Page 26 of Hearts Of Darkness

“Bedroom. Now,” he says, turning back to me.

“Please.” I shake my head at him, violently. “I’m begging you…Dante.”

A flash of surprise crosses his face before that mask of cold impassivity smothers it again.

“Five minutes,” he snarls, recovering quickly, gesturing toward the beach. “Manuel!” he calls out after the guard, stopping him dead in his tracks. He proceeds to bark at him in Spanish, and more than once I watch the guard’s brown eyes swivel my way.

If I’m going to be stuck here, I need to learn his language. It might be a way of alerting myself to something incriminating said about the Santiagos. “I’m doing all this for you, Ryan,” I mutter without thinking.

My captor stops talking to Manuel. “What did you say?”

My face pales. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”How could I have been so careless?

“Five minutes,” he repeats, glowering at me. “And don’t disobey me, or else.”

I watch him walk away with a mix of relief and curiosity. Something happened when I said his name out loud just now. It was a shift of energy, aminutetransfer of power for a fraction of a second. I shocked him, but why?

“Please, señorita. This way.” Manuel jerks his head toward the beach, and I turn to follow. I’m suddenly eager to reach the water and sink my toes into the soft sand; to forge a connection to this strange place that is something other than fear and desperation.

He guides me across an immaculate lawn where the grassfeels like crushed velvet beneath my feet. He’s careful to keep several feet between us at all times, and his eyes are constantly fixed on the ocean. I get the feeling that this is deliberate. That these are all instructions fromhim.

Dante.

I inhale sharply, and Manuel snaps his head in my direction.

Shit. I’ve said his name again, albeit in my head this time. Up until now I’ve kept steadfast to my rule—to never ever say it, even when he’s driving me insane in his bed.

I won’t do it again. Not unless I’m forced to. It’s my safe word. A guarantee of his undivided attention.

Once we reach the narrow boardwalk, Manuel stops and motions for me to go on without him. I don’t need to be told twice—I’m practically skipping toward the water’s edge.

This section of the beach is bordered by jagged rocks. There’s a group of men patrolling the summit, and they’re all looking in my direction. I feel like an exotic creature that’s been locked away behind an invisible sheet of glass.

Ignoring them, I keep on walking until the pure white sand turns sticky and dense, and the sea air smells the saltiest. Only then do I sink to my knees and allow the incoming tide to rush up and embrace my skin. I dig my long fingers into the wetness, and gaze out at the blue expanse on the horizon.

I think about all the dangerous men I’ve interviewed over the years. Back then, I hid my intimidation behind my words. Here, I have no notebook… No laptop. He’s stripped away all my safety nets, and without them I feel weak and exposed. He has me suspended on a tightrope of fear and consequence, and I’m too damn scared to look down.

I stay in this position for ages. For as long as I dare. On my knees, immobile. Resigning myself silently to my fate.

Time passes. Five minutes must be long gone by now, but he hasn’t stormed down here to claim me. With a heavy heart, I turn back to the house. The guards have disappeared. Frowning, I sweep my gaze up and down the beach before resting on a lone figure standing in front of the house.

Watching.

Waiting.

Again.

It’s him. He’s changed his shirt, but I’d recognize the breadth of those shoulders anywhere. His sunglasses are glinting jewels in the late afternoon sun.

There’s a presence to this man that goes way beyond his physicality. He may work for ruthless criminals, but he’s his own man. He’s a prince with a fortress for a kingdom, and somehow, despite all he’s done to me, I’m drawn to him in a way I don’t fully understand.

He makes no move to come to me, so I go to him, brushing the sand away from my knees as I rise to my feet. Shielding my eyes, I make my way across the beach, but my footsteps falter the closer I get. There’s something dangerously still about him. I glance down and see a length of black rope coiled in his hand, andI just knowit’s for me. Saliva pools at the back of my throat. He’s intent on punishing me, but for what? Leaving his bedroom without permission? Requesting to visit the beach? My gaze lifts to his face.

Oh, dear God.

His expression turns me to stone. There’s something so singular about it. So cold and detached. I don’t know muchabout dominant and submissive relationships; I just know that we’ve been skating around our version of it for the past two days. It’s crueler and more calculated than I thought it would be, but somehow, it’s more honest, too.

“Come here,” he orders.

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