Hearts Of Darkness (The Santiago Trilogy Book 1)

by Catherine Wiltcher

  I dress swiftly and silently, throwing the dress back over my head and scooping up my panties from the floor. He grunts again and I freeze. Any minute now those eyes will open and blind me with their darkness, yet by some miracle they stay shut.

  Sliding out of the room, I find myself in a wide corridor filled with doors, a curved staircase at one end. I take the steps two, three at a time but my descent seems endless. Everything in this house is super-sized and there’s an old colonial-style feel to it, from the polished wooden floors to the stark whiteness of the walls. Like his bedroom, there are no pictures or photographs suspended from the picture rails, just more of the same dark furniture. The only movement comes from the white muslin drapes at the window as the gentle afternoon breeze whips the material into formless shapes.

  At the bottom of the stairs I discover another door – solid, wooden, metal-studded. Open? I test out that possibility, pushing the handle down as I hold my breath. My heart is pounding so hard I could black out at any moment. To my amazement the door opens with a soft click…

  “Hey!”

  There’s a shout behind me. I swing round, my face frozen in terror. The same girl who’s been delivering food to my captor’s bedroom is emerging from a side room carrying a bunch of white lilies. She’s wearing a red dress and her copper hair is tied into a loose ponytail.

  “Does Señor Dante know you’re here?” she says, sounding fearful.

  So she does speak perfect English. I’m angry and hurt as I recall all the times I pleaded with her and was met with blank ignorance.

  “I said, does Señor Dante know you’re here?” she repeats, more urgently this time. Her eyes keep darting to the empty staircase.

  Her raised voice attracts another woman from the same room. She’s of a similar age, Hispanic too, pretty with a round, generous face. Her welcoming smile fades when she sees me cowering by the door. Who the hell are all these women?

  “You keep her here,” urges the first girl. “I’m going to fetch Señor Dante.”

  “Calm down, Valentina,” says a deep voice. “I’m right here.”

  My stomach drops as my captor saunters down the staircase, barefoot. He’s already dressed in his jeans and he’s slowly pulling on his t-shirt, benefitting all three of us with his muscular torso. I risk a quick glance at the other women. Judging from all the floor-gazing going on they’re not immune to his beauty either.

  “Eve’s just exploring her parameters again, aren’t you, my angel?” he explains pleasantly but there’s a dangerous snap to his voice that roots me to the spot.

  Shooting me a hard look, he strides over to the cupboard and opens the door. Punching a code into the safe there, he takes out a revolver and slides it into the front waistband of his jeans. Walking back over to me, he grabs my arm and yanks me out of his way as he opens the front door.

  “Let’s take a little walk, shall we?” he murmurs, pushing me out onto the porch and slamming the door behind him. “It’s high time I showed you just how gilded the bars of your cage really are.”

  10

  Eve

  There’s so much beauty in the sight that greets me but there’s so much ugliness and disappointment too. He’s right. My new world is a cage, a beautiful, terrible cage that’s bordered by a dreamy blue ocean, reams of barbed wire fencing and armed guards stationed every few metres apart.

  He marches me down a wide path and jerks me to a stop on the edge of a gravel drive that’s magnified in luxury by the three jeeps and the sleek, black Ferrari parked there. “Take a good look, my angel,” he says, crushing me against the side of body. “Drink it all in… Perhaps now you’ll realise that my bedroom isn’t such a bad deal after all.”

  “What is this place?” I whisper.

  “I’ve given you the answer to that question already.”

  Home.

  I look away, determined not to cry. It might be his home but it will never be mine.

  Beyond the vehicles and the emerald-green lawn there’s a picture perfect vista of paradise, or it would be if it wasn’t for all the armed guards and lookout towers set along the beach.

  I turn back to look at the house I’ve been imprisoned in these past few days. It’s like something from the Deep South, early 1900s, with soaring white pillars and sweeping balconies. It’s an elegant estate with an inherent romanticism but it’s a fortress nonetheless, shielded with jade flora and tiny pink flowers, and broken glass cemented into every window ledge. Several more modern-looking buildings are situated to the left and they’re no less guarded. I count over a hundred men in total patrolling their boundaries.

  I sense him watching me all the time, drinking in my reaction and feeding off my frustration. Something tells me he’s been wanting to show me my hopeless reality for days. Perhaps he’s tiring of my constant defiance? Too bad. He’s taken nearly everything from me and it’s all I have left.

  “I wasn’t trying to run,” I say quietly. “I know there’s no escape from this place. I know what you’ll do to my parents if I try.”

  “Good. Then maybe we’re finally starting to understand one another, my angel.”

  Something flips inside of me then. I don’t want to be ‘his angel’. I don’t want to be his anything.

  “I’ll never understand you!” I hiss trying to wrench my arm away but his grip is too firm. “You’re nothing but a heartless monster!”

  “I thought we’d agreed I was the devil?” His dark eyes are glinting unpleasantly at me now.

  “There’s a difference?”

  “A monster is never Machiavellian in his intent, Eve. He’s not that smart, or patient. I, on the other hand have the resolve and the means. You wouldn’t fuck me willingly so I starved you for two days. It made your submission that much sweeter. A monster would have taken what he wanted from you then and there.”

  “I hate you,” I gasp, tears stinging my eyelids. “I wish I’d never walked into that liquor store. How dare fate be so cruel as to force you into my life a second time!”

  “Careful, my angel,” he warns, pulling me back to the warmth of his body, lust sparking in his hooded gaze. “I tend to find your defiance amusing but you’re really pushing my patience today.”

  My eyes flickers to the gun tucked into the front of his jeans.

  “Go back to my bedroom. Wait for me there.”

  My heart lurches in horror. Anything but that.

  “Let me take a walk first, just down to the water’s edge.”

  “Señor Dante?”

  We both turn in surprise. One of his armed guards has approached unseen and is hovering nervously on the edge of our periphery.

  “What is it?” he snaps.

  The guard glances down at my captor’s vice-like grip on my arm and then slides his gaze away. He’s a young man, attractive, not much older than me, with the same olive skin and thick dark hair as him. He’s nowhere near as tall or imposing though, his features are sharper and his muscle tone less defined.

  “Well?”

  “Señor Grayson is waiting for you in sector six.” Despite a thick accent, the man’s English is excellent. “Everything is set up and awaiting your instigation.”

  My captor nods. “Good. Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Yes señor.”

  “Bedroom, now,” he says harshly, turning back to me

  “Please,” I whisper. “I’m begging you… Dante.”

  A flash of surprise crosses his face before that mask of cold impassivity smothers it again. “Five minutes,” he snarls, recovering quickly, gesturing impatiently towards the beach. “Manuel!” he calls out after the young man, stopping him dead in his tracks. He proceeds to bark at him in Spanish, and more than once I watch the guard’s gaze swivel my way.

  I wish I knew what he was saying. If this man is so insistent on keeping me a prisoner here then I need to find a way to pass the time. Perhaps I could learn a few phrases of their language? It might be a way of alerting myself to anything incrimi
nating said about the Santiagos. “I’m doing all this for you, Ryan,” I murmur without thinking.

  “What did you say?” My captor has stopped talking to Manuel and is staring straight at me.

  My face pales. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

  How could I have been so careless?

  I know he doesn’t believe a word. “Five minutes,” he repeats, turning on his heel. “And you better not disobey me, or else…”

  I watch him leave with a mixture of relief and curiosity. Something happened when I said his name just now. It was like a shift of energy, a minute transfer of power, albeit for a fraction of a second. I shocked him but why?

  “Please, señorita... this way,” Manuel says, jerking his head towards the beach, and after one last lingering glance after my captor I turn to follow him. I’m suddenly eager to reach the water and sink my toes into the soft sand, to forge a tenuous connection to this strange place that is something other than fear and desperation.

  Manuel guides me away from the gravel drive and across the immaculate front lawn where the grass feels like crushed velvet beneath my bare feet. He’s careful to keep several metres between us and his eyes are constantly fixed on the ocean, his hands gripping his machine gun tightly. I get the feeling that the distance and stance are deliberate, that these are instructions from him.

  Dante.

  I inhale sharply and Manuel snaps his head in my direction. Shit. I’ve said his name again, in my head this time but still… Up until now I’ve kept steadfast to my rule – to never ever utter it, even when he’s driving me out of my mind in bed. I won’t say it again, though. Not unless I’m forced to. It’s my safe word. A surefire guarantee of his undivided attention.

  We follow the narrow boardwalk along the beach until Manuel stops and motions for me to go on without him. I don’t need to be told twice. I’m practically skipping towards the water’s edge but I’m mindful of being watched all the time, not just from the young guard but from others as well. This section of the beach is fully enclosed with large rocks and boulders. There’s a group of men patrolling the summit and they’re all looking in my direction. I feel like an exotic creature who’s been locked away behind an invisible sheet of glass with my master’s stamp all over me to ward lesser mortals away. I don’t want to be on this pedestal. I don’t want to be his anything. I just want to go home and forget I ever met him.

  I keep walking until the pure white sand turns sticky and dense and the salty sea air smells the strongest. Only then do I sink to my knees and allow the incoming tide to rush up and embrace my skin. I dig my long fingers into the wetness and gaze out at the vast blue expanse on the horizon. The setting sun represents any lingering hope I may have had of escaping this place. I’ve reached the ends of the earth. I was wrong, so very wrong. I will never gain any perspective whilst I’m here as his captive. The pull of him is just too strong.

  I think about all the dangerous men I’ve interviewed over the years. Back then I hid my intimidation behind my words and research. Here, I have no notebook and pen, no laptop. I’m unprotected. He’s stripped away all of my safety nets and without them I’m weak and exposed. He’s suspended me on this tightrope of fear and consequence and I’m far too scared to ever look down.

  I stay in this position for ages, for as long as I dare. On my knees, immobile. Resigning myself silently to my fate. My choice is simple, I can either accept what he does to me or my family will suffer.

  Time passes. Five minutes must be long gone by now but he hasn’t stormed down here to claim me. With a heavy heart I turn back to the house. The guards have disappeared. Frowning, I sweep my gaze up and down the beach before resting on a lone figure standing in front of the house.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  It’s him. For some reason he’s changed his shirt but I’d recognise the breadth of those shoulders anywhere. His dark sunglasses are glinting in the late afternoon sun. My pulse starts to quicken. There’s a presence to this man that goes way beyond his physicality. He may work for ruthless criminals but he’s very much his own man. He’s a prince with a fortress for a kingdom and somehow, despite all he’s done to me, I’m drawn to him in a way I don’t fully understand.

  He makes no move to come to me so I go to him, brushing the sand away from my knees as I rise to my feet. Shielding my eyes, I make my way across the beach but my footsteps falter the closer I get. There’s something dangerously still about him. I glance down and notice a length of black rope coiled in his left hand and I just know it’s for me. Saliva pools at the back of my throat. He’s intent on punishing me but for what misdemeanor? Leaving his bedroom without permission? Requesting to visit the beach? My gaze flickers up to his face.

  Oh dear god.

  His expression turns me to stone. There’s something so singular and primitive about it. So cold and detached. He wants to tear my clothes from my body and fuck me senseless but it’s purely for his pleasure only. I don’t know how a dominant/submissive relationship works I just know that we’ve been skating around it for the past two days. This feels different, though. It’s bleaker, more menacing… but it’s somehow more honest too. I feel a dash of something needful unfurling in my core.

  “Come here,” he orders.

  “I stayed put like you told me to,” I whisper, grinding to a halt a metre away.

  “I said five minutes. It’s gone thirty. Hold out your hands.”

  His eyes are as cold as the day I met him.

  “But–”

  “I said, hold your fucking hands out...”

  “Dante, no!”

  There, I’ve said his name again. It just slipped out, but there’s barely a flicker of a reaction this time. That doesn’t bode well. There’s no hope of a reprieve from whatever he has in mind.

  “Are you going to make me repeat myself again, my angel?”

  The tone of his voice both chills my blood and sends a bolt of electricity right through me. This dark display of dominance is calling to something inside. Something I never knew existed.

  “I don’t care what you do to me, just please don’t hurt my parents,” I beg as he wrenches my wrists out in front of me and binds them together. “I swear I wasn’t trying to run.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” He yanks the knot tighter, making me wince as the coarse rope bites into my skin. “I’m growing tired of your disobedience, Eve.”

  “But–”

  “Hold your tongue!”

  With my hands bound he leads me over to small clearing out of sight from the estate and outhouses. My whole body is trembling. I keep tripping over my feet. Whatever he wants to do to me he seems intent on carrying it out in private. He’s dismissed his men. No one will hear my screams, and even if they did I know that no one will come.

  This is his fortress.

  These are his rules.

  “Stop.” He turns swiftly and backs me up against a nearby palm tree, pinching my chin between his forefinger and thumb and forcing my head upwards. There’s no playfulness in his eyes. Not anymore. I’ve pushed him as far as he’s willing to go and it’s time to accept the repercussions.

  I glance down at his erection straining against the front of his jeans. My breath is coming out in sharp, shallow gasps. “What are you going to do to me?”

  His lips twist unpleasantly.

  “I’ve shown you how the devil makes love, my angel… now it’s high time you fucked a monster.”

  11

  Dante

  I watch her eyes widen in fear but I’m beyond clemency. She could cry, beg and scream at me but it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference. The demons that I fight with everyday have taken over and they’re calling all the shots. I can only see in colors of her pain and my power. Something inside broke when she said my name. It was too much to hear her soft, husky voice deliver something so tainted. It crossed an invisible line, more than her job or her personal vendetta against my brother and me.

  Joseph didn’t
hold back on the details earlier. He showed me a couple of her articles. Every sentence laced with contempt and hostility for our world… And I forced her into my inner sanctum? The one woman who will do everything and anything to bring us down.

  I’m not immune to it, I know exactly what the fuck we do, but somehow seeing it through her eyes kept twisting at something inside. I’ll never leave this business. My past dictates my future. I’m a Santiago, a wanted man with a voracious bloodlust, which means there is no neat diversion or easy way out for me. Once she figures out who I am the deceit will destroy us. In the meantime I need to distance myself and erect some fucking barriers. This is just sex now for my own gratification.

  I lasted five minutes in sector six. I was too impatient to get back to her. I barely glanced at the two snitch DEA agents we’d bought back as trophies from Miami. Strung up and worked over, one had actually started pissing himself when he saw me, the foul stench of urine making Joseph unleash his fists on him again. The other stayed silent, resigned to his fate. Hoping for a quick death, which, under the circumstances, I was prepared to give him. Picking up the knife, I calmly appeased my anger until their blood ran like crimson streams around my feet and the familiar sharp metallic tang in the air soothed my senses.

  “Clean this mess up,” I’d snarled at Manuel, ripping off my ruined shirt, “and then I want everyone out of sector one. Go put some fucking target practice in on the range.”

  Truth is, I wanted to be left alone to deal with her. I know my own rules. I don’t let them close. I take what I want and then I leave, so why not her? What makes her so special? Why turn my back on a way of life that’s been good to me for the last fifteen years? She needs to suffer for putting me in this position, for testing my limits and making me feel things I haven’t felt for a long time. I’m craving the oblivion that fucking her brings me but today I’ll have it in a way that’s going to be unpalatable. I’m going to inflict pain, break her spirit and bring her round to my way of thinking. It’s just the way things have to be.