It should have been an incredible, once in a lifetime adventure.
An engine roars to life from outside the cabin. I scramble to the door, leaving the perfect temperature for my fair skin, and plunge into intense humidity. Thankfully, I’m dressed in a light top and skimpy shorts. Damp curls tumble over my shoulders, springing up and down as I jog over a long wooden pathway toward the mechanical noise. Scattered lanterns give the resort a magical atmosphere, so welcoming and enchanting. It’s pretty here. If I weren’t in such a rush to get home and speak to Bruce’s family, I’d be happy to hang out for a few more days.
The faster I run, the more my cheek throbs with every jarring step. Blisters on the soles of my feet twinge and sting where wooden ridges irritate their healing. This is my chance to hitch a ride out of paradise and get word to my loved ones. I’m deliriously happy to have a second chance. It’s been a bittersweet adventure of tragedy and self-discovery. Maybe one day I’ll return to the rainforest. Once I get over this trauma.
The urgency to leave injects me with false stamina. A helicopter lowers to a clearing with twinkling lights surrounding a circular helipad. I’m struggling to keep a brisk pace as a man with a cap and dark glasses steps out of the shadows. He greets a suited gentleman who jumps out of the aircraft without luggage. They don’t shake hands or hug like acquaintances. Their exchange is short and businesslike. No rolling out the red carpet for a paying vacationer.
The man wearing a khaki cap has his back to me. Broad shoulders flex, cloaked in a concealing onyx shirt. Assessing his dominant stature, I find muscular, lean legs are on show from the knee down. Camouflage shorts.
My hero wore the same style. I can’t be certain if it’s him. Hopefully, it is so I can personally thank him for taking me in before I take to the air.
The heat is intense, which makes running even harder. Perspiration gathers in a sheen over my heaving chest. My advance doesn’t go unnoticed, which isn’t my concern. It’s the hovering aircraft, inches from the ground.
“Wait!” I yell, waving my arms. “Wait for me. I need to get to an airport.”
A monsoon, brimming with violence and destruction, crowds me with powerful arms. “Get the fuck back to your quarters.”
He drags me away from the agitated breeze.
“I’m ready to leave,” I protest.
Light glitters over black lenses. Coarse whiskers twitch around snarling teeth, but that hedonistic masculine scent dupes my sudden anger. I’m confused and aroused. Begging to go home. Captured in an unforgiving grip that melts me on the inside and stirs up an urge to fight back.
“Turn around and don’t look back.” He motions with his wrist, signally to my only method of escape. My eyes mist over when leather weaves through my hair, fisting a clump of curls close to my scalp. “Now that you’re well enough to run, we can discuss the arrangements for your time in my oasis.”
I recognize the seductive husk of his baritone. Equally fire and ice.
He’s the man who found me.
My guardian angel. Only this man is an illusion of godliness. Rather than give me wings to soar, his mannerisms tell me he’ll hack them off to keep me grounded.
The second man approaches. His soft voice slithers down my spine. “I didn’t know you had entertainment. Very good, el Fantasma. Very fucking good.”
El Fantasma?
“She’s not entertainment and none of your goddamn business.” He grits his teeth. “My staff are my property. Mistreat them and you won’t leave the oasis alive. Tonight, you rest. Tomorrow, we start. Don’t leave your allocated cabin. Wandering alone can, and will, get you killed.” El Fantasma growls out his expectations for the guest, all the while holding my face in the moonlight. I'm not his staff. He rescued me. “You’ll be guided to your cabin shortly.” El Fantasma pulls a handheld radio from his pocket. With a clipped tone, he speaks in Portuguese. Whatever he says is short and definitely not sweet.
The observer smirks. Wishy-washy blue eyes trail over my trembling body. “By reputation alone, I expected you to be a ruthless sonofabitch, but keeping her to yourself—I’ll pay a substantial bonus if she’s part of my welcome party.”
The second his intentions coast into the sultry air, the knot in my stomach tightens. My hands flail, trying hard to escape the scents of citrus and sin.
Realization drops from the highest palm tree like a rogue coconut shell. This isn’t a fancy holiday destination or a wellness retreat with fruit platters and souvenirs. It’s an off-the-grid lair.
The reflection in my captor’s dark glasses shows my wide eyes and pitiful naivety.
El Fantasma uncurls his fist. I exhale the breath caught in my lungs when he finally lets go. A few false steps of freedom leave me lightheaded and flustered. Tears spring to my eyes. “Whatever you’ve got going here, I’m not part of it. I’m leaving on the next helicopter that lands,” I say firmly, planting my feet and straightening my spine. My heart pumps faster as I fight the weakness in my knees. “Why did you let it leave without me? My family will be worried about—”
Soft leather forcefully slaps over my mouth. The contrast of suppleness with relentless pressure makes me scream. The pitiful mewl muffles into his fingers. My struggle to remove his hand is in vain.
“Stop fucking talking.” His scent is fresh and exotic, a future trigger for pulsating anxiety.
Behind us, someone ushers away the guest. I don’t see who leads him to his accommodation or which direction they go in because of the towering monster looming over me. Swift footsteps thud over planks, becoming faint.
Little by little, he drags his fingers over my lips, securing them beneath my chin instead. “There are rules here. You’d do well to abide by them.”
“Let me go.” I narrow my eyes with a rebellious glare, wishing he would remove the dark lenses between us. “I can hear you perfectly well without your hand on my throat.”
A symphony of animal calls bursts to life in a moment of silence. Fingers tighten, and when I think he’s going to throttle me for my insubordination, they skate down to my collarbone and then move to his cap. He lifts the hat off his head and rakes thick strands with a gloved hand, repositioning it into place once the hair settles. A hint of a smile lifts the side of his mouth, not with joy or pleasure, with cruelty.
“Number one,” he begins. “You work for me now, which means you’ll never speak of your past.”
“No, I don’t,” I say with a sharp outburst. “I don’t work for you.”
He looks me up and down, shaking his head. “Let’s start again. The rules are non-negotiable. You are mine now. The second you fell at my boots, on my land, you pledged your allegiance to me.”
My temper ripples down to my hands, making me quake. “I didn’t bow to you. I fainted. There’s a big difference. If you think I’m working here, you’re mistaken. I have a job I love and a family who won’t give up looking for me until I’m found.”
I’m not completely unworldly. I know what men like him do in this unjust ecosphere. What they’re capable of. They think ownership is a right. That it comes without consequences. The Kittson’s will send out a search party. They’ll rally troops of volunteers, if they haven’t done so already. Our coordinates were logged, and every experiment monitored. Any day now, a rescue party will fly overhead.