21. Dante
21
DANTE
B y the time we land in Leticia, dusk has already fallen over the sedate jungle gateway town. We load our equipment into the waiting vehicles and set a course for Emilio’s compound. The humidity is more intense here. For those of us born in South America, it serves as nothing more than an irritation and an extra notch on the air conditioning unit. For others, like Joseph and Tomas, it’s cloying and insufferable, and they’re dripping with sweat before we’ve even left the airport.
We’re traveling off-road on simple dirt tracks that jar every damn bone in our bodies. The headlights keep throwing up strange reflections in the curb-side undergrowth, circular eyes of indistinguishable creatures. Some might call them supernatural, but all that stuff is bullshit to me. True horror already exists in men like us.
A strange atmosphere has settled over the vehicle. It’s an awareness, fueled by a soldier’s intuition. My finger holds fast to the trigger of my gun. No let-up. I’m gripped with a readiness to fight, to kill, and for the first time today I’m putting some weight behind Joseph’s words. He’s right. Something’s off.
Rattled, I reach for my cell to call Emilio.
No answer.
I try again.
Nothing.
We’re five minutes out from his compound when Eve’s face flashes before my eyes. I feel an overwhelming compulsion to turn around and head back to the airport.
“Tomas, stop the car.”
He hits the brakes and the two vehicles behind us follow our lead. I share a look with Joseph, his gray-blues stabbing me in the darkness. We need to trust our instincts here. Mine has saved my life too many times in the past to discredit it now.
“You feel it too,” he states bluntly.
I nod, the rancid taste of unease in my mouth. “Tell the men to arm themselves.”
Joseph exits the Jeep and jogs over to the other vehicles as I sit back in my seat, with my guts churning. I see Eve’s face again, but there’s no shy smile for me. Instead, it’s one of pain and terror. The hand resting on my knee clenches into a fist. I never should have left her.
There’s a perpetual slamming of doors as my men unpack their weapons and load up with ammo. All the while, I can sense the truth creeping up on us. Everything is about to be revealed, but it’s damn painful in the interim .
“Tomas, get me Ramirez back at base.”
“Sure thing, jefe .”
I listen to the call ring out.
Well, isn’t that the worst goddamn sound in the world?
“Try again.”
No answer.
“Call the main house. Call my housemaid.”
There’s nothing in my voice to betray the dread that’s taking hold of me.
Same thing.
No answer.
Saliva pools in the back of my throat as Joseph returns to my vehicle. “The men are armed and awaiting orders. We have enough firepower to light up the jungle if needs be.”
Emilio wouldn’t dare. He wouldn’t fucking dare…
“Dante, did you hear what I said?”
“We’re walking into a trap,” I say brusquely. “Tomas, turn the Jeep around. We need to get back to the airport as soon as possible.”
We listen to him grind the metal of the stick shift as he forces it into reverse. That’s when the first rocket hits us.
The vehicle directly behind us disintegrates on impact, spewing burning shards of metal outward in all directions. It pitches us forward as the windows blow out, spraying debris in our faces. My ears are ringing. Joseph is screaming in my face, but I can’t hear a fucking thing. One glance over my shoulder tells me there’s nothing left out there except a flaming carcass.
Four soldiers.
Dead.
“Move!” I roar at Tomas, my voice sounding remote as he puts the pedal to the floor, going from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds, skidding across the dirt track as we temporarily lose traction on the loose stones. My eardrums are starting to clear when there’s another loud boom from behind us as the second vehicle is destroyed.
“What the fuck is going on?” yells Joseph, staring in disbelief at the two fireballs we’ve left raging in our wake.
It’s just Tomas and us now. Everyone else is dead. That’s when I hear the revving of another engine above our own.
Peering through the smoke and chaos, I see the headlights of a Jeep tearing up the track a couple of hundred meters out. Bullets start to ricochet off the trunk, and we lurch sideways as one of the back tires blows out.
“Grenade launcher,” I snarl, but it’s too late. Out of nowhere, something relentless slams into the side of us, pitching us over the curb and out into the jungle.
Our vehicle hits a boulder and flips one-eighty, and now we’re skidding down a small ravine on our asses. I hear Joseph and Tomas cursing as broken glass starts fucking up their skin. Something smacks into the side of my head, and the other men go quiet.
We slide like this forever until we’re slamming into trees. We’re by a river. I can hear the gushing currents. There’s a groan of crumpled metal as our vehicle rights itself, snapping my neck back against the seat as it slams down to the ground.
The engine dies.
Stillness.
My left shoulder is screaming like a motherfucker, but otherwise I’m unhurt. Somehow, I manage to unclip my seatbelt to go and check on the others. Tomas is out cold, a sinister trail of blood oozing from the back of his skull. Joseph looks dazed, but okay.
Fuck—what a ride.
“Help me with the door,” I hiss. It’s all about survival now. I need to get back to Eve. I’ll deal with the perpetrators of this shit storm later, and I’ll relish every minute of it.
Joseph nods wearily and leans over to my side, but it’s too late. We hear their footsteps before we see their flashlights.
“Santiago, you still alive in there?” A mocking voice pierces the darkness, followed by the accompanying laughter from a dozen or so other men. “It’s good to see you back in the jungle where you belong.”
Rodrigo.
That ugly son of a bitch.
So, my brother betrayed me after all.
“Lower your weapons. You’re completely surrounded. There are twenty men out here with itchy trigger fingers.”
I glance at Joseph. We’ve beaten those odd before, but back then I only had myself to keep alive.
“Hold your fire,” I roar. “We’re coming out.”
“Throw your guns out first.”
On my command, Joseph does as he says. I follow after. We keep hold of our knives, though. They’re still concealed beneath our clothes.
I ram my heel against the panel of twisted metal that used to be a door, and it crumples outwards. The next thing I know, the black muzzle of an AK 47 is caressing my forehead.
“I’m taking no chances, asshole.”
Rodrigo’s shattered socket looks even more repulsive today. I’m going to enjoy relieving him of his second eye before this night is through.
“Take me to my brother,” I tell him coldly.
Rodrigo smirks. “I’m afraid Se?or Emilio is indisposed right now.”
“Why? Where the hell is he?”
“He had a yen for American bitches. Looks like I’ll be getting a turn, after all.”
“You motherfucker! ”
Lurching forward, I grab his weapon, but he smashes his elbow into the side of my head before I have a chance to do any real damage. My world teeters on the edge of blinding pain, and then it’s hurtling into blackness.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I regain consciousness to that noise. It’s a sound synonymous with prison cells and places of torture the whole world over. That, and the screams and futile pleading from its occupants. Seldom do the bravest souls outlive it.
This room is no different. It’s dark and foul smelling, and still this mysterious dripping continues—as constant as it is pervasive. Enough to drive a weak mind crazy, and a strong one, weak.
I’ve frequented my fair share of these shit holes over the last two decades. I’ve played the roles of both the tormentor and the tortured. Today, it seems my fortunes have fallen on the latter. I’m held in solitude, bound and gagged, my arms suspended from the ceiling. My broken shoulder, limp and useless, gluts my mind with agony. Every movement makes me want to retch. The worst of the pain lies elsewhere, though. It’s there in my thoughts, in the deepest, darkest corners of my imagination.
I can’t let them put their hands on Eve. I’ve seen what men like us do to the women of our enemies. It’s a predilection I’ve never acquired the taste for. Emilio’s the worst. Torture is too kind a word for what he makes them endure. I used to lie awake in my bed as a young boy listening to the screams of women through the wall. He learned from the best. By the time my mother killed herself, she was a broken woman. My father’s knife at her wrist was the kindest touch she’d known in twenty years.
How long has he been plotting this coup d’état? Is this the fancy finale of an elaborate long game, or is Eve the catalyst that threw fuel at his disillusions of fucking grandeur? He’s a bigger fool than I thought if he reckons he can run this business without me. He’s too weak. His own men are lacking in skill. Rodrigo couldn’t command a battalion of fucking monkeys.
How blind I’ve been to think he’d never betray me.
How duped I’ve been by his obsession with loyalty.
Right now, my wrath is a frenzied paroxysm in burning shades of red. He’ll pay for this. They all will. But first I have to get the hell out of this room.
I have no idea where Tomas and Joseph are being held, but something tells me I’m about to find out. There are footsteps outside my cell. There’s a clunk as a heavy bolt is shunted back, and then the door opens. I’m blinded by dazzling sunshine before a large silhouette steps into view. A split-second later, a bucket of cold water is being chucked at my head. My lungs burn as I fight for air. I cough and splutter, and strain at the ropes that bind me. At the same time, I hear my jailer chuckling.
“Look what we have here… The great Dante Santiago. Strung up in my basement like a pussy.”
Rodrigo
He collapses into a chair and tosses a large hunting knife and a bottle of tequila onto the table next to him. He sighs contentedly and sizes up my torso, deciding which part of me to carve up first.
Just a foot closer, dickhead… Then I can wrap my legs around your treacherous neck and snap you like a twig.
“I can smell your anger.” He grins at me, his damn singsong voice a torture all by itself. “It’s so toxic, it’s got its own shitty odor.” He pitches forward, rips off my gag and steps back before I have a chance to react.
“I’m going to rip you apart, Rodrigo—limb from fucking limb.”
That wipes the smirk from his lips. “Last time I looked, I’m the one with the knife.” He jerks his head at the serrated bastard lying in wait for me on the table.
I silently revise my plan. I’m going to choke him with his own vocal cords before gauging out his eye.
“Emilio knew you’d figure it out eventually.” He sighs and leans back in his chair. “It was just a matter of getting you on that plane. We never expected you to take the bait and fly all the way to Colombia.”
He’s mocking me, and so he should. My arrogance stopped me from listening to Joseph; it stopped me from decoding the warning signs that have been flashing fucking neon for the last few weeks. Like a fool, I believed in my own infallibility.
“How?” I grit out .
“Precision and audacity,” he taunts, turning my favorite phrase back onto me. “We were watching you from the moment you landed. We had cameras rigged up all the way along this track. We were just choosing our moment.”
“Where the fuck is Emilio?”
“At your compound, probably sticking it to your American. I hope she has a high pain threshold.”
I block out the cruel bite of his words, reverting back to cold disinterest. It’s my survival mechanism. I need to believe that she’s safe in my bunker. I’ll deal with the consequences of what she’ll discover there on my return.
“You killed my men,” I hiss through gritted teeth. The hurt from my shoulder is spreading across the rest of my torso like a flesh-eating disease.
“It was my pleasure.”
“Where’s Grayson?”
“Waiting patiently. He’s next on my kill list.” Rodrigo picks up the knife and takes a swig from the bottle. “Emilio’s consented to letting me have a little fun before I kill you. I’m calling it payback for that stunt you pulled on the plane last week.”
A low growl rumbles up from my throat. “I should have broken your neck when I had the chance.”
“You’re an arrogant son-of-a-bitch, Dante Santiago, but not for much longer.” He swaggers a foot or so toward me. “You and your men have lorded it over us for too long. What makes you so damn special? Any fool can point a gun.”
“That’s a pretty accurate description of yourself.”
“Enough talking.” He presses the blade against my throat. He’s so close, I can smell his sweat and excitement. His eyes are glittering with the thrill of the forthcoming kill, and he can’t contain a moan of pleasure when the first crimson beads appear on my skin. “I’m going to enjoy every moment of this.”
Any minute now, you bastard. I’ve got a little something for you, too.
I’m not scared of pain. I’ve never broken under torture before. I’ve been beaten, water-boarded, electrocuted… The most they’ve ever gotten from me has been my spit in their faces. But the way Rodrigo is grinning is making my blood freeze in a way it never has before. I’ve developed a weakness since then, and if I don’t break free these men are going to devastate her.
“Do you know what I’m planning to do to her first?” he drawls, as if reading my mind. Like it’s no big deal to him. Like it’s not the biggest mistake of his life saying this shit to me. “I’m going to make her strip, and then I’m going to make her hurt baaad . And after that long, long night is through, if she’s still alive, I’m going to take this knife and—”
With a roar of rage, I yank at my restraints, ignoring the pain obliterating my left arm, and slicing more of my skin open on the jagged blade of his knife.
“I bet she tastes good, Dante.”
“You’re a dead man, Rodrigo. You better turn that knife on yourself before I get my hands on it.”
I’m so consumed with rage I don’t notice the movement behind him, and nor does he until it’s too late. I watch him spin around in surprise, but we both know the game is up. My face is drenched in sticky red warmth as he drops to his knees clutching at the gaping wound in his throat, his death rattle poisoning the air .
“Never did like him,” mutters Joseph, landing a kick to his backside and sending him sprawling face-first into a grim pool of his own gore.
“Nicely done,” I murmur—cool as fuck—even though I’ve never been so glad to see him. “Where’s Tomas?”
“Dispensing with a couple of assholes of his own.”
“How did you free yourself?”
“These amateurs never checked the knife strapped to my calf.”
I have a flash of Eve’s face again. Does she still have mine? Meanwhile Rodrigo is still clawing at his neck on the floor, trying to knit together the gaping wound with his fingers.
“Untie me,” I say grimly. “I’m not done with him yet.”
Joseph slices through my ropes and then hands me his knife. I roll my neck and smile. The thrill of the kill is now mine, and mine alone to satisfy. It’s time to slake the deep well of darkness that resides inside of me.
Whatever happens next, Rodrigo’s last few seconds of life are going to be extremely unpleasant for him.