Hearts On Fire (The Santiago Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  “Equal opportunities. Does that mean we share the orders from now on?” My eyelids flutter shut and I bask in the cool sea breeze that’s wicking the heat from my body and ruffling the white mosquito nets.

  “Only in my bed.”

  “What about we start calling it our bed?” I counter, but a gentle snore tells me he’s already asleep.

  I curl up next to him, running a palm across his abdomen, relishing the contrast between our golden and lily-white skin tones. I move my fingertips higher to trace the strong jaw and the long, straight nose – the features of a fallen angel. If the eyes are a window for the soul, then his mouth is an open doorway to my heart. Despite all his faults, his sins, his bloodlust, this man will never lie to me. He uses the word ‘love’ so sparingly but when he bestows it, he hangs my own heart amongst the stars in the sky. I love the bones of this man. I love the light that he fights so hard to repress. I love the dark that he unleashes to keep me safe.

  I repeat my path and he doesn't flinch or turn away once. Knowing what a light sleeper he is usually, he must be as shattered as I am.

  Pulling the sheet to my waist, I tuck my knees up to my chest and try to get some rest too, but everytime I shut my eyes they seem to spring wide open again as if programmed. Eventually I give up on the whole sleep thing and climb out of bed, reaching down for his discarded shirt on my way to the bathroom.

  Shutting the door quietly, I use the toilet and slip my arms into the garment, only to find a solid square lump flattening my chest. Intrigued, I slide the cell phone out of the front pocket and blink at it in shock. My iPhone… But how? I could have sworn I left it on the nightstand in my bedroom back at the safe house.

  Padding across the wooden veranda, I curl up on one of loungers and switch on the device. There’s still some charge so I spend a little time flicking through the messages. Dante…Dante…Dante… There’s nothing new, just a lot of him being a stubborn, arrogant ass as usual. Then I remember the events of last night and my pout transforms into a smile. No updates from Joseph about Anna but that’s hardly surprising, there aren’t any signal bars either. Paradise islands don't come with their own cell sites. I’ll just have to wait until we return to Nairobi later today to see how she’s doing.

  For some reason I find myself flicking onto my contacts list next. It's pretty pathetic and I know it off by heart already: Anna, Dante, Joseph, Whit… And then I pause because there’s another name there, a new name – one that’s been added without my permission, and one that I never ever expected to see in my contacts list again.

  Dad

  What.

  The.

  Hell?

  My heart is thudding against my rib cage as I skim through all the ways he could have gotten hold of it. There’s only one explanation. He must have been in the house, in our bedroom, after he chased Mateo and me into the forest.

  “Who the fuck gave you permission to leave my bed?”

  My head jerks up. Dante is standing naked in the entrance to our bungalow and rubbing his eyes. For once he doesn't have an erection but my core tightens anyway. If I wasn’t so sore, I’d be dragging him back inside

  “Couldn’t sleep and it’s our bed now, remember? How did you come by this?” I hold up my cell for him to see.

  “Reece found it and gave it to Joseph.” He wanders outside to take a closer look at the ocean, a rich tapestry of crystal clear blues surrounded by an oval-shaped reef. “Fuck, it’s beautiful out here.”

  Without his clothes on, I can appreciate the fluid elegance of his muscle tone, the hard lines and the smooth plains, the scars and the history. “Who’s Reece again?” I mutter and he shoots me an irritated look. “I remembered something from my flashback the other day.”

  “Oh?” He turns to look at me, his face an unreadable mask.

  “It’s weird… I have these three phrases in my head on a loop whenever I’m really scared. It happened again in the forest.”

  “What three phrases?”

  “White room, red light, him,” I list quietly.

  “Him?” Trust Dante to pick up on that. “And you’re sure it’s nothing to do with Miami?”

  I shake my head. “Not the party, or all that other stuff with Emilio.”

  “It didn't happen when I scared you last night, though?”

  He’s got that uncomfortable look about him again. If I hadn't pushed back, God knows how far he would have taken it.

  “I felt more in control then. I didn't feel any at the safe house.”

  He leans over and brings his arms down on either side of me, pinning me in place. “You were definitely in control last night, mi alma,” he says gruffly. “I like the thought of my wife bringing me to my knees.”

  “I liked you being there.”

  He smirks and presses his lips firmly against mine. “Just don’t get too used to it.” He turns away and pads back into the bungalow. “I’ve had some new clothes sent over. As much as I like tearing clothes from your body, my angel, I don’t enjoy my soldiers drooling over your naked tits.”

  When we return to Nairobi that afternoon, my tiredness is like a full body slam into a concrete floor. There’s something weird going on and I’m blaming my pregnancy hormones. I can't seem to adjust to the different time zones and my internal clock has walked out on me, leaving no forwarding address. It’s all jumbled up and upside down. I keep falling asleep when I should be wide-awake. Added to that, my hunger is insane.

  Dante doesn't say a word as I devour two sandwiches and a plate of pasta, which is just as well. If he mentions calorie control to me in any capacity today, I’ll be stabbing him in the hand with my fork. We’re sat in a small café near the private hospital, waiting for Joseph. Anna’s not letting me anywhere near her again. Only the tall Texan has been granted privileged access into her inner circle.

  I’m not bitter about it, just sad. But if this is what Anna needs from me to get better, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll put four continents between us, if I must. I’ve tried to imagine myself in her position. I’ve forced myself to consider what might have happened if Dante hadn't shown up at Sevastien’s party; if the sadistic Russian had taken my beatings in the direction it was so obviously heading. I envisage all the emotions I’d be feeling right now: the hurt, the misplaced shame, the nightmares…

  White room.

  Red light.

  Him.

  I must have jolted, or had some kind of strange reaction. When I look up, Dante is watching me carefully over the top of his laptop. I lay one hand in the lap of the simple black and white sundress and push my cutlery together.

  There’s a pause. “Why didn't I have the phrases at the party? The ones in my head?” I blurt it out in a jumble, aware that I’m not making any sense but gripped with a crazy compulsion to get the words out anyway. “I was terrified back then. I was terrified with Emilio…”

  He frowns and slaps his iPad back down on the table. “When we get back to the island, I’m flying out an expert in PTSD.”

  “I know a guy.” We both look up as Joseph approaches, his long stride eating up the distance between us. “I’ll give him a call. How was Tanzania?”

  “Hot,” states Dante, packing a dozen filthy meanings into it.

  Joseph raises his eyebrows but doesn’t comment.

  “Okay, let’s do it,” I say, making the decision, then and there. I hate the feelings of dread and fear that accompany these flashbacks and I want them to go away. “How’s Anna doing?”

  “Physically good.” He leaves the accompanying sentence hanging.

  Shit.

  “Doctors want to keep her under observation for another few days. I’m staying with her until they release her.”

  Dante doesn’t react, which for him is the worst possible reaction. I sit there and wait for the explosion.

  “Let’s talk about this someplace else, shall we?” he says idly, rising to his feet.

  I shoot Joseph a warning look but he stares back at me, his f
ace as blank as ever. I watch them disappear into the hallway by the kitchen and then a door slams with enough force to make my crockery move.

  I push my plate to one side and pull out my iPhone again, staring at the name of the new, unwanted addition to my contacts list.

  Dad

  I’m like Dante. I’m manipulating a single word to spin a hundred new ones in its wake. ‘Dad’ used to imply security, comfort, and hope… Now all I have is betrayal and disappointment. Still, I find my fingers straying toward the call button as the same feeling I had in the forest overwhelms me. I need him to look me in the eye and tell me why he took my love and trust and drove them into the ground. Most of all, I need to know if mom is still alive. Petrov promised me he’d find her but I haven't heard a word from him in days.

  I can't use this phone to contact him. I know there’s a trace on it. Dante would kill him even before I had the chance to sit down face to face with him…

  “Well, if it isn't my favorite wife of Dante’s.”

  A familiar mocking drawl catches me by surprise as Rick Sanders saunters into the café. Mid-forties, menacingly handsome and with an acerbic charm, Dante’s friend and ally is the scariest kind of criminal – a drug dealer with ethics as messed-up as his product.

  “You make him sound like King Henry the eighth,” I say lightly, placing my cell facedown on the table. For all his faults, Rick would never betray Dante but he still puts my teeth on edge. “You’re a long way from Miami.”

  “I could say the same about you.” He smirks and takes up Dante’s recently vacated seat. “Congratulations by the way. I’m thinking of buying you a snake charmer as a wedding gift.”

  “Is that how you talk to yourself in the mirror every morning?”

  “Jesus! Does Dante know you cut diamonds with that tongue?”

  “Dante would argue that he has better designs for it than that.”

  Rick laughs and shakes his head at me with renewed respect. “I underestimated you, Eve Santiago. You truly are one of us now.”

  “Not quite,” I say tightly.

  “So, how do you foresee your fate as a wife to the most dangerous man in the world? Divorced, beheaded…?”

  “Survived.”

  “Touché.” He laughs again and takes a sip of my untouched water. The man never did have any boundaries. “Is Dante about?”

  “He’s with Joseph somewhere. What are you doing here, Rick?”

  “Heard what happened to your friend.” His easy smirk withers into something far more sinister. “I needed to get out of the US and I felt like checking in on her. She is a former employee of mine, after all.”

  Anna works as bar staff at one of Rick’s clubs in Miami. He owns most of them, criminals usually do.

  “Why former?” I say, frowning at him. “You're not firing her over her extended absence are you?”

  Rick looks at me coolly. “You think I give a fuck about shit like that? My club burned down. All of them did.”

  “When? Does Dante know?” I’m shocked.

  “Of course he fucking knows.” He’s starting on the remains of my diet coke now. “It was Sevastien’s Bratva. He’s taken control of all my businesses in retaliation for you and Petrov’s little stunt last week. My money, my stolen money,” he corrects with a scowl, “helped shore up his Amsterdam deal with the Romanians to ensure the continuation of his trafficking network. So, in a roundabout fucking way, I feel a debt of responsibility for what happened to Anna. Plus, she’s hot as fuck and I wouldn't mind a piece of it when she’s recovered. That’s if Grayson ever stops acting like an overprotective dickhead around her.”

  Criminals have the strangest code of ethics. This man must have tortured and killed hundreds, but when someone he knows and likes gets hurt, he’s all about the outrage.

  I watch him undo the front of his jacket and chuck his cell onto the table next to mine. I stare down at it as an idea starts to take hold.

  “When are you flying back to the states?” I ask him.

  “Tomorrow. Petrov is flying in too. After Amsterdam, Dante wants me to help act as mediation between them. Seems he’s not ready to sever Colombian-Russian ties just yet.”

  “Thank God for that.” Is Dante finally coming to his senses as far as Petrov’s concerned? “As repayment, he’s getting your businesses back for you?”

  “You catch on quick. I said you were one of us.”

  There’s a noise behind us and Dante stalks back into the main part of the café looking dangerously calm. Joseph is nowhere in sight.

  “Ah, here comes the happy groom,” declares Rick, skirting perilously close to getting his head smashed into the table by my new husband.

  “Shut the fuck up, Sanders, I’m not in the mood. We’re leaving,” he snaps, motioning for me to stand.

  “So soon?” Rick seems unperturbed by his entrance. I guess after all these years in Dante’s company he’s used to it by now.

  “Change of plan. You're coming too, Sanders. I just had confirmation that Sevastien’s Moroccan camp are recruiting and training jihadi.”

  “Holy shit!” I sit back down in a rush. Even Rick looks stunned.

  “From trafficking to terrorism, that’s quite a leap for a Petrov family fuck-up.”

  “Do you think he’s planning something?” I say quietly.

  Dante shrugs but I can tell he’s jittery about this. “Trafficking brings in a shit load of dollars. It may have been a front to raise money for this other organization, or they’ve approached him at a later date to procure funding. We need more intel to figure it out.”

  “Sevastien doesn't give a fuck about religion,” scoffs Rick.

  “No, but he gives a fuck about the stability of East and West relations and how it affects his bank account.”

  Rick goes very still. “You think he’s going to try and undermine it?”

  “Dante, this is bigger than all of us,” I whisper, panic spreading throughout my body like a poison. “We need to tip off the FBI or the CIA somehow.”

  The looks he gives me pours red-hot scorn all over my suggestion. “Fuck the FBI and CIA, they’re all a bunch of corrupt assholes. We’ll deal with this ourselves. Sanders, I’m coming with you to meet Petrov tomorrow morning.”

  “We’re going back to states?” A nervous thrill zips through me. I miss my home country but I know how dangerous it is for us there. Dante and Rick are two of the most wanted criminals in the US.

  “So it would seem,” he says irritably, and I can tell he’s far from happy about it.

  We’re all preoccupied on the flight back to Miami. It’s a strange atmosphere without Joseph, like there’s a piece of a puzzle missing, and he’s one who connects the whole picture. It’s affecting Dante more than he thinks. A couple of times I watch him turn his head to consult his second-in-command, only to be greeted by a glaring empty space instead.

  He keeps pouring himself Bourbon after Bourbon as he and Rick sift through the intel from Morocco, putting forward and discarding different theories of theirs.

  I wish I could say that my thoughts were as concentrated. Truth is, mine are all over the place; scattering like dandelion seeds in the wind, and mired in panic.

  What if the authorities catch up with us?

  What if Anna never forgives me?

  Most of all, I’m wondering how long I have before Rick Sanders figures out I’ve stolen his cell phone.

  30

  Dante – Afghanistan 2002

  Joseph’s been gone for two days. I’ve been counting the hours off ever since they dragged him from the cell and kicked water in my face. Unease sits like a bad meal at the pit of my stomach as I watch the sun crawl across the sky.

  The word ‘Rebecca’ swirls around my head. I imagine some petite blonde with great tits sitting by the phone with her belly full of arms and legs, receiving the worse phone call of her fucking life. If I ever get out of here, I’ll make the trip to Texas myself. I’ll tell her that her husband was one of the bravest
motherfuckers I ever met.

  Joseph asked me all the right questions when I revealed my true identity. He was as fearless as always. The only time I saw him hesitate was when I talked about the fifty murders in fifty nights I’d committed under my father’s instruction. It was my ‘welcome to the family business’ initiation ritual but I didn’t feel much like celebrating as I cleaned my knife on the shoulder of a dead teenager who’d been selling a couple of grams of dope on our patch.

  I told him why I’d left and he’d nodded, like he got all my fucking reasons and didn't need a further explanation. Afterward, he’d tried to shake my hand. It was an awkward moment, what with us having two broken arms between us, but it felt like a bond was being forged in that pit of hell – a connection that meant something to both of us.

  Dusk is falling on the third day when the bolt is finally yanked back. Two men kick Joseph through the door and onto his knees before banging it shut again.

  He’s in bad shape. The worst I’ve seen, with blood all over his face. Still, there’s a nervous energy about him that instantly has my attention.

  “Thought you’d taken up singing lessons,” I tell him mildly.

  “Fuck you, Santiago.” He gives a harsh laugh that develops into a hacking cough as he rolls himself onto his back and lies there blinking at the ceiling. “I’m not giving them shit.”

  “What happened?”

  “New tactic. They threw me down a hole. Rats were pretty tasty, made a change from eating dirt.”

  “Anyone else down there?”

  “Couple of dead bodies. Think they were trying to give me nightmares?”

  I laugh. “You can't have nightmares if you can't fucking sleep.”

  “I patted them down.”

  “What, the bodies?” Smart man. I hold my breath. “Anything?”