Page 13 of Fall
The electricity vibrating from his form to mine whispers to my soul with deceit. I squirm and thrash, pointlessly stamping on his steel toe boots. “Get off me.”
The strangling embrace locks tightly. I’m restrained and defeated. In a blur, he rotates me into him. A burst of hedonistic zest invades my nostrils. Familiarity. Desire.
It’s all a pack of lies.
He frowns down at me, our breath mingling.
“I hate you,” I spit out. With a quick flick, I thrust the blade into the air beside us with a plan to harm him if necessary. “Don’t test me.” I narrow my glare, feigning bravery that mocks me when his pupils flare.
My skin heats the instant his large hand envelopes mine. He controls the movement, guiding the tip of the knife to his throat.
“Go ahead,” he bites out. I gasp at the prospect of slicing his flesh. Tiny vicious teeth press into the rapid vein pulsing in his neck. “I deserve it.” I shift my stare from cold steel to a dark green gaze, awash with guilt. “I’ve done bad things, Iris. Mostly to you.” I swallow hard, straining against the powerful hand, ensuring the knife remains in place. “If you want to punish me, then this is your only opportunity.”
“Oh, really.” I laugh icily. “I don’t trust you one single bit. This is another sick game, isn’t it? Well, I’m done with them. I’m done with you.” His fingers tighten. “I’m not like you. I’ll protect myself if I have to, but I wouldn’t slit your throat. I’m not a cold-blooded killer.”
El Fantasma’s spine stiffens. As if reading my mind and jointly reliving the moment he put a bullet in my attacker's head, he bares his teeth. “That bastard had to die, Iris.” The unspoken justification crystalizes his tone with black ice.
“The asshole deserved punishment,” I argue. “But to die like that? You’re incapable of showing an ounce of compassion, never mind remorse.”
He lowers his hand, bringing my clenched fist and knife down with it. “Oh, yeah?” The whites of his eyes flash like quicksilver in a streak of moonlight. “You put your entire family at risk. I fabricated your death––not theirs. He saw your home address, Iris.” He growls. “Sick fucks like him memorize details. You more or less handed him an open invitation. Is that what you wanted?” His harsh tone skitters with unthinkable truths. “That pathetic cockroach beat up women. Then those he didn’t choke to death, he left for dead in an alleyway.” He glares at me with utter desolation, rapidly inhaling through flared nostrils.
A tsunami of nausea wipes out my self-righteous opinion. Dante isn’t a ruthless murderer. He’s a vigilante. An anti-hero. The punisher. His seemingly cruel actions were warranted.
My legs wobble at this confession, tongue-tied and shocked at the revelation. I gave my full postal address to a stranger out of desperation. The need to let my family know I was alive overruled sense and logic. Not only did I go against Dante’s strict rules, but I also put my family in jeopardy.
“Why was he a threat to my family?”
“Because he knew you weren’t like all the other staff at the Oasis.”
“I dressed like them. Cleaned like them. Took orders like them. What made me any different?”
“For a start, you're a beautiful foreigner who’s supposed to be dead. I warned him to stay away from you. That alone meant you mattered.”
“Mattered?” I hiss. “Mattered to who exactly? From where I’m standing, I’m fighting for my life.”
He shrugs. It’s not a dismissive gesture, more akin to vulnerability. “Look, I didn’t know what else to do with you. My temper split into a million strands. The decision to drop you onto the tower was for your own good.” His hand claws at the bristles on his jaw. “I wanted you alive and as far away from me as possible.”
Don’t trust the devil.
I scowl up at him, still gripping the knife with the threat of harm. “Why are you here now then? To finish what you promised? To finally destroy me?”
My muscles brace when he drags off his cap and ruffles his hair. Shaggy waves tumble over his forehead when his head shakes from side to side. Full lips pout as he sighs. Aware of the buzz sparking within me, I quickly conclude that it’s fear. Not lust. Not a craving for his firm hands. Not a wish for those short whiskers to scratch and burn. It's a panic of the unknown. An awareness of my pending incarceration.
I step to the left in his silence, assessing flourishing ferns for another thwarted getaway.
His forehead creases. “You're coming with me. It’s not up for debate. We can do this the hard way, if you prefer?”
A melody of nocturnal humming intensifies. The deep hoot of a spectacled owl watching from the heights signals as my starter horn. Diving sideways, I plough into low hanging rough vines. The way forward is lit by a faint silvery haze streaming through the canopy above. My racing heartbeat thuds with my boots. Every hurried stride carries me away from his threat and into the jaws of a never-ending labyrinth.
I sense the monstrous storm before it hits. Masculine brawn tackles me to the mud, pinning me beneath him. He effortlessly straddles my bucking hips and secures my wrists to the earth above my head. It’s only then that I realize I’ve mindlessly let go of the survival knife. I groan out my frustration, accepting the stupid notion of winning a battle against this man.
“Never run from me again,” he snarls like a primitive god. “Do you understand?” A darkened gaze flashes with an edgy temperament. “I won’t hurt you, beija flor.” The harshness in his rough tone mellows like blossoming buds after a grim winter. “Don’t fight me. You won’t succeed––ever.”
“Is that what this is about?” I continue to strain for freedom. “You want to control me. To be the dominant man taking charge of the defenseless woman?”
His struggling countenance snaps. “I’m trying to get you the fuck out of the jungle. Not control you. If you weren’t so damn impetuous, you’d understand that. You won’t last a night out here alone.”
“Impetuous?” My temper slips to feral like a robust vine ready to choke the enemy. “You’re the impulsive one. You could have listened to me back in the cabin. Trusted me. But you didn’t. And you know what? The real truth is—you never will.” His shadowy gaze hardens when I continue to wriggle in his viselike grip. “And now, you’ll always be el Fantasma to me. The man I willnevertrust. The monster who deleted Iris Kitson.”
