Page 82 of Hearts Of Darkness

Manuel didn’t say a word as I cried my heart out on that plane journey home. He simply moved to the seat next to me and waited patiently for the storm of my grief to pass. Thesilent gesture cemented something between us. He’s as close a friend to me as Anna is now. Everybody adores him, including my parents.

My parents.

In the last few weeks, the betrayal of my family has sprouted dark roots and infiltrated every part of my life. No one would ever suspect that Manuel is a trained killer, hired and coordinated by Dante Santiago himself.

He kept his story modest, like he’d been instructed to, and I corroborated every detail. Just another abductee, same as me, set free by a faceless stranger and dumped in an airport.

Dante provided him with a fake passport, ID, and visa, and they all checked out fine. There was nothing to suggest he was anything other than who he said he was, butweknow. He’s a constant reminder of the danger lurking in the shadows.

Somehow, it’s easier to ignore Dante’s security detail—the five, scary-looking men who blend seamlessly into the background of my life. On the odd occasion, I catch a glimpse of a familiar car or a surly expression, and then they’re gone. These men are as discreet as they are intimidating.

“Take him around one more time, Evie,” shouts Anna from the middle of the arena.

I squeeze Rufus’ belly again and grit my teeth. My underworked muscles are aching so bad. I’d almost forgotten what a demanding workout horseback riding could be. The only exercise I’ve been doing in the last few months has been horizontal, and even though Dante was relentless in his appetite, taking me for hours each night, and again several times during the day, I make a pact with myself to start back at the gym first thing tomorrow.

Is he still alive?

I finally screwed up the courage to ask Manuel that question last night, but he just shrugged his shoulders. We’re locked in a hideous waiting game, with no fixed time frame and no respite. All contact has been severed until the target has been destroyed.

Just then a car backfires in the lot next to the arena. Rufus throws up his head with a grunt and goads his old legs into a canter. My body adapts quickly to this new rhythm as I deepen my seat and loosen the reins to give him his head. The cold air slices my skin and whips my bangs away from my face, and I feel my grin stretching from ear to ear.

Back at the barn,I remove Rufus’ tack, and Manuel helps me rub him down. As he bends over to reach the pony’s underbelly, I catch a glimpse of the gun concealed beneath his red shirt. I run my fingers along Rufus’ black mane and pat his broad shoulder, absent-mindedly.

“Did you know Dante was in the US military, Manuel?”

He hesitates before answering. “I heard the rumors, señorita, but it was never my place to pry.”

“How did you first meet him?”

“My mother was a maid in his father’s house.”

I watch his face shutting down all emotion. Dante does the same thing whenever he finds the topic of conversation disagreeable.

He runs the cloth down Rufus’ flank, and then ducks under his neck to join me, throwing the cloth over the stall door. “Iwas a small boy at the time. Mamá would bring me to work some days and let me play in the yard. Dante was much older, more a man, but he always remembered who I was.” He smiles slightly at the memory.

“What was his father like?”

“Not good, señorita,” he says, his smile vanishing. “Cruel. Like his eldest son. Their mother died when Señor Dante was seventeen. I was six at the time. He left Colombia soon after.”

“What did she die of?” I ask curiously.

Manuel groans and runs his hand through his hair, leaving it a dark, disheveled mess. “Señor Santiago warned me you’d be inquisitive.”

“I want to know everything, Manuel. I want to try and understand his motives for doing what he does.”

“Is this for one of your articles?”

I shake my head. “I wouldn’t expose Dante like that. Not anymore. Anyway, I can’t. I resigned from my job last month. Ihatewhat he does, but I can’t justify writing about the narcotics industry…” I tail off, feeling depressed. “Do you think my silence is the same as endorsing it?”

“We are not all bad men, señorita,” he insists quietly. “For some of us it’s a way of existing, a way of providing for our families.”

“But the effects on other families are devastating.” I’m not buying his argument for a second. “You had a good job, a decent honest job. Why turn away from it?”

“Because when Señor Santiago asks for something, you don’t—”

“Hey, what are you two whispering about?”

Anna exits the feed room at the far end of barn and makesher way over to us. I watch her glance at Manuel, and then sidle her gaze away. In turn, I watch him eyeing up her killer body as she unties the knot in Rufus’ lead rein and tugs him into his stall. With her long blond hair spilling over her shoulders like spun gold and her golden tan bringing out the cool jade in her eyes, my best friend is undeniably beautiful.

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