Fever by Autumn Archer

21

Sal swivels on his stool and studies my face. “You look tired, Iris.”

He uses the reception area as his working base, which means I always know where to find him. The temperature stays stable at a cool degree, and the under-desk fridge is crammed with recyclable bottles of water. Timber beams extend the full height overhead and cream walls add warmth to the otherwise austere interior. A bold green couch lines the wall while a high-tech coffee machine sits next to the welcome desk.

I prop my elbows on the desk and sigh. “You're working me like a dog.”

He chuckles. “Really, and that’s why you’re sitting here with me and not cleaning cabin ten?”

“It’s break time.” I point at the cup of coffee beside his diary. “You told me to drink water at regular intervals. I’m sitting and sipping.” The bottleneck tips to my lips and a bite of icy Evian kicks my brain. “So . . .” I screw the lid back on. “You have a sister?”

Sal sets his pen down and interlocks his fingers. “I do. And how would you know that?”

“He, who I’d rather not mention, told me about her.”

His forehead scrunches, and he makes a weird noise from his throat. “El Fantasma told you about Carina? When?”

“After Bruce’s funeral. I saw them together . . . well, not together, not like that.” My insides squeeze. “He was leading her in this direction. To the medical facility.”

“Okay . . . he told you about her?” Sal cocks a skeptical brow. “He doesn’t speak about her to anyone, other than me. In fact, he rarely talks to people, period. What exactly did he say?”

“He mentioned her birthmark and how Jackson removed it.”

Sal blows out his lips and throws his hands behind his head, stretching back in his seat. “Holy fuck, Iris? Why did he tell you that?”

“I only asked who she was,” I say without commitment.

“I’m shocked. I didn't know you guys were on speaking terms. I thought you hated him?”

“We aren’t . . . and I do. We haven't spoken since then.” I’m not lying. The hatred still festers like an open wound. The attraction still seethes under the surface like an active volcano. “Enough about him. Why don’t you talk about your family? You know about Emmie, my parents’ late-in-life miracle baby, and I had to learn about your sister from someone else.” I’m craving information, details, a mental escape.

“I don’t bring them up in conversation because I know how much you miss home.”

Technically, I don't miss home. I miss my family: their welcoming hugs, silly stories, and the sense of belonging. I’ve grown to appreciate my new surroundings now that he’s given me permission to wander and record my findings. It's both a distraction and a source of mental sustenance.

“I get homesick, but I’d like to hear about life outside of the oasis. To remind me it's still there. Sometimes I think this place is like the Bermuda Triangle. Like a time blip, and when I finally make it out, everything will be exactly as it was, as if a second has only passed. Bruce will be alive, and Emmie will reveal another kooky game she played at summer camp.”

“Carina didn’t have much of a childhood. She seldom played with the other kids because she was too self-conscious. We couldn’t afford the corrective surgery. I was working two jobs to save up for it. Then el Fantasma gave me a job here. The healthy salary meant I could quit the other two jobs. Even at that, it would have taken me years to get anywhere close to the medical fees.” Thoughtful eyes drill into his fingers. “Once he found out about Carina, he took over, and Jackson completed the surgery within weeks. El Fantasma offered to help and wouldn’t take any money from us.”

The toothed puzzle pieces fit together when Sal’s lips press together, and he gazes at me with a sheen of gratitude. He’s loyal to the man who gave his sister a life. His mood simmers to somber, and he clears his throat. “We’ve got a shit ton of work to get through if you’d like the afternoon off.”

“Have you ever played trust fall?”

He lowers his lashes to the pages, pretending to study the roster. “I’m not good with heights. Getting in a helicopter is a huge deal.”

“Stand up. Come on. Emmie loves this one,” I encourage him with a wave of my hand. “Indulge me just this once.”

Raising a brow, he wheels out from under the desk. “It’s a kid’s game? My sister is eighteen, Iris. Those days have long passed.” He smirks.

I ignore his reluctance and grab both of his wrists. “Put your arms over your chest and let your palms rest on opposite shoulders. Then turn around.”

“Is this the part when you pull my trousers to my knees and push me, so I hit the floor with my ass in the air?”

Without thinking, a giggle fizzes in my heavy chest cavity and casts a lighter, carefree energy into the state-of-the-art medical facility. “Sal, it’s supposed to be fun. I’m not a bully.”

I laugh again when he clutches his belt and pretends to hold up his pants. “I’m not sure I like this game.”

“Humor me, Sal. I’ll keep my hands to myself and hold back from dragging down your trousers. As hard as that might be,” I joke.

“That definitely won’t happen, beija flor.”

I freeze. Sal spins around, facing me, but keeps his startled gaze past my shoulder. “Sir.” His crossed arms drop to his sides, and his spine goes stiff. “Do you need help with something?”

A glut of uncertain tingles race over my scalp and numb my fingertips. I take a breath and fight the instinct to greet Dante with a wide smile. As I turn around, bulky arms cross over a khaki T-shirt. “What’s going on?” His lips contort as if he’s quashing a barrage of verbal abuse. “You’re supposed to be working,” he snaps.

I shiver as Sal rushes behind the desk. “Sorry. We were having a five-minute break. It’s my fault, sir.”

“No.” I step forward. “It was me. Sal told me to clean cabin ten, and I asked him to try something before I left. That’s all.”

“Try what?”

“Nothing important. A childish game.”

“Which is?”

“Trust fall.”

“And that involves pulling his fucking pants down?”

I blow out a steadying breath when his hands visibly clench. “That was a joke. Trust fall is when you fall backward, and your partner catches you. My sister asked me to play it with her all the time.”

“Show me,” he grits out. I swallow hard and mirror his dominant stance. Sal’s chair squeaks when he sits behind us. “Do you trust me to catch you, beija flor?”

I turn cold with risk. Just as my veins run to ice, they switch to scalding at the prospect of tumbling into him. Enduring his commanding hands on my skin. Suffering his solid build next to mine. I gasp, aware of the heat painting my neck pink.

“Do you trust me to catch you?” I counter. His height alone is triple that of my sister.

He repositions his cap and stalks closer. His fresh scent taints the air and makes a fool of my willpower. Locks of inky hair teasing his nape remind me of how his wildness fed into mine. Tamed facial hair is trimmed and neat, so much so that my fingers itch to brush over his jaw and brave the wicked prickle.

“We’ll see.” His lips twitch. I desperately want to find his eyes, to connect with him beyond tinted plastic. In the daylight, Dante will remain el Fantasma. “Tell me what to do,” he adds.

I inhale before instructing him to cross his arms like I did with Sal. “Now turn your back to me. The aim is to let yourself go.” His shoulders jostle. “And trust that I’ll catch you.”

The request is like asking him to jump into a lake with famished crocodiles, then patiently wait for me to heave him to safety. He does a quick swivel in his boots. His shoulders rise, and he brings his ankles together in preparation. Beneath the cotton, I mentally trace the outline of his tattoo, following the contours of his backbone. The compulsion to touch him swells to intolerable. My belly flips, aching to travel my hands over the well-built landscape.

“I’ll take a few steps away, and then, on the count of three, close your eyes and lean backward.” This whole setup feels surreal. Will he really allow me to catch him? “One.”

On two, I creep behind him, closing the distance I usually put in place with Emmie. She loves the sensation of free falling, but with this man, I want him to know he can trust me without a doubt. A bristle of anticipation fires up my bold aura with his inflexible mistrust.

As the number three passes my lips, I sense his indecision. He rolls out the tautness in his shoulders and inclines into the barren void. When the tips of his boots peel off the floor tiles, his back immediately crashes into my chest. My arms wrap around his solid waist, and my injured cheek slams into his shoulder blade. He staggers a step until he’s steady, still encircled in my embrace.

I hold him tight.

Dante braces.

A quick second becomes painfully intoxicating. The unbalanced rhythm of his heartbeat thuds like jungle drums, inciting my own to dance around the flames of our unity.

For a glimpse of time, it feels like I’ve chipped away at his steely exterior. That we’ve stumbled onto common ground.

His voice echoes in his chest before he frees himself from my arms. “Get back to work.” His head turns to Sal. “I need a word with Jackson. Is he here?”

“Yes, sir. He’s through there.”

“Good.”

I urge to yank him into my chest again. To destroy this pretense and erupt with lust. Frustration gushes through my blood. I know I’m a fool. But there’s a darkness within me that longs for him to visit me at night. I’m the one who asked him to stay away. He’s the one keeping his word.

There’s no future for the king of the jungle and a woman who belongs in colder climates with intimacy and family bonds. I’ll forget the world for half a year, then I’ll return to my old life. And Dante will continue to exist in the wilderness with isolation and paid staff.

He marches to the hallway beyond the reception desk with a storm chasing his mood. When his footsteps fade, Sal slowly rotates his head with his mouth gaping and eyes wide. “What the fuck?” he mouths wordlessly.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” I ignore his shock.

“Hold on a second. What just happened,” he whispers. “What was that?”

“It was nothing.” My hand flies to my stomach. “A mutual hatred. A display of his authority.”

Sal’s lips twist. “No, Iris. He actually let you catch him. That wasn’t a show of his authority. That was faith. He basically gave you his trust. It was fucking unbelievable.” There’s a beat of silence where he gawks my flushed face. “I knew he liked you but this . . .”

“What do you mean, you knew he liked me? That’s news to me.”

“He rescued you, put you up in a guest cabin, watched over you while you were sick, and ordered everyone to treat you with the utmost respect, or he’d kill us all. Why do you think the men scarcely speak to you? They're scared he’ll put a bullet in their brains.”

“He what?” My head spins. “He stayed with me when I had the fever?”

Sal drops his gaze. “Fuck, Iris. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Sal?”

“He wouldn't let any of us sit with you. Jackson wanted to keep you here, but el Fantasma arranged for your transfer to the cabin. He’s the one who administered the antibiotics and nursed you back to health. I know this because I hand-delivered clean linens and meals. He slept on the floor, Iris.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me this before now?” My hands fly to my cheeks, causing me to wince when I slap my wound.

“Look, I’ve stepped over the line. He’ll kill me if he finds out I blabbed.”

“I don’t believe this.”

“Fuck, you can’t let on that I told you.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word, Sal.” My heartbeat stalls and restarts. It was Dante all along. “What happened to him? I can sense there’s a good guy beneath all that bravado. Do you know why he’s so broken?”

He shakes his head. “Broken men are dangerous because they have nothing to lose. Once they gain something to protect, they become fucking lethal.” Sal glances over his shoulder, checking that we’re alone. “I’ve known him for a few years, and he’s never opened up. Carina has a girly way about her which he responds to—like an uncle or elder brother. They talk about her future. Never about his past. I just know it was something bad. Something that tore him apart.”

My knees turn to jelly and a dull throb builds at my temples. “I’ll use the bathroom, and then I’ll make a start on cabin ten.”

Sal runs a hand down his face. “Sure. Okay.” His heavy sigh is acceptance of his choice to divulge the unbelievable truth.

He was my hero and my prison guard.

I manage to walk the breadth of the room without crashing to my knees. Dante pretends to be evil. He’s erected impenetrable walls of self-protection. That same complicated man is fighting natural instincts, warring with inner demons, and safeguarding his heart with boundaries and rules.

Rules he evidently struggles to obey.

That doesn’t change how he’s wiped out my life and clipped my wings. I should loathe him for that alone.

Dazed and lost in thought, my feet carry me to the elegant bathroom. Granite countertops and lacquered stalls are nothing less than immaculate. A duo of floral hand wash and moisturizer line the basin, and still no mirrors.

My mind runs riot. Am I really this naïve? To think he has salvageable qualities. I desperately wish that to be true. I grunt with disgust at my immaturity. This is a perilous situation, with genuine emotions and a slack tightrope hanging in the treetops. One wrong foot and he’ll not just talk about my death, he’ll plan it.

I’m nothing special to him.

He trusted me to catch him.

My turmoil is justified.

El Fantasma is the one who dictates. He lays down the law. He demands respect. He offers nothing and takes everything. Even his nightly visits were under his control. I don’t pity the man; I pity the twenty-three-year-old woman with an infatuation for his alter ego, Dante.

Moments pass with my hands under the waterfall faucet. I miss gazing in a mirror at my unruly spirals and faint scattering of freckles. That’s how I recognize myself. Without that image, I don’t know who I am now or who I’m becoming. My identity has altered, and I haven't been privy to the change. I crave to see the grotesque cut carved into my skin. He must wince at the ugliness. Recoil at the imperfection. I’d give anything to find out how unsightly it really is.

We’ve both suffered.

We’re both damaged.

His bitterness bleeds into his veins.

Mine has been watered down to unshed tears.

Wiping my hands on a square of muslin, I toss it into the designated laundry basket and break out into the hallway. Instead of going back to reception, I wander further into the warren of corridors. His distinct fluid accent draws me closer to Jackson’s office. It is destruction anointed as seduction.

“That’s two lives taken care of. I’m sure that will send a message to the other two motherfuckers.”

“How did this one respond to justice?” Jackson’s blue-blooded baritone is more friendly than thuggish.

Dante sneers. “The loser thought it was his lucky fucking year. We set up a trap in a swanky hotel room. We invited him to a VIP party, which turned out to be a party for two. He was bitterly disgruntled when the lines of cocaine were toxic, and the hookers were knuckle dusters. The prick ruined my life for tits and grams. He aimed for the high life, and I gifted him a ticket to an early grave instead.” He laughs coldly. “My guy secured his wrists with a thin wire and roughed him up. As evidence, he filmed the asshole in a puddle of blood, his own blood, choking like a gutted fish. Putting a bullet in his tiny brain was a satisfactory conclusion to the fucker’s pathetic life.”

Horror scurries under my skin like an infestation of insects ready to mutate. The beast in Dante is real, whether or not I choose to ignore it.

“I can’t believe our guest had no information.” A sigh follows a rattle of metal.

“What a waste of time. He didn’t know who gave Miguel the order to come after me.”

“There is one option, Dante.”

“And that is?”

“Bring him here. Find out for yourself.”

There’s an eerie hush. “I don’t know if I could let him live long enough to dig into the truth.”

“What other choice do you have?”

“I don’t. But . . . here?”

“He’s going to die, either here or out there.”

“I guess it would be more pleasurable to deal with him up close and personal. It has a better ring of retribution to it. I just swore I’d never have the fucker anywhere near my home.”

“It’s the only way, now that you’ve hit a brick wall with the investigation. What about the girl?”

I suck in and bite my lip in anticipation. There’s a heartbeat of silence before Dante clears his throat. “Her wound is healing nicely.”

My heart thuds. I lean my shoulder into the doorjamb for support. Waiting for his answer shows how damn feeble I’ve become. How insanely jinxed this oasis has made me. My need to hear the answer drowns me in shame.

“That’s not what I mean, Dante, and you know it.”

“What do you want me to say? We both know there’s no place for her here.” Tin clanks and a drawer slams shut. “Especially if Miguel crosses over onto my territory.”

“Then why is she still here?”

“Because I’m not ready to let her go.”

“Not ready or don’t want to?”

“I’ve got six months to figure it out.”

I roll my spine into the wall and swallow a muted sob. My shirt collar tightens around my throat, and the scent of sterile cleaning solution turns sickly. He’s right. There is no place for me in his world. Not when he’s associated with organized crime and brutal murders.

The ruthless man treats me like a caged bird. Yet that same guy retrieved my journal, of all the things he could salvage, and kept it safe before handing it back. He left me alone at my request.

Space is a valuable commodity. However, this time, it’s acerbated an itch and has turned into a forbidden appetite. After learning of his violent tendencies, free from remorse, I’m not entirely sure I’d like to explore that side of him. I pause for a second, letting the tremors do their worst until I can move again. Exhaustion wears me down as I stumble away.

We have six long months to respect each other's boundaries. Six tedious months to withstand this snarl of emotion. Six grueling months before I fly back to the Scottish Highlands and try to put this behind me.

“Iris.” Sal peers over his shoulder when my footsteps echo to the ceiling. “Can you drop off these meds to cabin thirteen on your way? It’s the newest guest. He’s complaining of a migraine, which will be his sixth in the past few days. I’m guessing he’s enjoying these way too much.” He rattles a brown bottle of pills. “I’m restricting his allowance. One is more than sufficient. We’ll ween him off them slowly.” He shakes out a smooth orange torpedo-shaped capsule and drops it into a clear pouch. “Drop it and leave immediately. Okay. I’m sure he’ll be out for the count. He won’t even know you’re there.”

I choose to not share my inner anxieties with anyone, not even Sal. Perhaps popping one pill would take the edge off my own spiraling mood.

Could I ever accept a man so damaged and murderous? Can honesty and tenderness coexist where evil resides?

Or is he a mirage of a dangerous man trapped in an illusion he needs to create? Aside from asking me if I wanted him to fuck me, he hasn’t physically hurt me. Not outside the realm of sexual desire. What he offered in pain, I lapped up and urged him for more.

“No problem. I’ll clock off once I’ve finished up in cabin ten. See you tomorrow.”

“Iris.” Sal sets his hand over mine when I grab the small polythene pill bag. “Are you okay? If you need to talk, I can swing by later.”

“Thanks. I’m looking forward to doing something normal for once.” I pat my back pocket where my journal snuggles to my buttocks. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a sturdy battle maiden.” He chuckles when I wink.

Crossing the threshold from air-conditioned to roasting heat, I scoop up my curls and wrap them with a rubber band, then place a cap on my head to shield my eyes from the high sun.

Who is Dante?

Whose murder did he arrange, and why?

I have too many unanswered questions.

With every lungful of air, my insides heat. A pale haze of mist marbles the treetops and a rain-laden sky creeps overhead. An uneasiness settles in my stomach. Bruce had cautioned of a torrential storm when he noticed the same heavy clouds that fateful day. So much for an afternoon of research.

A cobalt blue butterfly lands on the rope handrail. It poses for me with a delicate composition of a thin oblong body and broad, black-tipped wings. They bat intermittently, yet there’s no sound, no breeze, no consequence of its visit other than a striking flash of color amidst a backdrop of earthy hues. I stay perfectly still, silenced by its simplistic beauty, in awe of its ability to survive where peril lurks from the soil to the highest heights.

A pair of scarlet macaws twirl nearby and a long-billed toucan perches on a swaying branch. This is my purpose. I’m here for these creatures. Dante is the forbidden fruit in their forest. He’s made a promise to set me free, and I trust him to see it through. Then, and only then, will it be my decision whether I stay.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, agitating the wildlife. Frantic warning calls shriek for cover. The butterfly flits and flaps when large raindrops plop onto the slats beneath my feet. I hurry to cabin thirteen and press my fob to the lock. It opens immediately.

Stillness swallows my heartbeat. This is the first time I've entered an occupied suite. The layout mirrors my suite, except for one crucial difference. Every window has reams of fabric hiding the wilderness from sight.

I’ve been the glorified chalet girl for days. Arranging meal plans in the kitchen, restoring order to messy vacant rooms, and wallowing in unsatisfied lust. I was exempt from all guest interaction––until this very second.

“Well, hey there, chica.” I recognize the smarmy countenance of the man I met the first night I was officially enslaved. He was the guest el Fantasma welcomed to his oasis.

Dressed in a pure white robe with thick bandages looping the crown of his shaved head to his jaw, the man steps out of the bathroom. In the dim light, yellow and black bruises paint his eyelids and cheekbones.

“I’ve got your tablet.” Stuffing a hand into my pocket, I drag out the solitary offering and set it on the bed.

“One?” he states with surprise, hitching his tone a decibel higher. “I’ll need more than one. Holy fuck, chica, what is this place? Prison?” he snickers. “Actually, in prison, I’d be able to get whatever I want. Tell me, what would it take to get more of those magic pills? I’m bored out of my skull. One isn’t strong enough. Those are the only things keeping me from losing my goddamn mind.” I’m sorely tempted to respond, but I back away, keeping my lashes lowered.

Drop it and leave.

“You look smart, chica. Am I right? We can come to an arrangement. You scratch my back. I’ll scratch yours. I’m leaving in seven days. Name your price for acquiring a week's worth of these?”

He’s leaving soon. Emmie. My parents. No one would know. The desperate idea sparks before I have a chance to suppress it. “I’ll get you more if you send a note to my family when you get to the city.” I pull out my notepad and pen. “I’ll put their address on the back of the page. All you have to do is post it.”

His mouth twitches. “What’s stopping you from sending a postcard yourself? There are other pleasures a man can offer a red-headed beauty.”

My intuition hiccups. “I’m busy. I work long hours. It would get there quicker if you sent it. That’s all I need. Nothing else. Do we have a deal or not?”

He hums low in his throat and folds his arms—the hairs on my neck rise. Strolling barefoot to the bed, he holds the clear bag to eye level. “I like women who know what they want. Especially those with pale skin. Write your note. I’ll take it with me if you deliver the rest of the meds this evening.”

A burst of white light electrifies the air. I pause, wary in his presence but hopelessly wishing Emmie knew the truth. “Fine.” Scribbling a brief message, I fold the page in half and jot down my parents’ full postal address.

Placing it next to the television remote control, I turn to walk away.

“Wait a second.” My head wrenches back to the scratchy sound of his voice. “You’re from Scotland?”

“I am,” I answer sharply. “I’ll drop off your extra tablets later.”

“Before you go, can you pour me a glass of water?” He nods toward a misted jug on the sideboard. “I would do it myself, but that's what you're for. Isn’t it?”

Fucking asshole.

This guy is the epitome of disgusting. Where Dante makes me hate him, it’s not the same hostility snarling through my veins for this creep. The feelings I have for Dante are exquisitely complicated. The emotions felt between the two are oceans apart, planets apart, galaxies apart. I’d sooner gouge this man’s eyeballs out than let him lay a single finger on me.

I would beg Dante to maul me if he crept into my room again. And I would love every moment of his intoxicating torture.

I agreed to behave. To stay out of trouble and work hard. It’s a small sacrifice for liberty. If the man wants a drink, I’ll pour him a glass of water.

Fixing my shoulders, I keep my gaze low. He steps to the side as I walk past, dragging bloodshot eyes from my face to my chest. The rush of fluid sloshing into the glass is the only sound.

“When I go back into the world again, I’ll be reborn. All my secrets, forgotten. Your employer has erased everything I’ve ever done wrong. I’m a clean slate. A new man.” I set the jug down. My fists ball when he closes the short space between us. “Today, however, I’m in limbo. Not the man I was and not the man I will become.” The elastic bunching my hair pings free when he flicks his hand out and tugs. The weight of curls bouncing signals a warning. “Technically, I’m just like him. A ghost. And you know what that means, chica?”

I’m hyperaware of his breathing. Thunder reverberates, low and cautious. My pulse races while my skin bristles with a thousand needles. Everything inside of me screams to run away.

I swivel, fighting the fight-or-flight instinct to smash the full highball into his head. Facing him, I project a hateful glare at his puffy features. “Forget about the note. I’ll send it myself.”

“Wait.” His hand seizes my wrist. “I’ll send your little note to Scotland. However, I think there’s something more urgent you can help me with.”

I shake my arm. His grip tightens. “Even a ghost needs attention. And I’m lonely, chica.”

The thrum of regret slams into my chest. Glancing sideways, my gaze settles on the sideboard where I left the note for Emmie. It’s not there. “Where is it?” My heart bucks. “My employer will rip you apart if you hurt me.”

He chuckles. “Your employer isn’t here. It’s just you and me, with your bargaining chip in my pocket. If you want it back, you’ll have to slip your tiny hand in and get it.”

I gulp at the implication, baring my teeth. “Give it back to me.”

The fucker clucks his tongue and shakes his head slowly. “What’s all the fuss about, chica? Why have you changed your mind? Perhaps el Fantasma will rough you up for breaking the rules, is that what you’re worried about? Don’t worry, it’ll be our secret.” He smirks. “I don’t know the man, but even I can tell he’s very particular about contact with the outside world.” My heart trips as he backs me into the dresser. Heinous eyes scan the mending skin lining my jaw. “Is that what happens to bad girls who misbehave in the wild?” The inquisitive tone he uses isn’t of concern, it’s a satisfying slither of vile snakes. He flips the peak of my cap, whirling it into the air. With no barriers from my face to his, he bends in. I shudder when his nails scratch my skin, restraining my struggle to break free.

“Salvador is expecting me. He knows I’m here.” The words burst out in a blind panic. “El Fantasma will throw you to the fucking crocodiles if you don’t let me go,” I spit out.

He snags my hair and trails it through his fingers, bringing wavy ends to his nostrils. The moment I react with a tight fist, a hand slams over my mouth and he shoves me, so my shoulder smacks into the wall. Bare feet plant at either side of mine, preventing me from stomping on his toes.

“If your employer discovers you were passing notes to the guests, he’ll give you another scar to match this one.” He runs his nose along my cheek—a tender touch chilling me with intended harm. “We’ll come to an arrangement. I’ll keep your secret if you visit me every night and let me have this.” A grabbing hand shoots downward and cups my crotch. “I’m going to enjoy fucking foreign pussy.” I wince when he squeezes. “Does he fuck you, chica?” Poxy pupils flicker, and his palm slides from my lips to my windpipe. “I bet he keeps this cunt for himself while the guests have to jerk off alone.”

The atmosphere turns cold, not from threat, from the pitiful sickness in my gut. I have to destroy the message, whatever the cost. My life depends on it—and my tragic heart. I’ve handed a reptilian soul the ticket to my ruin.

“Stop,” I pant, straining my neck under his grip. “I’ll double the number of tablets if you give it back.”

His snicker turns borderline maniacal. “Oh, chica.” The lazy sway of his head follows firm fingers digging into my windpipe. “I don't want double the amount, triple it. With your ass as the deal breaker.”

This grave error chokes the breath from my lungs, but the strike colliding with my cheek rattles my teeth. The point of contact stings with raw pain seeping over the healing wound. My heart pounds. I raise repressed fury. Tap into repressed anger.

I wriggle and squirm.

Thrash and barge.

Buck my hips.

In tandem, we stagger. The palm seizing my throat restricts like a boa constrictor. My fists attack with relentless punches. I gasp for air when we crash to the ground, brawling like animals. Masculine weight bears down on my thighs. Savage fingers rip and tug the buttons separating my skin from his.

I try to scream. Life giving air fills my lungs with no exit. Terror blinds my vision. A hot trail of tears swamps the throbbing cut. My nails claw and scrape in vain. Desperation flips to panic when my hands go numb, and tingles of dread smother my losing battle.

Ever so slowly, I slip into a haze of feathered vision. Inside, the howling turns to whimpers. A lively pulse loses speed. Fluttering lashes go from wild to lazy. Failing heartbeats thump out of time. My final sluggish swipe raises a white flag.

Before darkness swallows the light, I gasp as a deluge of oxygen floods my lungs. The oppressive pressure of weight and danger withdraws. I blink in dancing shadows, paralyzed and hungry for air. Rolling to my side, I retch and cough.

Deafening thunder clashes with ferocious growls. Silhouettes brawl and scrap. When my focus returns, I find Dante primed and seething. He bends over the battered man. A flash of lightning strikes the hostile air with a hiss, brightening his rage. Nostrils flare. Teeth bare. Hands fist.

“Hold on,” the man begs. “It was her. She gave me a letter with her home address in Scotland on it.” He pants. “Wherever the fucking Highlands is . . . she begged me to post it. She said she'd do anything in return.”

Dante freezes. His jaw works and a visible tremor powers through his arm to the balled hand hesitating between the king and his pathetic subject. Another barb of blinding light illuminates the subdued atmosphere.

The snarl rupturing his chest is more thunderous than the deafening rumbles now high above the oasis. I clutch my stomach as Dante repeatedly smashes a tight fist into the man's face. I hear the splintering crack of bones shattering. I wipe tears with trembling fingertips when my attacker's body goes limp. A trickle of blood drips from his nose, nestling in redundant bandages.

When Dante pivots, my entire body quakes. With his shoulders set for war, his rigid posture vibrates with violence. Showing limited control, he drags the sunglasses down the bridge of his nose.

Thick brows knit together as his chest heaves. “Is it true?” he grits out, glaring down at me.

“No,” I choke out. “It’s not how it sounds.”

A gloved hand flicks up to silence me. His eyes flash like lightning in cut glass. “Did you give him a letter with your home address on it to send outside of my oasis?”

“It wasn’t a letter . . . it was a brief message.”

The backdrop of a deadly storm fades when he takes a sharp breath and splays a palm over his heart like it’s fractured. “Fuck!” His vicious snarl spikes my soul with horror.

I scramble to stand. Power and fury lunge in a whirl of body mass and brawn. An unforgiving grip snatches the unkempt locks pouring over my shaking arms, restraining me at his hip level. “Stay on your fucking knees.”

He unclips a radio from his belt and brings it to his mouth. “Luiz,” he barks out. “Cabin thirteen. Now. Bring my gun.” The second he gives the order, he tosses the radio to the floor and drags a hand down his face.

“Listen to me, Dante. It’s not what you think.” My eyes burn. “I . . .”

“Shut the fuck up!” he yells over a boom of thunder. His voice explodes louder than the violent weather disturbance. Muscles flex, and any compassion that once lived in his eyes dissipates into a flicker of abhorrence. Disorderly hair falls in curtains when his eyes squeeze shut, blocking out my tears. Quick breaths steady and lashes lift like poisonous darts, pinpointed at my mouth. “Never use that name again. It’s el Fantasma to you.”

“No, please, it’s not what you think. Let me explain. You’re scaring me,” I sob, locking my pleading gaze to a distant, baron wilderness of green where even the bonniest flowers perish.

He lowers his face to mine. “You should be scared. I’m going to fucking destroy you, traitor.”

To be continued…

Want to find out what happens next? Iris has broken the rules and Dante wants his gun… but what will he do to her? ClickHERE to start reading this enemies-to-lovers steamy suspense continuation, FALL