Page 108 of Hearts Of Darkness

As he stares at me, I watch his eyes darken and narrow until two black pools of malevolence and hate are dominating his face. In contrast, his features are so still. There’s barely a flicker of movement. No muscle twitch, no clenched jaw. He’s a killer waiting for his moment to strike.

I catch a flash of silver in his hands, and I finally figure out his last words to me. He wasn’t apologizing for his past wrongdoings, he was asking for my forgiveness for the bloodbath about to unfold, for unleashing his true depravity—the one that he tries so hard to conceal from me every day.

I glance at the thirty or so men lined up like armed quarterbacks, all itching to take down the man I love. Fear explodes in my chest. The odds are crazy. In the next fewminutes, I’m going to watch Dante disappear in a hail of bullets. I’m going to watch on, helplessly, as all that fire and passion is destroyed.

And then me and my father are next.

Joseph has stopped rolling around on the floor and has pulled himself up onto his knees. His blue shirt is completely crimson, but his expression is sparking with renewed zeal. He’s sensed something is afoot, and he’s gathering what strength he has left to join Dante in their last stand together.

What happens next transpires so damn fast. The scene is a blur of black and red. Before I know it, the two men nearest to us are down and clutching their gaping throats, and Dante has a loaded machine gun in his hand. Five more men go down in a hail of bullets, as the rest fall back and try to form some semblance of a retaliation.

There’s a continuous roar of gunfire and shouting. I see Dante chuck something Joseph’s way, and then dive for cover behind the burnt-out shell of a car near the entrance.

“Eve,” Joseph hisses, wrenching his hands free from his restraints. His face contorts in fresh agony as he does.

How the hell did he do that?

I look down and see Dante’s flick knife in his fingers. Somehow, he raises his good arm and slices through the ropes that are binding me in one jagged arc. We collapse to the floor in a crumpled heap together. His skin is glistening from sweat and blood—saturating my senses and smearing the ground beneath us. Meanwhile, the gunfire has spilled out onto the docks. We’re all alone in the warehouse now.

“Stay here, keep safe,” he says, grimacing. “I need to get to Dante. He’s guiding the line of fire away from us.”

“You’re hurt. Let me help you first.” Frantically, I look around for something to use as a tourniquet.

“I’ve had worse, believe me.”

“Well, it looks pretty bad from where I’m sitting. Here, give me the knife.”

He hands it to me without protest.

Leaning over the nearest corpse, I plunge my blade into his black shirt and rip two jagged strips from it, trying not to scream when my jerky movements make his head roll, and his lifeless eyes fix on me.

“It’s cool, Eve. He’s gone.”

“Just don’t die on me too, okay?” I scoot back to him and wrap the material as tight as I can around the gaping wound in his shoulder.

“I’m not planning on it.” He grabs my hand and I try not to flinch as his warmth and wetness coat my skin. “I had a love like yours once… He’s a good man. I know you feel it, too. Don’t let him self-destruct. Don’t let his damn darkness—”

“I have no intention of it,” I say, cutting him off quickly with tears stinging my eyes. “You met Dante in the military, didn’t you?”

Joseph nods.

“What happened to him out there?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you someday.”

We share a look as I tie off the second piece of material. “Done. Now, go save the man I love.”

That hint of a smile returns. “Yes, ma’am.”

He picks up a couple of discarded guns next to the corpse, and limps toward the warehouse’s exit. After checking out the immediate conduit, he throws me one last glance beforedisappearing into the night.

I force myself to pick up a gun, too. It’s a Glock—my dad’s weapon of choice. I check the magazine. Fully loaded.

Keeping close to the walls, I follow in Joseph’s footsteps, crouching down at every fresh wave of gunfire, making sure I stay out of sight from the broken windows. There are more bodies littering the ground outside. Dante and Joseph are evening-up the numbers. I can’t process what I’ve learned about his past. If we escape with our lives, we have years to dissect the hurt and significance.

Mimicking Joseph’s action, I peer around the exit, my Glock raised in anticipation, my wrists still tender from the bite of my restraints. The ache from my shoulder muscles has settled into a dull throb. It makes me think about Joseph again and how much pain he must be in.

The gunfight has shifted to the next warehouse, leaving a red trail of dead and dying in its wake. I keep moving in that same direction, keeping low to the parked-up SUVs on the roadway next to the waterline. Their amber headlights are still on, illuminating more felled bodies up ahead. I rake my eyes over each one, but they’re not Dante. Bullets are still flying. He’s still alive.

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