Hearts On Fire (The Santiago Trilogy Book 3) Page 3

  I toy with the idea of telling her about Rick’s business, and then store it away for another day. I don’t want Sevastien gaining any sort of power leverage in that beautiful mind of hers. As far as she’s concerned, he’s an easy target. A man on the ropes… An opportunist who can’t stay hidden forever.

  “Come sit with me for a while.” She pats the empty space next to her, like I needed a goddamn invitation.

  I snatch my phone away and toss it onto the nightstand, narrowly missing the water that she made me fetch for her like a fucking lapdog. She glances up and her hand pauses, mid-air.

  “I don’t take orders from anyone, my angel,” I say softly. “You know that.”

  “Wait…”

  “Hold still.”

  I’m dangerously deliberate in my movements as I lean over and slide my palm between the nape of her neck and the pillow. I pivot her face toward me and then curl my hand into a fist, my fingers forming a tight knot around her hair. She winces in my grip and I inhale that first spark of uneasiness. I may have professed my love for her but I’m still an unpredictable beast. I’m still capable of anything.

  “It’s been too long, Dante,” she whispers, guessing the roots of my frustration right away.

  “Damn right it has.” I bring my face closer to hers. Lust and irritation have twisted my lips into a snarl. “I’m in charge around here, not you. Did you forget?”

  She reaches up to meld her hand to my jaw, tempering my violence with the simplest of touches; surprising me with just how in sync our thoughts are.

  “Make love to me.”

  “You’re sick.” I’m mulish in my reluctance. Torn with indecision.

  “Then distract me. That’s what you use sex for, isn’t it? As a deflection for the pain?”

  “Not always,” I grumble.

  She smiles again and I start to lose focus. “Liar.”

  “Tell me more.” I move fast, pinning her wrists to the mattress either side of her head as my shadow looms large over her. “I want to hear exactly how much you’re craving my dick.”

  “I need to feel every part of your love,” she says, welcoming in my crudeness with open arms. Indigos are back to rich sapphires again, and they’re sparking with desire.

  So that’s what this insatiable craving is? Love. What a mindfuck. I’m still testing out the boundaries of this newfound emotion. It’s obsession. Agony. Peace.

  “And you will, mi alma,” I say, glancing down at her naked breasts. The sheet has slipped downward, exposing one of my favorite parts of her body. Heavy. Sinful. Flawless. She could bring a man to his knees with a glimpse of those alone. “All nine fucking inches of it.”

  She laughs and I loosen my grip. I’m hers forever when she curves that mouth and utters that melodic sound. “Not dirty and depraved like the last time,” she tells me. “Make love to me, my devil. I need something gentler. Softer…”

  I scoff at her. “Do I look like a man who does soft and gentle?”

  I hate it when she requests this. I’ve only made love to a woman twice in my lifetime. The same woman who is now petitioning for a third… I have no tolerance for it today. I need to consume. To release.

  “Yes,” she says simply, cutting my reluctance in half with a single word.

  “I dictate this play, remember?” I growl, kicking off my shoes, snatching back the upper hand before she tips it in her favor. She’s getting too good at this.

  “Only when the woman you love allows it.”

  “Damn you, Eve.” She’s right. I’m so hungry for a taste I’d walk through hellfire for it. I’d give her everything and more.

  Releasing her wrists, I take a step back to remove my black T-shirt and unbuckle my belt. She glances at my naked torso and catches her lower lip between her teeth.

  “I’ll go at your pace today but only because you’re healing,” I tell her. “Don’t expect the same consideration tomorrow.”

  “I wouldn’t presume anything with you.”

  She wriggles into a seated position and raises her hands above her head, inviting me to remove her white silk negligee. I RSVP, then and there, tearing it from her body and discarding it over my shoulder. Tossing the sheet away too, I kneel between her legs, the mattress creaking in protest beneath my weight. This is fucking everything. I’m high on the sound of the breath catching in her throat. I know she’s wet and desperate.

  “Wider,” I say harshly, hooking my hands under her knees to drive her legs further apart. She does so without protest, unveiling the center of my universe in all its pink, glistening glory. “Perfect,” I murmur, sliding my hands up and under her ass to lift her sex to my mouth, counting down the seconds until she’s all mine. I won't be happy until she loses consciousness again, until her body is begging for a pardon from my pleasure.

  “Gentle, Dante.” I feel her touch on my forearm as she gasps out her plea. “You promised.”

  I catch her eye as I lower my chest to the mattress for that first, exquisite taste. “Settle in for the long haul, mi alma,” I murmur, inhaling deeply, filling my lungs with her scent. “I may be acquiescing to your request today, but I never gave you a timeframe for my intentions.”

  5

  Joseph

  “Kill me, oh sweet Jesus, kill me, KILL ME!”

  The man’s screams are making my head pound. Unlike Dante, I don’t derive much pleasure from toying with my victims. This shithead is next to useless anyway. He’s Sevastien’s errand boy. Not like his associate, the one with the severed head in the next room.

  “Reece, secure a line and get Santiago on the phone,” I tell the dark man next to me, sheathing the bloody knife and pulling out my gun. “He’s going to want to hear this.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  “Pleaasssse kill me!”

  I turn back to the man cowering at my feet. Nationality: crimson. I can't even tell what color his fucking skin is anymore. “Death’s too much of a mercy for filth like you,” I mutter but I give him what he wants, then and there – my bullet exiting the back of his skull along with rest of his fucking brain. A spray of crimson gore decorates the dirty wall behind him and his lifeless body slumps to the ground.

  I holster my weapon and turn back to Reece, waiting patiently for him to dial out. The call connects and he hands the device to me.

  “Dante?”

  “Joseph.” He sounds distracted. His voice is muffled.

  I check my wristwatch. It’s three am on the island. In the background I can hear sheets rustling and a soft voice whispering something. Eve. My expression softens immediately. I’d walk through hellfire to protect that woman, to protect the complicated messed-up bond that they share.

  “Talk,” snarls Dante. “I’m heading down to my office now.”

  “Hang on a minute.” I turn to Reece and the rest of my men. “Get rid of them,” I say, indicating to the bodies, before heading out onto the adjacent balcony to relay the latest developments. The warm night air wraps around my skin like a glove, while the unfamiliar odors of Marrakech take turns to punch my senses. Spices. Smoke. Sewage. Anything is better than the metallic stench of death. I stare out at the gaudy chaos of Jemaa el-Fnaa Square and listen to the distant sound of a door slamming shut somewhere down the line.

  “Well?” prompts Dante.

  “We missed him. Flew out five hours ago. He has a covert training camp somewhere in the Sahara. We’ve traced his movements to a small village but the exact coordinates of the camp are still unknown.”

  “What the fuck does he need a training camp for? He’s a pimp, not a terrorist.”

  I can tell Dante’s as edgy about this new development as I am. After our time in Afghanistan, we know all about so-called training camps and the evil created there.

  “Does Petrov still have connections in the CIA?” I ask him.

  A low hiss confirms what I suspected. Dante would rather rip his own throat out than ask Petrov for help, but I’m not averse to making that phone call myself. Th
is situation is fifty shades of fucked but I’m willing to impart fifty shades of deference for progress.

  “What about the girl?”

  “Transported out of the US already.” I can hear my voice thickening as I say it. What the hell is it about this woman that creeps under my skin so deep? I pride myself on concealing emotion. It’s my greatest weapon, not even Dante can read me.

  “Is this confirmed?”

  “We danced with a couple of assholes tonight. With their assistance we traced a shipment to Amsterdam. Everything points to her being on their fucked-up manifesto.”

  “Why the hell would he send her to Amsterdam?”

  “It’s his new European base. Established a week ago after we eviscerated Bucharest. There’s a holding house there and the network is gaining traction already. He’s cut a deal with the Romanians who run most of the red light district, no doubt sweetened by the influx of dollars from his Bratva’s newly appropriated US business. How’s Sanders taking it by the way?” Like I give a shit. There’s no love lost between that asshole and me but he’s loyal to Dante so I keep a respectful distance and my mouth shut.

  “FUCK!”

  My phone vibrates from the force of Dante’s reaction. I can feel the burning licks of his anger, even from two thousand miles away.

  One step forward. Two steps back.

  “How’s Eve?” I ask quickly. She has her own methods of curbing his darkness. I have mine.

  “Stronger… Impatient.” There’s the sound of a breaking glass as his fist hits his desk. “I want her found, Joseph.”

  Don’t we all.

  “And I want you and your team back here, as soon as possible. We leave for Amsterdam tomorrow.”

  “And Sevastien?”

  “I’ll relay this information to Petrov. He can pick up the mantel and continue the search himself, just until this situation is sorted. Our first priority is the girl.”

  6

  Eve

  I’m not so nauseous this morning. Thank God. I even manage a couple of dry crackers that I find at the back of one of the white cupboards in the kitchen. Encouraged, I try biting into an apple afterward but I quickly have to throw it away. The taste is all wrong. It’s more acrid than pleasant. The thought of anything remotely sweet passing my lips again only intensifies those vicious waves.

  My stomach may have stopped acting like I’m sailing into the eye of the storm – it’s more bobbing about on the periphery now – but the rest of me doesn't agree. The sense of displacement that I’ve felt the last few days is worse than ever. My voice sounds shrill and remote. My limbs feel heavy and unfamiliar, like they’re moving of their own accord. I’m a zombie trapped inside the body of a woman that I used to know.

  Pulling out one of the stools next to the island, I take my place and nibble away at another cracker. The more I eat, the calmer the seas. I think there’s always been a part of me that felt this way, particularly after Dante commandeered my life. But since we got back from Miami it’s growing fiercer and deeper, in the same way that his baby is growing stronger inside me. Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones? Maybe it’s delayed shock, just like Whit said? Maybe, as a child, it was a sixth sense that my father wasn’t always the great upstanding guy he professed himself to be?

  Perversely, I have more of a definite sense of self these days. It’s like I’ve struck an invisible line through my old life. My soul is complete. I know who I am and where I’m supposed to be, even if my physical body has other ideas. It’s cemented into my psyche; solidified by my love and obsession for him. I’m soon to be his wife, a mother to his child… The last part terrifies the crap out of me, but I’ve had a little time to come to terms with it. In the cold light of today, my baby, our baby, feels oddly right. The timing sucks but I’ve always wanted kids. If Dante shares my views, it will be the next chapter in the story of our lives together.

  I gaze out at the glorious sunshine beating down on the French windows and recall the night of the award ceremony. I found myself all alone in the bathroom on his private aircraft, listing out a few of my traits and achievements in my head – both the good and the downright scary.

  Eve Miller.

  Award-winning reporter.

  Failed Daughter.

  A master criminal’s lover.

  Truth is, I couldn’t identify with much, and now I know why. My surname was Santiago from the first moment he laid eyes on me, however much I fought it; I never failed my father, he failed me; there’s more to Dante than his past and his darkness.

  The only thing that felt vaguely right was my profession. I was going places. I’d just won that award… I put down the cracker and take a sip of water but the liquid gets stuck halfway down my throat and I start to choke. I can’t help feeling like I’m letting myself down, that I’m letting my brother’s memory down, by turning my back on it all. He was the one who encouraged my writing, who drove me to college every semester, who celebrated my first headline piece with me over cheap beers at our favorite bar…

  The chiming of my cell punctures my thoughts, and I can feel the weight of them decompressing with every peal. Then something else strikes me. Have my test results come back already?

  Shit.

  I lean across the island to answer my cell but it rings out straightaway. That’s weird. I sit back down again, thinking fast. Only four people have this number – Dante, Joseph, Anna and, after yesterday, Whit. I check off each person in turn. Dante disappeared from our bed in the middle of the night and I haven’t seen him since, Joseph left the island for Morocco two days ago, Anna… Tears spring to my eyes. Was she trying to make contact? I need to find Dante.

  Launching myself off the kitchen stool, I head for the open door, holding my cell close to my chest in case it rings again.

  This house is so big it feels like a mausoleum. I miss Sofia and her warmth and kindness, which seemed to fill the empty spaces and make everything here seem less…immoral. Did Dante scare her off after he sent me away? The state of his office is just a small glimpse into what his state of mind must have been like that week. Is this the reason she hasn't returned?

  The sound of my footsteps follows me down the empty white hallways. I’m reaching for his office door when two strong arms lock around my waist from behind, lifting me high up into the air.

  “Dante!” I scream, my hands flying to my belly. “Put me down!”

  A familiar dark chuckle and a cloud of hot breath furls around my temple. “You don’t want to know what I did to my last intruder, my angel. What are you doing lurking in my hallway?”

  “I wasn’t lurking anywhere,” I say crossly as he lowers me back to the ground. Pushing his arms away, I spin around to face him. “I was looking for you.”

  “Well, now you've found me. How shall we celebrate?” His gaze flicks down to my still-heaving breasts and he swiftly backs me up against the wall, one fist hitting the space above my head like a full stop for his intentions.

  “Where have you been?” I say, swallowing quickly. Dante’s a big man, a hard-muscled mountain of well over six feet. It’s his aura that’s so intimidating though, coupled with his fierce penetrating gaze, thick black hair, a firm jaw that is permanently cast in shadow, the tribal ink that curves around his left arm, and that scornfully sensuous mouth… Dark and dangerous, and sexy as hell. I can feel the beat exploding between my legs already.

  “Around,” he murmurs, stopping slightly to grind his budding erection against my pelvis. Without my heels on, he’s a good ten inches taller than me. All I can smell is his lust – that rich, heady scent that has my senses reeling.

  “I haven’t seen you all morning, or most of last night. Where have you been?” Complaint is spilling out of my mouth and smudging the tension.

  “You got the highlights, mi alma.” He shrugs. “Shall we pick up where we left off?”

  “Has something transpired that I should know about?”

  “Not in my bed, not after three am. That’s the whole fuck
ing problem.”

  “I’m serious, Dante.”

  He curses in Spanish and adjusts his erection with a violent tug. I wait, not so patiently, for him to enlighten me but he’s clearly not in a sharing mood. I watch his gaze dip downward again.

  “Why do you keep touching your stomach? Are you still sick?”

  “Not sick anymore, but it still hurts.” My hand drifts back to my side. I wasn’t even aware I was doing it. How long have I got until he guesses the truth, a week? A month? “Have you heard from Joseph? Has your team found out something more about Anna?”

  He peels away to slam a code into the metal keypad. There’s a click and then he’s wrenching the door open for me. “We believe she’s in Amsterdam.”

  “Amsterdam?” I grind to a halt and stare at him. “Why Amsterdam?”

  He doesn't answer. I can tell he’s censoring out the worst of the details to spare me the worry.

  “Don’t,” I tell him sharply. “You promised, Dante. I want to know everything, and I want to know it now.”

  “Then get inside,” he says curtly, jerking his head. “And stop issuing fucking orders at me again. I told you I wouldn’t go gentle on you today, and now you won't be sitting down for a week.”

  This shuts me up. No rough play, I can't risk it. Everything I’ve read on the Internet over the last couple of hours has reassured me that sex can't harm the baby, under normal circumstances… That’s the thing. There’s nothing about Dante’s lovemaking that fits that criteria. He’s as brutal as he is passionate, and his stamina is insane.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just worried about everything.” I slip past him and into the lavish confines of his office. “Someone called my cell earlier, but as soon as I answered they rang off. I thought it might be her trying to make contact.”

  Dante holds out his hand as we move further into the room. “Give me your phone. I’ll get someone to hack into the data. We’ll see if there’s anything there.”

  What if Whit calls?