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.”