Locating the shorts I’d disposed of earlier, I step into them and trap my dick before it rises to the occasion again.
She slots her hands on narrow hips and clears her throat with a purposeful cough. In a beat she’s before me, glaring up with masterful provocation. “Part of the reason I've asked to stay is for that.” Her finger jabs the air, pointing to the greenery. “To carry on documenting the natural species and uncharted terrain. How can I do that if I’m stuck up here?”
A headache spreads over my brow, worsening as my teeth clamp together. “It’s a no,” I grit out. “You’re leaving.”
Her mouth contorts. “It’s a yes.”
Darkness creeps across my features. I picture her cold, lifeless body on a bed of decomposed leaves. No laughter. No pride. No graceful countenance. Just a stony figure robbed of life.
Unbelievably, over the course of time, this stubborn woman has become the very thing I swore I’d never permit again––someone to mourn. Iris is more than important—she’s rightfully mine. The cruel vision of her future death rots my unstable mind, stabs holes in the healing blisters and sets my blackened heart alight with an eternal flame of grief. Where she nursed its burnt ventricles with possibilities of reparation, any chance of losing her to death pulverizes the need to have her in my arms. The reality of consequences numbs my out-of-time heartbeat and deadens the wish for normalcy.
My hands fly to my temples. I battle the chaotic demons running riot in my head with an almighty snarl. It’s a very real growl, matching my very real memories. Pounding my skull with the heel of my hand, I chase away the hateful image of her blood drained corpse and icy skin. Her curious eyes turn vacant until the final breath rattles from her lungs and silence falls. Loneliness shrouds my mood all over again.
“Fuck!” My gut pinches and twists.
My chaotic temper is threadbare. She scurries away, clearly scared of the deranged monster losing his shit. And it's all Miguel’s fault.
Pinning her with a fierce gaze, I witness her stomach rise and fall. Uncertainty flickers in her wide eyes, and her teeth sink into her lips. “Dante,” she whispers. “You promised me I’d never meet this side of you again. Don’t do this.”
I’d love to snatch her quaking limbs and restrain her with a bundle of knots. To trap her under a weight of smothering protection. Most of all, I wish I could kiss away the terror projected right at me, hold her hand until the trembling anxiety of my next move eases and press her to my chest so the panicky jitters fade.
“I can’t make that promise to you.”
For the longest moment, we stare at each other in an electrified storm of uncertainty. My nostrils flare as I govern ragged breathing. Her shaky palm settles on her heaving belly as she tries to stay upright.
A gentle breeze blows through the treehouse. It’s such a blessing for a treetop location in a sweltering hideout, gently blanketing our distress with tranquility. I can either send beija flor home and banish her from my future, choosing my own misery over her salvation, or I can hand the verdict over to fate to decide if we deserve a happy ending together.
The two paths are equally as precarious.
Both options scare me beyond comprehension.
Both roads can strip my sanity to the bone.
“Dante.” My heart pounds as her sultry voice licks around my anguish. “I don’t want to stay as your prisoner. That’s not what this was about.”
Prisoner!That’s what she thinks this is. She has no idea how I feel inside. Even I can’t grapple with the torrential rainfall of mixed emotions ruining my all-powerful demeanor. I’m a mess. She single handedly ridiculed my title of master and kicked me from my position.
I draw back my shoulders and uncurl my fists. In four long strides, we’re face to face. “I can’t do this. If you aren’t prepared to stay up here, then...”
She swallows hard. “Then what?”
“You have until tomorrow morning to say your goodbyes. You’re not welcome here anymore.” No one will truly understand the trauma I’ve suffered or even grasp a glimpse of the fear eating my soul.
“Just like that?” she snaps.
“It seems that way, beija flor.” The second I say the name I’ve grown accustomed to breathing, my stomach flips, and I suppress the laughable consequence of allowing a dream into my life. “We both have different ideas.”
I chose the split in the road that ends with her happiness—freedom.
“Clearly we do,” she replies with a breathless rasp, turning away.
In that one movement, adrenaline ruptures my sanity, and I bite back the words on the tip of my tongue. Although we’ve both endured a lot, I can’t remember a time when I’d felt so unsure and so uncertain about a decision before now.
10
Ever so slowly, Dante rakes both hands through his hair, calm and contained. He visibly strains to keep the mercurial el Fantasma in check, lingering in limbo between the two personas.
As much as I accept his decision, it doesn’t stop the ache in my heart from doubling, tripling, quadrupling, when his gaze cuts away from me. The viperous energy collides with my belly, threatening to reduce me to a mound of shattered ice. I will never land at his feet again or shed another teardrop. It took a single second for him to push me out of a helicopter and a fleeting moment to destroy me with an apology. There is nothing but trauma in this relationship. It’s both brutal and passionate, where fantasies crash into reality with a fatal blow.
