Page 15 of Fall
And I’ve discovered something I’m not sure I can handle.
Freely brushing over the diverse landscape, swinging beneath thwapping blades and a deafening engine should be a thrill in itself. The adrenaline pales in comparison to the feelings I get when I meet her reticent gaze with a crown of moonstone circling black opal.
Her intense stare fixes to mine as if she’s blocking out the precarious journey we’re taking together or searching for the man we’ve both lost within the beast. I know he’s still there, suffocated under the unease of our future and troubled by a new plan to kidnap my worst enemy and bring him into my domain.
I swore I’d never breathe the same oxygen as the murderous scum. I’ve followed his steps in cyber space for months, hoping he’d reveal the true mastermind behind his betrayal. Mediocre villains like Miguel only pull the trigger. Someone else provides the weapon.
The thought of having him step foot on my soil burns like acid through my arteries. He's not welcome here. It’s a rogue plan to get the information I need with a shot of truth serum to ensure the information is bona fide. A sickening choice to hold him hostage in the very place I call a sanctuary. I welcomed Miguel into my home once before, a long time ago, only this time it will be different. So very divergent. He won’t know what has hit him until he wakes up in a seaplane destined for the riverbanks of a world so hidden it could be a dream. He won’t be greeted with a friendly hand to shake. There won’t be a soft bed with fresh linen or a platter of ripe fruits waiting in a cabin. No, he’ll only see the light when his soul leaves his carcass and finds the bright flames of Hell.
Justice.
Payback.
A long-awaited gift from me to him.
One thing is certain, Iris won’t know the devil is my prisoner. She’ll never encounter true evil in the eyes of the man who shot my sister.
The two will never meet.
Their paths will never tangle.
Which is why I have to send her home.
6
Rope ends trail over wooden planks as the aircraft lowers to another decked platform.
“You’re safe here.” El Fantasma’s voice booms under the thunderous racket.
A chill whips down my spine. Not from the blustery wind, but from the close proximity of tickly whiskers and a luring waft of lime and musk. Fresh and familiar. Terror and attraction.
Letting go, I jump onto a terrace and slide my hand into the cavernous pocket housing his gun. Robust steel helps my rigid muscles to relax. I’ve never used a firearm before. Shooting a flare gun is my only experience of pulling a trigger for survival. And look where that got me.
As he unhooks himself from the ladder and signals up to the pilot, I glance back over my shoulder to find a jaw-dropping view of the jungle glowing under iridescent moonlight. Trillions of stars glitter around us in an amethyst velvet sky. Nocturnal creatures rumble and gripe.
Following a bowed balcony, I’m instantly awestruck. The place he calls home is a stunning treehouse nestled among a multitude of evergreens. A thickset thatched roof is partially camouflaged by the dense foliage draping from all angles.
It’s an enchanting off grid, architectural masterpiece fit for the king who rules the untamed ecosystem.
Pretty solar lights guide my exploration beneath an extended roof, seamlessly sheltering the boundaries of internal and external living.
“Are you hungry?” His baritone sound snaps me from the hallucination of a delightful vacation rental. “I’ll open the Cachaça. I know I could use a few shots.” He scrubs his eyes and drags a palm down his face.
I’m still a prisoner in the jungle.
Dante strolls ahead. He slides open see-through doors and weaves around exquisite bamboo furniture. I stare inside, in awe of the cylindrical hideaway.
To his right, there’s a uniquely designed kitchen with a stone sculpted sink. Overhead, a pale blue chandelier made from reclaimed bottles tinkles in the breeze. And to the rear of the property, there’s an enormous white bed with an aspect to rival the heavens. Bellowing dreamy net pours like a waterfall from a central hoop on the ceiling, hanging at either side of the frame.
I choose to keep my shock contained. We aren’t friends or lovers. Not anymore. And I’m certainly not the willing guest in his hideout, even if he brought me here without a fight. I weighed out my options and concluded exposure in the wilderness was the most potent danger of the two. At least I have a weapon to cling to. An element of power. A method of protection.
He moves behind the countertop, studying my stillness. “Food? Water?” he repeats. I stay on the balcony, preserving the yards of distance. Rather than taunt my captor, I shake my head with a curt movement. His brows pinch together. “Okay. When you’re hungry, take whatever you want. You don’t need to ask.” Dipping behind the island unit, he fiddles out of view then rises. “I need a shower.” He nips the forefinger of his glove between his teeth and tugs his hand free, then the next.
Thankful for the prospect of space, I sigh inwardly. At least he’ll be hidden behind a screen so I can catch a breath. When I don’t speak, he saunters through the bohemian living area, at ease in his naturally furnished territory. One hand slots into his trouser pocket and the other teases his lips. My silly heart flutters.
I’m the one with a gun, and he seems annoyingly confident I won’t use it. I shake my head again and pivot to the landscape. It’s a ploy to stop me from eyeing his broad shoulders when he yanks his T-shirt up and over his head.
After the day's events, it’s insane how the movement of his linear muscles are a lullaby to my waspish mood. I’m infuriated by the whisper of enticement unfurling in my core. It’s happening all over again. A voodoo spell of attraction. But nothing he says now will alter this situation. An apology won't cut it.
