Deadly Hearts: A Post Apocalyptic Romance Novel

by Priscila Santa Rosa

  “What are you going to do? Climb a tree?” He then shakes his head at himself. “Right. You did climb City Hall, didn’t you? I forgot you were Spiderwoman.”

  Against my better judgment, I’m smiling. “Since I was there to steal, I think I prefer to be called Catwoman.”

  “And now I’m picturing you in a black leather outfit… A very tight one too.” He looks upward with a grin. “And it’s a beautiful image.”

  I roll my eyes, trying to ignore my warm cheeks. “Just give me the phone.”

  Still too amused for his own good, he adds, “If Juanita asks for me, tell her I’m busy feeding the monkeys.”

  When I raise an eyebrow, he waves a hand and says, “Trust me, she’ll get it.”

  I wonder if that’s a code of some sort, to prove he’s alive and well.

  After tying the phone to my belt, I climb the highest tree around. Going branch by branch, I test their strength first, sometimes using thick vines for support when I slip or take a false step.

  I glance down, only able to see traces of Diego and the rest of the camp between the dense foliage. Finally, I reach the top of the canopy. Trees turn into black silhouettes as the sunset’s yellow light fades into darkness, a mantle of stars slowly covering the sky.

  The phone’s light turns green, and I dial Juanita’s frequency. Static. I try again. Nothing. Biting my lip enough to open a small wound, I dial a third time. My heart threatens to jump out of my throat by the time I finally hear Juanita’s barely audible voice over the static.

  “Hello? Dieguito?”

  “No, this is Isabel. Lucia’s daughter, your patient.”

  Static. The light blinks orange. I suck the inside of my cheek, and then it turns green again.

  “…but everything is fine. Did you hear me?”

  “Can you say that again?”

  “I said your mother is doing well. I had to up the dosage of the sedatives, but it’s expected considering how high her tolerance for drugs is, but everything else is fine.”

  She’s okay. As okay as she can be, but… she’s safe. I let out a relieved sigh. “She’s sleeping?”

  “Yes. Can I talk to Diego? It’s important.”

  Reluctantly, I answer her. “He’s… busy feeding the monkeys. Is it urgent?”

  After a pause, I hear her voice again, although broken by static. “No, no. I just worry about him. Tell him to be careful.”

  “I will.”

  The call ends. The light turns orange, and then red. I stash the phone back into my belt, and I start climbing down the tree, my heart lighter with relief.

  But as I go down, I notice a flock of birds take off west of our camp. Birds are usually asleep this late in the day, so I move up a few branches again to take a better look in the direction from which they came.

  Distant lightning announces an upcoming storm, but what worries me more is a thin column of smoke rising above the canopy. At first, I think it’s the remains of the fire burning Moacir’s village, but that’s south of us. This means …

  Someone else is out there. And close.

  By the time I reach the ground, rain has started. Already soaking wet, I let Diego help me down, his hands lingering on my hips a little too long, sending shivers through my body that have nothing to do with the temperature. He grins, dripping hair sticking to his face. I wish I could share his excitement.

  “How did it go?”

  “Fine.” I swallow, moving back a little to gain some distance between us. “She’s fine. But … we have a problem.”

  “What?”

  I glance back at the camp. Diego waited for me, in the rain, while everyone else retired inside their tents. Even so, I lower my voice to say, “I saw smoke. Campfire probably. Someone is nearby.”

  Diego widens his eyes and inhales deeply. “Rico.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe it’s poachers.”

  He shakes his head, eyes fuming. “No. Poachers know better than to skulk around so close to Punta. I didn’t want it to be true. I really didn’t.” He sighs. “But it’s him. He’s been waiting for the right opportunity, and this is it. This is his chance to finish the job.”

  “What now?”

  His gaze wanders to the tents. “I don’t know. I need to think on this.” He places a hand on my shoulder with a strained smile. “Rest. Whatever happens, I need you prepared.”

  I nod as he walks away from me and into his tent. I do the same after one last glance at the canopy above.

  Although this is my first night of sleep away from my mother in a year, I find myself joyfully tumbling into my sleeping bag as the thunderstorm outside worsens. My sore muscles relax as I snuggle inside, but not before I take out my knife and stash it under the bag, reachable by my right hand in case anything happens.

  I’m surrounded by strangers and possibly hunted by Diego’s brother, but I’m not worried. None of that compares to the crippling fear of waking up to your own mother ripping your throat out or discovering she disappeared without a trace.

  So I don’t restlessly turn around. I don’t stare at the dark, afraid if I sleep that something horrible will happen. I simply close my eyes and let the darkness and the sound of the rain lull me to sleep.

  After what feels like hours, quiet, shuffling noises wake me. My fingers curl around the knife’s handle before I open my eyes. A fresh breeze hits my cheeks as someone pushes the flap of the tent open.

  I tighten my grip, focusing my hearing on finding out where the intruder is.

  Soft breathing warms the exposed back of my neck. He’s on top of me. I spin around and firmly press the blade against the intruder’s throat.

  Dark brown eyes meet mine as my vision adjusts to the moonlight. It’s Diego. I relax my grip and move the knife away.

  A drop of blood falls on my cheek. The knife damaged his skin, but not too deep. Still, it bothers me. It bothers me so much that I want to reach for it and wipe the blood from the cut.

  But I don’t. Instead, I whisper, “Don’t do that again. I could’ve—”

  “We’re leaving. Get ready.”

  “Now? Are the others ready?”

  “No. It’s just us. We’re leaving everyone behind.”

  “What? But…” I exhale air, confused. “The call. You think Ana Cruz told him where we are?”

  “Yes. She must have found a signal and lied about it. This is a trap. For me.”

  “What about Pepe and the rest?”

  “They will slow us down. We need to be faster than Rico. And I don’t trust them enough. Ana recruited them, not me.”

  Frowning, I say, “Going to Bonita alone might not—”

  “Isabel, we have to leave now before anyone wakes up. Are you coming with me or not?”

  I’ve never seen him this upset. No flirting. No charming attempts at persuading me. But it makes no difference. Of course I’m coming. He could be heading to Timbuktu, and I would still follow him. No one else in this world has promised to cure my mother.

  I nod. “Yes.”

  The relief in his face is striking.

  Packing is done fast and quietly. While I snatch my discarded clothes and change into something less drenched in sweat and dirt, I try to make sense of Diego’s plan.

  Ana Cruz, for better or worse, was our guide thus far. He knows how to track, and I know how to survive in the jungle, but she marched forward as if she knew the terrain like the palm of her hand. We might not get ourselves lost, but we certainly won’t move as fast as she can. She’ll catch up. Soon. Then what?

  But staying here is out of the question too. Diego doesn’t trust anyone in this group. We’re probably outnumbered, even without Rico’s presence. If he turns out to be right, we won’t have any chance of escaping.

  I sigh. Dividing the group might confuse Rico, at least.

  We leave our tents behind. Hopefully, that will buy us some time before Ana Cruz realizes we’re gone. Diego’s pace is methodical. He slashes plants and bushes using his machete and calc
ulated swipes, clearing his way forward at a steady, but careful pace.

  His tracking knowledge comes in handy to hide our trail from Ana Cruz or his brother.

  Another rainstorm starts, and any attempt at staying dry is futile. My clothes are soggy, coldness reaching my bones. We don’t talk, an unspoken tension lingering in the air.

  His single-mindedness tells me he has a clear goal in mind.

  We reach Moacir’s village, now nothing more than a pile of ash, but Diego doesn’t stop there either. Finally, we arrive at the Mayo’s riverbank.

  There, the fishing boat Ana Cruz mentioned floats near. That was his goal all along.

  “Smart,” I whisper with an impressed smile.

  With the boat, we’ll travel faster than Ana, gaining a day on her. Even better, there’s no way to track it. She’ll assume Diego will keep heading toward the mining camp, toward Alex’s freedom, but with no way of knowing where we’ll disembark. This means we can lose her in the jungle.

  His expression softens, tension lifting from his shoulders for a moment. He smirks. “What can I say? I like impressing beautiful women.”

  And I enjoy being impressed. But of course, I don’t tell him that. His ego is big enough already, and I don’t want him getting the wrong idea that I’m flirting back.

  I step into the small canoe as Diego pushes it into the dark waters before boarding it as well.

  We row in unison, silently cutting through the river as the rain clears. The moon comes out in the sky from behind the clouds, bathing its light on us. The jungle is quiet now, its silence only disturbed by the frog’s croaks and the buzzing of insects on the surface of the water.

  Diego sits ahead of me. Sometimes, he glances back, not at me, but at the patch of jungle that we left behind. And every time, he paddles faster, the splashing droplets of water hitting my cheeks.

  The exhilaration of the escape fades away with each row. Dread rises from the pit of the stomach when I realize that not only are we going toward Bonita, and my personal hell, but we also have people blocking the way back to Punta Franca—to my mother.

  The faster I get the cure, the better. My plan is to take us away from Diego’s turf as soon as possible. If I stay, I will be risking painting a target on my back. The closer I get to Diego, the more danger I put my mother in. Most drug lords end in a shallow grave somewhere nobody cares to find out. And that’s only after plenty of bloodshed and betrayals. I wouldn’t be surprised if this feud between the brothers doesn’t destroy Punta Franca.

  Yet, as the sun rises on the horizon, its rosy light shining on Diego’s face as a breeze dances with his thick, dark hair, I find myself wondering if he’ll really meet a criminal’s bloody end. He seems smarter than that, his future brighter.

  Not that his future has anything to do with me.

  We don’t rest until midday. We jump into the shallow water and drag the boat to the bank. I toss him a bottle of water, so we can wash off the mud and leeches sticking to our pants.

  I help him carry the canoe to the tree line, resting it against the root of a tree before covering it with large leaves and vines. We don’t want anyone spotting it from afar.

  With no tents, we find much-needed shelter under a large tree and sit between its thick roots. There’s room only for a small fire to cook lunch. We huddle together, sharing a can of canned soup.

  “We’ll run out of clean water soon,” I say as he licks his fingers to suck what little warm liquid is left to taste. “Did you bring pots?”

  “Pepe was the one carrying those. But we can boil water using empty soup cans.”

  “Okay. First aid?”

  “I brought bandages, alcohol, and hot and cold pads. I think that’s enough for a three-day trip by the river.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  He yawns. After taking off his shirt, he places it behind his head to rest on the trunk, his bare chest exposed. I try to focus on finishing my soup, but, eventually, my eyes travel down from his neck to his abdomen. It’s a nice view, I have to admit, but something else catches my eye. This close, I can see the scar where the assassin attacked him.

  “Admiring my brother’s handiwork or just my abs?”

  I snap back to reality and clear my throat. “It’s a nasty scar.”

  “It is.” He throws me a grin. “But some women enjoy scars, don’t they?”

  “Not me. Not when I know the pain that comes with them.”

  Diego nods. “Right. The numbers.”

  Reaching for the back of my neck, I say, “They gave us bracelets first, like the ones hospitals use on patients. Two guys ripped them off and stole Army uniforms, hoping to slip past the wall gates and run for the harbor. One of them was bitten, sick with the fever already.”

  I sigh. “The state he was in, he didn’t fool anyone. They shot him in the head and captured the other one. The following week, soldiers picked us up one by one to brand the numbers on our skins. My neck was still on fire when the general himself came to explain it was a safety measure. For our own good.”

  The memory of the hot iron burning my flesh is still so vivid that I grip the soup can tight so as not to flinch.

  “I have dealt with cruel, petty men in my line of business, but the day I met Ortiz, I knew he was on another level entirely,” Diego says.

  “You met him? Didn’t he swear to personally capture you? On live television even.”

  Diego snorts. “Sure, after we stopped paying his cut. One of the many ways he tried to threaten me. The one that worked was far more … violent. It wasn’t a horse’s head on my bed, but, clearly, he was inspired by that movie. The crates I was smuggling came back filled with the chopped limbs of my men.”

  The casual way he tells the story bothers me more than I care to admit. “That’s … extreme.”

  “Yeah, I thought so too. So I just paid him off. Wasn’t worth it to go to war with someone like him.” Diego looks at our surroundings with a frown. “Rico did not like that. Called me a coward. He wanted revenge. He always wants revenge.”

  “Is that why he wants to kill you? Revenge?”

  “Something like that.” His tone is curt.

  “But he’s your brother. Family. Killing you seems …”

  “Extreme?”

  I nod.

  Diego sighs. “I supposed Rico always resented me. I was the golden boy. Stayed in school. Good grades. Went to college. I was meant to have a bright future, while he worked as an enforcer for a local gang to support my education and care for my sick mother.”

  In some ways, I can relate … to Rico. Not that I’ll ever tell Diego that.

  “What happened to your bright future?”

  Diego chuckles. “What? Being at the top of the food chain, leader of hundreds of men, isn’t bright enough for you?”

  I shrug. “I don’t think your mother wanted that kind of bright future for you. No mother does.” Best to ignore that the top of the food chains appears to be a very lonely, dangerous place.

  “True. What happened was that I always felt like I owed Rico for all that. I also admired him, in a twisted sort of way. Sure, I got my diploma, but what I really wanted was to be with my big brother, being part of his seedy world, one that looked so appealing back when I was a teen.”

  “Did you change your mind about that?”

  He shakes his head, smiling wistfully with his eyes on the jungle. “No. Turns out, I was born to be in that world. Sure, Rico enjoyed the thrill of the violence, feeling powerful while breaking someone’s legs for money, but I was better at counting that money and doubling it by knowing the market. And it’s so, so easy to make money when all you need is your wits and your brother’s fists.”

  There’s a glint in his eyes that surprises me somewhat.

  “Never mind all the lives you took and the people you robbed, then?” I ask, incapable of hiding the anger in my voice.

  At last, he looks me in the eye. His smile disappears, and he straightens himself, perhaps remembe
ring I’m not one of his soldiers, eager to admire his power and kiss his hand in loyalty.

  “It’s easy to forget about all that when you’re a glorified accountant slash sales manager.”

  Gang wars, shootouts with the police, and missing persons. I saw the news; I heard the funeral marches on the streets. I’m not squeaky clean myself, but what the drug lords did to Rio Alto was on another level entirely.

  I can’t hide from what I did, and neither should he.

  I frown. “Really? That’s your excuse?”

  He sighs. “I was in charge of production, Isabel. Of stockpiles, transport, and laundering money. Someone has to do it, and college boy was the perfect choice for El Loro—my former boss. I liked it, and I pretended my brother asking for bleach to wash his pants had nothing to do with me.”

  “That was then. What about now?”

  “I didn’t peg you for a moralist,” he retorts, his tone rather defensive.

  “I’m not, but I’m not blind either. Or stupid. You can’t pretend you have nothing to do with what the cartel did after you took over.”

  He narrows his eyes, neck stiff with annoyance. I suppose he’s not used to being questioned so openly.

  “If it makes you feel better, one of the many reasons my brother hates me is because I changed the rules. No killing unless it’s self-defense, no civilian casualties, no strong-arm tactics, and no hits on cops. I learned my lesson.”

  Diego closes his hand into a fist and throws it around, rushing the words out. “Why do you think I retreated to the middle of the jungle? Violence breeds violence. I wanted to stop the bloodshed. My wife left me because of it. I lost my son because of it. I’m tired. But Rico isn’t. He never will be. And so he hates me because I’m trying to be someone better. I can’t change my past—I thought I was doing the right thing for my family, for our survival—but I can be better now.”

  I open my mouth, but he doesn’t let me speak.

  “I’ll bring us some water to boil. I have an empty bottle. Be right back.” He stands, puts his shirt back on, and then leaves our little shelter, hacking furiously with his machete to clear a path in the opposite direction of the river.

  I bite my lip, taken back by his speech. I wasn’t expecting him to open up to me like that. I definitely never imagined Diego Vargas would be going through the same things as I am. I made mistakes in Bonita. I worked for a terrible man who used me to inflict pain on others, to rob them of their supplies and dignity. Not only that, but I also abandoned someone I cared about to escape my own sins. I did it all in the name of family too.