Dante’s voice takes a serene tone like the fluffiest clouds passing over a clear blue sky. “Want to know a secret? I’ll never put the woman I love in danger again.” He chuckles with a sinister rasp. “You can’t kill me if there’s no...”
At that exact moment, I bounce to my boots with a surge of primal energy. Without thought for my safety or a fleeting glimpse into the future, I plunge the blade into Miguel's shoulder from behind. His torso jolts, and he swivels. Startled pupils flare, snagging with my own.
“Puta!” His pitch screeches to the treetops. The rifle jabs into my belly, and the sound of gunshot soars.
I suck in a breath, dazed and shocked at a hole the size of a copper coin in Miguel’s sweat drenched forehead. His life zapped body sinks to the decomposing earth beneath our feet.
“Iris…” Dante lurches forward, wide eyes frantically trailing my torso. His lungs freeze as he visually searches every inch of me. Stormy green darkens as his assessing gaze leaves me and lands on the corpse. “You’re okay. Fuck… What have you done?” He slams his palms to his head and drops to his knees.
“I… I thought he was going to kill you… I… wanted to distract him,” I stammer in confusion.
Hands scrape the look of pure horror on his face. “YOU’VE RUINED EVERYTHING!” he yells like the god of war who’s fallen on his sword.
My hands tremble, and I bite my lower lip, staring down at the motionless body of a stranger soaked in blood. I stabbed him close to his neck and could have easily taken his life—for Dante. Guilt twists my gut into ruthless knots. My mind spins in the aftermath, and my throat closes, choking me in the gallant gesture.
It wasn’t a romantic act to win over his heart. It was stupidity masked as bravery. Instead of taking the man's attention away from Dante, I got him killed. The sniper who warned me to stay back shot him dead the exact second the gun turned on me.
For the first time since I landed in the Amazon, my heart splits into a trillion irreparable shards. Liquid confusion boils with hot regret. Tears spill down my cheeks in the turmoil around us. I desperately want to erase the image of Dante’s shocked expression. How he rises with an unreadable, hard gaze fixed to the scene of death.
An air of destruction crackles when he sucks in the humidity and drags both hands through his hair at the same time.
With a quick count of his team, a callous expression hunts me. His eyes narrow, his nostrils flare. My heart pounds so hard that I almost vomit. There’s only a yard of distance separating us. Not enough to lessen the pull of his proximity or protect me from the rush of adrenaline charging to his clenched fists.
The courage I’d mustered to attack the enemy withers under his impenetrable glower. I want to believe he will forgive me, or understand why I did it at least. Only, his jaw works, and his eyes turn to ice.
We stare at each other with the backdrop of omnipresent trees and a harmonious shrill of birdsong. My knees threaten to buckle under the whoosh of a galloping pulse. It slams loudly in my skull with a warning of a regrettable fate.
He doesn’t smile or offer gratitude. Instead, he silently watches my suffering, using distance as a buffer.
I want this man, yet, right now, I’m terrified of him.
Frozen under his judgement.
Apprehensive of el Fantasma’s wrath.
So I steady my quaking knees, preparing to do the only thing I can.
19
Love.
Can it actually be drained from the soul upon request? Surgically removed or attacked with radiation as it breeds. Eradicated from every diseased cell that succumbs to its power. If that’s possible, I’ll sign up for the waiting list.
I’m weakened by her motivation to stab my enemy––for me. Dumbstruck at her ironclad courage and a witness to the beautiful woman who sits on the throne above her unworthy subjects.
Beija flor is the queen of my jungle and the mistress of my heart. But her disobedience has stolen an opportunity so important to me that I can’t pull my shit together or think straight.
Her interference was a gust of wildfire obliterating years of planning. I’ve been robbed of answers.
And what’s worse, the very woman I’ve tried to safeguard with exile carelessly put herself in danger. She did the very thing I’ve dreaded for days, and now I’m furious.
Hate.
It seeps inside me, slick like grease. Sticking to my organs and stonewalling every wisp of heat. The overwhelming emotion slithers over my clammy skin with threadlike veins, nullifying the ability to find love within its darkness. Slowly, without warning, it strangles the sunshine and terrorizes any compassion for the tears staining her pale cheeks.
I’m stuck in the noose. Half living. Half dead. Strung up in limbo and hung between lust and disdain. My intentions are knotted and warped, my next move uncertain.
After I vanished from the Oasis, I mourned the absence of love by slipping into the role of a punisher, burdened under a heavy mask I’ve worn for too long. The only problem is, I’m struggling to separate it from my soul and unable to fully appreciate her significance in the bigger picture of life.
