“He doesn’t trust interlopers who appear out of nowhere. You have to admit it yourself. It's very suspicious.” Sal dusts his palms together. “Anyway, I’m forbidden to talk about him, and I’d prefer to keep my job.”
To his employees, he's the respected authoritarian, the powerful king of his whimsical oasis. From where I’m sitting, he bribes men with money in exchange for silence. It doesn’t take a well-educated scientist to understand how he works. A blind woman could pick up flaws in this idyllic setup.
Sal sits back in his chair. “It could be worse.”
My brows drift higher. “How on earth could it be worse?”
He rips open a sugar packet. “You’re staying in one of the luxury guest suites. The rest of us bunk up on the opposite side of the oasis, in basic accommodation. Nothing like the cabana you’re assigned to.” He taps the granules into his coffee and stirs it with a teaspoon.
Rowdy chatter slashes to low mutters. My gaze cuts to the entrance, sensing the sociable mood falter.
El Fantasma.
The glorious rising sun salutes to him like the god he demands to be. With his usual dark lenses placed on his splendid nose and a baseball cap masking rebellious inky curls, he halts like a tyrannical ruler.
My pulse attacks the furious flutters in my throat. Sanguine strides cover the hardwood floor with a burst of arrogance. His presence absorbs all the nervous energy around him and conjures it into regality.
Behind me, Sal whispers, “He never comes in here.”
I drop my gaze to the bottomless pool of coffee, wishing I could splash into its warmth and banish the chill his sudden appearance commands.
One man scoots back in his chair, making a ghastly noise as the legs judder. The screech cuts through the palpable atmosphere. I take a quick breath and side-eye the interaction. The employee stands, holding out his hand. El Fantasma ignores his waiting palm, nodding once instead. They have a brief exchange in Portuguese, and just as I gnaw on my fingernail, his face angles. Hidden eyes find our table.
Muscles strain under a pristine white T-shirt. With his self-assured posture strong, he backs away from the friendly worker, all the while keeping his shaded gaze in our direction.
I don’t allow him to intimidate me a second longer. He told me to stay out of his way. I’m keeping my word. Bowing my cap, I fork toasted bread from one side of the plate to the other.
“Sir?” Sal stands. I stay seated. “Is something wrong?”
I clench my jaw so tightly that my teeth complain. El Fantasma extracts a replacement handheld radio from his camo pocket. “Here.”
That one word riddled with supremacy bites my attempt to stay quiet. I want to scream at him. To slam my fists into his chest and demand impunity. But I keep perfectly muted, nipping my tongue so hard I nearly draw my own blood this time.
There’s an eerie hush until he speaks again. “I don’t want her anywhere near the new guest. Understood?”
“Of course, sir. I have her on the cleaning rota until she gets the hang of things.”
“Excellent. Will that please you?”
Silence creeps in. Every breath around us pauses. I’m certain he directed the question at me, yet my lashes remain lowered.
“She’s happy with that,” Sal hurries a response.
“I asked her.” El Fantasma takes one powerful stride and dips his shoulders, bringing exotic scents to the table. “Does that please you?”
My stomach flips. I refuse to bend at the knee for this atrocious man. He instructed me to keep a low profile, yet here he is, taunting me with slavery.
The fork rattles on the edge of the plate when my hand trembles with rage. Just because he’s given me a well-appointed cabin and arranged for his staff to nurse me back to health, it doesn’t mean he’s anything less than a kidnapper.
For the longest moment, his mouth stays closed, waiting for a reply that doesn’t materialize. He cocks his head. Slow controlled breathing sounds louder, as if I’m attuned to his every move. “I’m talking to you.” A leather finger hooks under my chin. He pinches my jaw, dragging my face to meet his. I roll my eyes to the overhead fans, adamant about ignoring his question. “This childish attitude won’t do you any favors,” he says all too calmly.
My chest thumps when he snaps upright, dropping my chin like it’s covered in acid. He flexes his palms, smoothing the cap down on his curls. I dare to glance at the audience behind him. Wide eyes watch as he ever so serenely secures my elbow.
“Stand,” he orders.
The livid grip, felt only by me, threatens a temper on the verge of my destruction. My knees quake when I lift off the chair, peering up at him from my cap. If his eyes were lasers, they’d burn through the high-tech plastic shielding his rage. Fully aware of the loyal employees surrounding us, he skates his hand to my forearm and squeezes. With a steady and composed gait, he ushers me past ogling eyes, forcible guiding me into the open with one unforgiving strong-arm tactic.
His palm strangles the bones in my wrist. Whatever level of self-control he thinks he has is slipping. We leave behind oblivious spectators, who’d happily accept a financial bonus to look away. Three quick steps match one confident stride, marshaling me along the deck to a secluded area at the rear.
He corners me against the timber outer wall, trapping me like a startled animal. An injured bird caught in the jaws of a wildcat. I knew what I was doing. Standing my ground. Poking the hornet nest. Taunting the beast.
His shoulders tense. Early morning parrot twills and whistles burst from the high trees. “I don’t pretend to be the king of my jungle. I am the fucking king. Ignore me again, and I swear to fuck, I’ll—” The orchestral melody is powerless to subdue the sharpness to his voice.
“You told me to stay out of your way. Now you want a conversation?” I shudder when he purposely drags the frames off his face with his free hand. Amaranthine green eyes snare with mine, then dart to the corner of the cabana, ensuring we’re alone. The second they release me, I inhale again. A quick intake of air to keep me alive, laced with tropical tones of pure earth and raw seduction.
His gaze returns, stripping me apart piece by piece. Kinetic pools mirror the tint of thickset trees beyond him.
The ruthless hand holding me prisoner gradually uncurls. “I said stay out of my way, not disrespect me in front of my workforce.”
“Why should I show you respect when you think it’s okay to trap me here against my will? What have I ever done to you?”
“It’s not what you’ve done. It’s what you’re capable of doing. What you plan to do.”
Covered fingers skate along my biceps. The fine ridge of stitches binding leather invites a squall of prickles, so ruthless and unwanted. But they’re there. All over me. An unsolicited reaction. A wanton mistake.
“Don’t touch me,” I spit out. “Back the fuck up and give me space. The only thing I plan to do is leave.”
Rather than obey, he steps even closer, darkening the morning blush. All I can see is him.
One by one, sheathed fingers slip between his teeth, deliberately nipping the leather until the veil of concealment comes away. With supple black leather hanging from his mouth like a dead crow, he snatches it away and pockets the glove. I’m frozen, locked in place. He teases my shirttails loose with his opposite hand. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”