“My camp was destroyed by the rainstorm and a fallen tree killed my mentor.” I clasp his wrist. “I’m trying to reach the local village for help.”
“Mentor?” His fingers uncurl, releasing me from a crowded inspection.
I stretch out my jaw. “I’m an ecologist studying the rainforest,” I say quickly, swaying into him. Not out of lust or primal need. My bones jangle. Perspiration mists every inch of my skin. Peridot eyes, so intense and abstract, are the only thing I see before I sink. Without control, I purge. Bright yellow vomit spews, and my vision goes black.
4
Dante
“Malaria?” I suggest, giving myself a measure of self-preservation from the beauty splayed on the bed.
Fiery red spirals have lost their bounce from the hours exposed to a moist climate, matted with blood and sweat. Opalescent skin glows under the clinical lighting in the operating room. A flush of pastel pink heats high cheekbones, disguising soft brown freckles scattering across a pointed nose in a disorderly sequence. Delicate shoulders shiver and shake under a spell of rampant chills. When she fell at my feet, weak and destroyed by mosquitoes, she looked like winter fighting the haze of a scorching summer day.
A rare paradox of suffering and beauty.
Spoiled perfection.
As I carried her to the triage room, I noted she was wearing one boot and a shoe twice the size of her dainty foot. Skin made for cooler weather wraps narrow ankles, bruised and blistered from days of hiking. It’s clear to me she braved the journey alone, courageous and gutsy. Given the lack of fresh water and proper clothing, it’s a wonder she lasted as long as she did. A few more hours and those parched, bitten limbs would have wilted.
I stripped away a soggy tank top and mucky neutral pants, unlocking a breathtaking sight that made my blood seethe with lust. It’s an extraordinary quiver of interest. A fiery sensation I haven’t cared for in so long.
The priority isn’t fucking or settling down with a pretty wife and a pet cub. Enemies manipulate and ruin a man’s closest connections to weaken and break them. Year after year, my heart has shriveled under the cladding of steel armor preventing another string from being snipped from my bow.
Yet, I’m not oblivious to the whisper of intrigue plaguing me. I revolt against it, shuttering the pointless fascination for a woman I can’t trust. I cover her pocked torso with a thin sheet and revert to the major issue at hand.
I’ve been compromised.
The end goal is in jeopardy.
I’ve built this tropical complex to meet my strict specifications. Luxury accommodation, an expectation of the wealthy clients, and a superior medical facility. Guests arrive incognito, unseen by anyone who isn't on my payroll. They require discretion. I demand it. So why the fuck is there an unknown female in my territory?
Jackson shakes his head. The subtle movement pulls my attention away from the woman and straight to him. “It’s that nasty laceration on her cheek. Look, it’s infected.” He points to puffy, inflamed skin oozing a yellowish hue. “It will leave a nasty scar on her pretty face.”
My surgeon and confidant slaps a wet cloth on her forehead. His bedside manner is usually impeccable, yet for some reason his casual approach toward her irks me.
Four years ago, Jackson, as he’s known now, was operating on a high-profile patient. During routine heart surgery, someone accidentally snipped a vital vein. They charged him with first degree murder. The homicide squad wasn’t interested in the imposter who assisted him that day. There was no evidence to stick it on an assassin. It all pointed to the lead physician.
Jackson is the only man I trust with my identity and my past. With his life in my hands, he knows better than to choose disloyalty. The swerve in his career has given him the opportunity to learn new skills. Cutting flesh is the same. Now his expertise slants toward facial modifications and character tweaks.
My insides blacken with fire. “Will the fever kill her?” Wishful thinking. A natural death would solve my predicament.
Jackson pricks a blue vein in the crook of her arm and hooks a pouch of clear solution to a stand by her bedside. “This will help with the dehydration. She should respond to the antibiotics in a few days. I highly doubt she’ll die, unless . . .”
His head turns, pinning me with a narrowed stare. I stuff an uncovered palm into my damp hair and growl. “Don’t look at me like that.” Searching eyes penetrate my confusion. “What about her face?”
“I can’t do anything until the fever is under control, Dante. Who is she? Did you pray for an unconscious woman to miraculously drop from a thundercloud?”
I swallow hard. Unfortunately for her, she’s fallen onto the dark side of the moon. “Not unconscious. As if by chance, I found her all alone in the jungle.” His seat squeaks as he leans back. “She saw me like this.” My eyebrows lift, indicating my lack of disguise.
“Fuck!” Jackson scoots away from the bed on the wheeled stool, hands raised like I’ve caught him fiddling. “Is there any point treating her if you’re going to feed the poor woman to the beasts in the morning?” The pronunciation of his words rolls around a blue-blooded British accent.
He has a point. An excellent observation. I’ve punished men before. Never women. And we both know those statistics will alter in the coming months.
“She said she’s an ecologist.” I smirk with a disbelieving grunt. “A while back, I authorized two male scientists to carry out research beyond the border. Whoever sent her to spy on me will come looking for her at some point. In the meantime, I’ll think of a way to deal with our unexpected guest. It’s not that difficult to make someone disappear.”
“Disappear?” Jackson shoots me a glare. “She’s done nothing to you, Dante. You’re being paranoid. How could that—” He stops and jabs a finger at the fragile woman lying flat on her back. The only color within the room is the sheen of glorious red cascading over white sheets. “How could you think she’s an undercover agent? You’ve been living like a recluse for too long, my friend. All this scheming and secrecy has fucked with your head. Have you checked with Alonso?”
My head of security understands privacy is paramount and non-negotiable. “He’s on his way here to enlighten me.” She doesn’t look like a traitor, then again neither did Maria. The informant whose time is ticking before I push the switch to end her life. Justice will be served. Maria will die just like the others. I shrug to myself and replace my cap on the crown of my head. “I’ll keep this one alive until I find out if she’s lying. If she is, I’ll take great pleasure in adding her to the list. But it could pose a bigger problem. I’ll have to find out who the fuck wants to watch this place, and if it’s me they’re after or the facility.”
I’ve been patiently plotting for so long. The targets have no idea I’m striking them off one by one. Erased by Dante Valez. Another dead body will tip the scales further into purgatory, but that's the sacrifice I’m willing to make for justice.
The reality of my foreign female being on my enemy’s payroll is highly unlikely, given her odd accent and fair skin. Nonetheless, she’s seen me. What she saw in the forest can’t be unseen. It’s goodbye to her old life.