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the Santiago trilogy…
Hearts of Darkness
CHAPTER 1
Eve
“No one has to die here tonight.”
His voice is calm, dead calm, but the hand gripping my mouth is rough and unforgiving. Black spots cloud my vision as I struggle to draw breath. My heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of my chest, and my thoughts? They’re balancing on a jagged knife’s edge, somewhere between fear and panic.
He takes my arm and pulls me closer to him, the icy tip of his gun grazing my temple and snapping me back to my harsh reality. I blink, and focus on dragging air into my reluctant lungs, willing my racing pulse to slow; praying that my survival instincts kick in soon.
I can’t see his face, but there’s a dark familiarity to how he’s handling his weapon. There’s a knowledge there. Training. This man knows how to pull the trigger and he’s not afraid of the consequences.
Instead, my eyes dart to the young guy standing behind the liquor store counter. He’s watching us with his mouth wide open. He’s just a college kid, younger than me; my scared partner in this chaotic narrative. He only started his shift a few minutes ago. His backpack is still lying, discarded, next to a stack of cheap beer kegs.
I only came into this liquor store because Anna begged me to. I was handing over a bottle to pay when Mr. Deadly walked in and held a gun to the back of my head.
“Take what you want, mister,” says the guy nervously, indicating to the open till. From my vantage point I can see untidy wads of twenties, tens, ones… No hundreds? “Like you said, no one has to get hurt.”
There’s an amused sound from my assailant. “Oh, I don’t want your money.”
His voice is deep, velvety… Eminently masculine, and laced with the faintest trace of an accent. He doesn’t sound like your typical liquor store junkie thief. There’s no slur in his speech, no admission of drink or narcotics abuse. He sounds educated. Refined.
For some reason this scares me even more.
“Get out. Go.”
The store worker blinks at him.
“I don’t like to repeat myself…”
There’s an edge to his words that sends a shiver down my spine as the young guy grabs his bag and hightails it out of there.
The hand tightens around my mouth and I’m yanked backward against my assailant’s body. I let out a muffled cry. It’s like colliding with a brick wall. He’s a solid mass of muscle, from his chest and abdomen, all the way down the long length of his thigh. I twist my head from side to side to relieve some of the crushing pressure on my jaw.
“What’s your name?” he murmurs, loosening his grip to let me speak.
“Eve,” I gasp out.
“Eve who?”
“Eve Miller!”
“Eve Miller.” He repeats it slowly, but the way he says it feels like a hard caress, like some kind of twisted foreplay. “Tell me, Miss Miller, are you going to be a good girl? Are you going to behave?” He’s talking directly into my ear, and I can feel his hot breath on my skin. It’s scrambling my senses, tormenting me further.
Giving me no time to answer, he locks his arm across my shoulders, imprisoning me against his body and assaulting me with his warmth and scent. It’s musky, potent… Male. There’s no trace of panic underneath it all, no nervous sweat or unnatural body heat. This man is in total control of this situation. It makes my next words tumble out of my mouth like some crazy, half-assed defense mechanism:
“Please let me go, I have plans!”
I have plans?
It’s a stupid thing to say given the circumstances, but I’m meant to be at Anna’s house. It’s my birthday celebration dinner tonight. Twenty-five and barely alive. Will I live to see twenty-six? Not if this man has anything to do with it.
“I had plans too, Eve. Big plans… It looks like we’ll both be rearranging tonight.”
Who is this man? A fugitive? A human trafficker? A drug dealer?
My last thought makes my blood freeze. Is he someone I’ve name-checked in one of my articles for The Miami Reporter? I’ve gotten threats before, but only via my work’s mailroom. Maybe it’s someone trying to get to my dad through me.
“Are you going to hurt me?”
“Not unless you do something stupid.”
“I won’t! I promise!”
Huh?
Why am I not fighting back? In my line of work I’ve interviewed dealers, users, snitches—every type of shitty immoral character you can think of, but this man is something else.
He chuckles darkly. “That’s good to hear. The repercussions would be…a pity.”
He forces me toward the store’s exit, manipulating my slender body with ease. I catch a glimpse of our twin reflections in the glass door as we approach. My face is pinched and scared, hauntingly pale beneath my light tan, and my long, dark hair is a mussed-up mess.
Nothing prepares me for my first glimpse of him. Tall and handsome, well built and olive-skinned—with dangerously defined features, a firm square jaw adorned with a shadow of stubble, and tousled black hair that’s been slicked back off his face.
He lowers his gun to open the door and guides me out onto the sidewalk. The street is deserted apart from the odd car rolling past. He keeps his weapon pressed tight against the small of my back anyway.
So close.
Too close.
Anyone looking twice might think we were lovers.
I shiver, despite the red-hot heat radiating from his body. My brain can’t seem to rationalize any of this. It’s like I’m on the outside looking in, feeling all the detached emotions of an innocent bystander instead of the victim.
An SUV appears at the far end of the street, and accelerates in our direction. I flinch as it screeches to a halt next to us, and two large men jump out. They’re dressed in black army fatigues. Foreign-looking. Intimidating. One has an ugly scar that runs the entire length of his face, shattering the skin around his eye socket into dozens of spidery-red fragments.
“Someone talked,” the scary-looking guy announces. “There’s a leak higher up than we thought.”
My assailant curses under his breath, something hostile and unpleasant in a foreign language, as a cacophony of lights and sirens erupt somewhere in the distance. I find myself being spun around, and then I’m face to face with him for the first time tonight. My hand flies to my mouth to stifle my screams. A pair of the darkest, cruelest eyes are blazing into mine.
“Who’s the girl?”
My gaze jerks in the direction of the voice. Anything to escape that toxic scrutiny. The man with the scar is gesturing at me.
“Collateral.”
Turning back, I find I’m being devoured, stripped naked, and debased right there in front of everyone by those insidious pools of black.
“Oh look, she bought champagne…” I did? I glance down to see I’m still clutching the bottle from the store. “But there’ll be no celebrating tonight.”
He relieves it from my trembling fingers, and carelessly tosses it to one side. The glass smashes to smithereens as soon as it hits the sidewalk, the alcohol staining the dirty asphalt like blood from a gaping wound.
I dare to lock eyes with him again. He’s older than I first thought—early-to-mid thirties. They say the devil can mimic many forms, but can he really mimic pure perfection such as this? In the harsh glare of the streetlight, his expression is unreadable but his features are mesmerizing. That full mouth, those carved cheekbones…
It takes me a moment to get a hold of myself. When I do, I find I’m being led toward the vehicle.
Not this! Anything but this!
Terrified, I buck backward against him with all my strength, colliding with those solid muscles again, and something even harder. Holy shit, is that his erection?
I consider making a run for it, but even with the liquid fire of ‘fight or flight’ pumping through my veins, I know my odds are less than zero. These me
n would shoot me down like a dog in the street.
“I gave you my word, Eve,” he says, slamming a hand between my shoulder blades, and leaving me no choice but to bend to his will. “It’s not something that’s broken lightly.”
The sirens are getting louder. Glances are exchanged, and the men spring into action. Two jump into the front of the vehicle, while the devil slides into the back seat after me. Doors slam and the car accelerates away. I’m thrown backward against the cream leather, but my captor barely shifts.
Broad.
Muscular.
Lethal.
His thigh is rammed up against my own and I daren’t move it away.
“Hack the store cameras and wipe them clean,” I hear him say. The guy in the passenger seat nods, pulls out a laptop and sets to work immediately. “Water?”
With a start, I realize he’s addressing me.
Glancing down at the outstretched bottle, I feel a surge of hope. If he’s offering me sustenance, surely he doesn’t want to kill me…yet.
I take it without thanks, defying him as much as I dare with my lack of manners; feeling the heat of his scrutiny again as I twist the cap and bring the bottle to my lips. The water is cool and refreshing. It tastes faintly metallic though, as if soured by his nearness. I replace the cap and hand it back, our fingers briefly touching as I do. I flinch as shockwaves detonate throughout my body.
He takes a swig from the same bottle, not bothering to wipe the rim first. “Are you scared of me?” he asks casually.
Is he serious?
My silence grows leaden and dense.
“I asked you a question, Eve.”
Stop saying my name. There’s something so sinister, so…sexual about it.
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
“No. Yes… Yes I’m scared of you!” My voice is barely audible above the screams of the engine.
He nods, accepting this, before taking another swig from the bottle. “You should be.”
You think?
The guns and bad vibes are nothing but props. I can sense the monster lurking beneath that beautiful mask all by myself.
This man has no place in my world. It’s sheltered. Respectable. I’m a reporter, and I work for a national newspaper. I write tough articles about tough subjects, but the truth is I’m an introvert who hides behind my words. After what happened to my brother, I’m allergic to risk. I go out at the weekends, but I always leave early. I’m the sensible one. The designated driver. I don’t drink because I don’t like that loss of control, and now this?
“Where are you taking me?” I risk another glance at him.
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at me.
“Cameras are wiped, Señor Dante.”
Dante?
The devil has a name… An appropriate one at that.
Borne straight from the fires of hell.
“Call ahead. Make sure my aircraft is ready. I want out of this goddamn place as soon as possible.”
My stomach drops when I hear these words. I’m being abducted. Kidnapped. Dragged from my family, my home and all that I love…
I have to do something.
I have to stop this.
“Please, Mr—” I go to grab his forearm, but his reflexes are swift and savage. He twists away from me, grabbing my outstretched hand and pinning me to the seat by my throat.
I cry out in pain and terror. His strength and speed are inconceivable. My instincts were right—this man must have some kind of military training. I can feel the heat of his fingers on my skin, kneading, squeezing. His face is mere inches from my own.
“You were saying, mi alma?” he asks casually. Nonchalantly… Like he doesn’t have my whole damn life in his hands.
I feel a frisson of something unfamiliar. Up-close, he’s devastating. This man should come with a hazard warning. A hundred thousand hazard warnings. All I can see are those eyes, so hostile and unflinching, but so damn seductive.
“Are you an angel or the devil?” I whisper, the words leaving my mouth before I can snatch them back.
A look of amusement crosses his face and his grip on my neck loosens. “I think you know the answer to that already.”
He releases me and slides across the seat to give me a little room to recover. I glance down at my hands as tears start to trickle down my cheeks. I can feel him watching me constantly.
“There’s no need to cry, mi alma,” he drawls. “No need to spoil that pretty face.”
The man up front starts talking to him again. He’s speaking in that language, the one I don’t understand. I think it’s Spanish. Whatever he says seems to irritate my assailant, who bites back with a sharp retort.
The uneasy atmosphere lingers. The car stops. He exits first, surprisingly elegantly for such a large man, and then motions with his hand for me to follow. I do so, without a fight this time. He’s not pointing a gun at my head anymore, but I’m under no illusions of what he’s capable of.
I glance around, and my knees buckle. We’re in an aircraft hanger. There’s a private jet resting on the ground in front of us, surrounded by ten men all toting scary-looking machine guns.
My fear is tangible, my senses on high alert and screaming. My only hope is to make a proper run for it this time, while they’re all distracted.
I spin away, but he grabs hold of me at the last second.
“You promised to behave, Eve.” His fingers are digging into the soft flesh of my upper arm—crushing, tearing… I cry out as the pain shoots all the way up to my shoulder. “Are we still being followed?” he calls out to one of his men.
“No, señor. We lost the tail a while back.”
He nods, as if this news is expected. “Tell Tomas I’m ready to leave.” He glances back at me, and my head is filled with a million questions. Why did he walk into a liquor store and hold a gun to my head? This man has money, serious money. I have two hundred dollars in a checking account, no savings, a mortgage…
My self-control vanishes as my panic rips apart the last remaining threads. All of a sudden, I’m fighting like a hellcat to free myself from his grip. “Why the hell am I here?” I scream at him. “What the hell do you want from me?”
“Calm the fuck down, Eve.”
“Not until you tell me!”
He considers me coldly for a moment. “You’re here because I take what I want.” And before I can stop him, he’s yanking me back to his body and crushing my mouth with his own, forcing all of his darkness and violence onto me.
My lips part in shock, a silent scream, as his warm tongue delves hungrily into my mouth. I try to move my head away, but a large hand grips the base of my neck, holding me immobile. My palms find his chest and I push with all my might, but it’s no use—a fool’s quest. He’s an unmovable rock of hard muscle and determination, and I can do little but moan in protest.
He kisses me harder in response, expertly thrusting his tongue between my teeth, corrupting me, over and over, with his raw masculinity.
Does this man make love with the same intensity?
My crazy thought kick-starts my senses.
My reticence switches to submission.
I find myself melting into his rough embrace, my fingers reaching up to burrow into his silky black hair as a throbbing beat awakens between my thighs. Another moan escapes me when I feel the thick bulge of his erection nudging against my stomach.
How am I starving for something I never knew I wanted? How has this happened? I hate this man. He’s the antithesis to every quality I celebrate—kindness, tenderness, parity. This tyrant only knows how to take and take, and there’s nothing gentle about his touch.
He pulls away, leaving me gasping, wanting and breathless for more. “Goodbye, sweet Eve,” he murmurs, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes giving me nothing. “It’s high time I returned you to Eden.”
And just like that, he’s walking away, and he’s not looking back.
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The Santiago Trilogy
Hearts of Darkness
Hearts Divine
Hearts on Fire
Grayson Duet
Shadow Man
Reckless Woman
Standalones
Devils & Dust
Hot Nights in Morocco
Unwrapping the Billionaire
Black Skies Riviera
Anthologies
Men of Valor
Catherine Wiltcher is an author of ten dark romance novels, a stage 4 cancer thriver, and a self-confessed alpha addict. Her writing is best described as sinfully sexy, and her characters always fall hard and deep for one another.
She lives in the UK with her husband and two young daughters, and if she ever found herself stranded on a desert island she'd like a large pink gin to keep her company. Cillian Murphy wouldn't be a bad shout either…
For book and blog updates, please visit www.catherinewiltcher.com
Black Skies Riviera: An Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance Page 28
