on us, all pointing their weapons in my direction.

  My military training misses nothing – not the deep depth of the water running parallel to me, nor the lack of security cameras. Not even the two snipers stationed on the roof of the warehouse next door. Then there are the three vehicles parked a little way up the track... Calculations form the basis of escape plans. Six vehicles in total means that there are at least thirty men waiting to fuck us up.

  The sight that greets me when we step inside is my worst nightmare. Eve. Half dressed in a grey college sweatshirt and strung up by her hands, suspended from a rusted metal joist above her head, her black panties and slender, pale stomach on display; a stomach that I’ve kissed and tasted a thousand times. The left side of her face is a bloody mess, her dark hair is matted crimson. She’s not moving and her head is pitched forward at an angle, like that of a broken flower. She’s out cold. I quickly scan the inside of her thighs for more blood. To my relief there’s none. So far these animals have only used their fists to ravage her body. I know that will all change if I don’t cooperate.

  “Dante… Glad you could join us.”

  Emilio.

  The beast inside lets out an almighty roar. I don’t bother turning in his direction. My focus is fixed on my future. “What the fuck have you done to her?” I howl striding over to Eve but a couple of metres out I feel a stinging blow to the back of my head. It’s one that forces me to my knees.

  “Only what was necessary,” I hear my brother say as I focus on the dirty concrete floor to stop the world from blacking out. The whole of my skull is on fire. Expensive black loafers slide into my line of vision. Emilio always did have shit taste in shoes. I will myself back to full consciousness again. I need to stay sharp. I need to figure out a way to get us out of this.

  “What is this charade, brother?” I say, forcing my gaze upwards to meet his head-on, feeling a surge of satisfaction when I see the fear in his eyes. My head’s smashed up, my hands are bound and I’m on my goddamn knees in front of him, and he still doesn’t think he’s incapacitated me enough to stop me ripping his goddamn throat out.

  He’s right as well.

  “If you want me dead then put a bullet in my head and be done with it. Let Joseph and Eve go.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” he laughs, taking a step back from me. At the same time my fingers connect with a hard lump in the back pocket of my jeans.

  Eve’s knife.

  I wonder…

  Keeping my eyes trained on Emilio, aware of Tomas’ militia gathering en masse behind him, I inch the knife out of my pocket and flick the blade up, slicing my fingers to fuck in the process. I pause only when Joseph is shoved in my direction and has his knees kicked out from under him.

  “Fucking hell,” he groans, landing hard on his knees. I watch his grey eyes glance across to mine and then downwards. Like a total pro he takes in the situation without any trace of a reaction. I sense his solidarity. This is a battle we might not win but he’ll go down fighting alongside me. We share seventeen years of history. We kill together. We die together. And that’s the way we’ll ride that bitch all the way the end.

  “I’ve decided that death is too simple a solution for you, Dante,” Emilio announces, his scrawny face lighting up with malice. “Instead, I’ve decided to make you suffer.”

  “By making my ears bleed with your incessant whining?” I drawl, slicing at the ropes binding my wrists together, barely moving a muscle in my forearms as I do, letting my fingers and hands take the brunt of the work. They’re soon cramping in protest but I carry on regardless. My angel’s life is at stake.

&nbs
p; Emilio smirks. “On the contrary, there are other ways to destroy a man. You’re going to kneel right there whilst I eliminate the three things that mean the most to you.”

  “How inventive,” I say, sounding bored. “Tell me, did you come up with this plan all by yourself or is this Tomas’ idea? He’s a disloyal motherfucker but I’ll credit him with a couple more brain cells than you.”

  I get the reaction I’m hoping for when I see the mask of rage descending over my brother’s face. “You’ve dishonored the Santiago name for the last time, Dante!”

  “You can’t descend from the gutter, asshole,” I scoff, the first strand of rope working loose. “Our father drove us straight to hell and then kicked us both out.”

  “You’re far worse than he ever was.”

  That shuts me up. It’s a truth that even I refuse to accept.

  “Army life really messed with your head, didn’t it? Or should we attribute your ‘killer instinct’ to your daughter’s disappearance? Whatever it was turned you into a loose cannon with a talent for torture, and for a time I was happy to exploit it–”

  “Cut the bullshit, Emilio,” I snarl. “What’s this really all about? The business? Have it. Take your beef up with Sanders. I don’t want any part of it anymore.”

  Emilio starts laughing again. “Sanders will be dead by the morning but that’s more about tying up loose ends. You know how much I hate those.” He slides his hands into his pockets and considers me coldly for a moment. “This isn’t about money, Dante. It’s about peace of mind.”

  Now it’s my turn to smile but it’s more a hate-filled grimace than anything else. “Are you drawing a line under me, Emilio? Is this my penance for putting a bullet in our father’s head?”

  I’m guessing at his motives now. It has to be something personal, some wrong I’ve done him in the past. Meanwhile, a second strand of rope works itself free. Three more to go...

  “No, that dog long outlived his usefulness. He needed to be put down. The truth is I’m tired of always looking over my shoulder for you, Dante. Waiting for that sharp knife, the well-aimed bullet, the car bomb…”