“Even so, I didn’t die. I found you. A way out.”
“Correction. I found you.” He teases the hair on his chin in contemplation. “You’ve yet to survive. I’m offering you a onetime opportunity.”
Looking around at the stunning arrangement of raised cabins with an exotic backdrop of leafy trees and far-off constellations, I’m all too conscious of the unspoken constraints. The sanctuary is a lie. It’s a remote prison. “Then I wish for my freedom. I’d rather die out there by my own doing than stay here as your sex slave for the rest of my life.”
He doesn’t move. Our gazes snag. Facets of green loop black pupils. The last flicker opens holes to an expanse of darkness, settling with a thin crown of peridot trickery. If I stare into his eyes long enough, I could pretend the magnetism dancing around us is real. But it’s only the magical setting and late evening hum of insect activity. A combination so estranged from the cold, harsh winters back home.
I can’t help but wonder if he’s disappointed by my decision. I hate how his silence makes me feel nervous. How a part of me wishes he were a kindhearted man who wasn’t trying to enslave me. That way I would understand the torrid heat pumping through my veins.
“I never said anything about fucking,” he growls like the idea appalls him. The bass reverberation ripples down my spine. “I don’t fuck liars, not even if they beg me. If you’re dumb enough to pick a gruesome death, then go for it. Run.” His arms cross. “And those clothes on your back, they’re only available to you while you’re here.” Dropping his pensive stare, he quietly undresses me with bright green eyes. Humid air leaves my lungs in a hot and heavy sigh.
I detest this scam of a man.
But I’m inexplicably drawn to him.
Bastard.
He knows how to seduce. That’s his game. I’d never lower my standards to fuck a man so forbidden as el Fantasma. And I certainly wouldn’t beg.
He’s not my hero. I was sorely mistaken. “You’re not serious?” My fingers span my throbbing cheek. That light touch makes me flinch. The wound smarts.
His hand fists. “I’m deadly serious. You go, you strip first.”
“Wait!” I gasp. “How about I work here for a few weeks, to pay off the debt I owe and then—”
“Enough.” His voice booms like I’ve used up the last drop of his patience. “You’ve made your decision to go. Take off the fucking clothes and stop wasting my time.”
The casual flick of his wrist is a dismissive afterthought.
“Fuck you,” I snarl, grabbing the hem and whipping the top off in one sweep. “I’ll die the same way I was born.” The shorts are next, dropping to my ankles. “And you know what, I’ll come back here as a ghost and haunt you forever. Every time you hear a cry or a broken twig or a fucking heartbeat, you’ll remember Iris Kitson.”
He steps into me, blocking the warming glow of a neighboring lamp, darkening the world to deadly. My heart skitters, yet I hold my ground, pushing my chest out with defiance.
Lowering his chin, bristles tease my earlobe. “Don’t threaten me,” he says with malevolent calmness. “You mean nothing to me. Other than a minor irritant who’s taking up my time. You haven’t earned a place in my memories. Don’t mistake my tolerance as humility. Just because you’re bewitching, doesn’t mean I won’t punish you for pissing me the fuck off.” His statement is sharp, and yet his lips linger as he stills, inhaling slowly like he’s savoring the salty sheen coating my neck. Carbon dioxide caresses in puffs, skittering bubbles of fear and desire over my scalp. For the longest moment, he’s motionless. “I think it’s better for both of us if you take the easy option.”
The hoarseness to his voice tells me he’s not quite in control. That I’ve tested his last nerve. Dazed and without thought, I dip into him, only to hear an unrestrained rasp bubble from his throat. I quickly accept the level of danger I’m in and scoot back. We stare at one another, letting the sands of time suffocate each second.
A breeze carrying zingy citrus and fragrant floral blooms heightens my awareness. It reminds me that his offer of freedom is a fraud. That I won’t survive twenty-four hours beyond the façade of an oasis. Or how his cruelty has left me undignified and unprepared yet again. I wear my disgust with a hardened glare and an obvious quake of violence. I have nothing left to lose.
He, on the other hand, waves his hand outward as if granting me permission to face my fate. I hate everything about his grand gesture. His soul is varnished with a slick of bitterness. An invisible poison coats his flesh. He could very well be the most stunning man I’ve ever met, but that streak of evil both repulses and terrifies me.
My one true wish is to find a village just so I can purchase a rifle and return. To shove it to his temple and pull the trigger. My face being the last image he sees.
That surge of hope, the focus of revenge gives me a reason to run. And that’s what I do. I scamper along the pathway and leap over the rope guidelines.
6
They call me the ghost for a reason.
Covert and illusive.
Proficient in the art of flipping lives.
A master at patience, gliding under the radar until the perfect time to strike.
Right now, I’m mocking my best skill. Where I should have rigid disinterest, I’m following Iris like it’s my job to track and hunt. She has no idea the man who cast her out into the jungle is lurking in the fern. It’s not a game, more a necessity.
I don’t care that she’s prancing barefoot through the forest or how she glows in the dim light like a wood nymph. Nor do I give a fuck that a waterfall of fiery curls shield curves and flesh that were created for fucking. What I can’t seem to grasp is the striking kick of ownership. She belongs to me.
