25. Eve
25
EVE
Six Weeks Later…
“ S top, Anna! I can’t do it, I can’t do it. Get me off this pony, it’s like riding a mountain!” I drop the reins and clap one hand over my eyes.
Anna laughs and pats my thigh reassuringly. “He’s only a midget. I won’t let go of his bridle until you say it’s okay.”
“I don’t believe you. You’ve been dying to see me land on my ass ever since kindergarten.”
She laughs again. “It’s good to see you back in the saddle, Evie.” Her voice has taken on a husky, affectionate tone that tells me she’s been missing the old me as much as I have these past five years.
It’s good to be back.
I peek through my fingers at my other hand—the one that’s clutching handfuls of wiry black mane belonging to a fat pony called Rufus .
“Don’t worry so much, se?orita,” yells Manuel from the other side of the fence. “That pony’s so slow, he’s a walking snooze button.”
Great. Even Manuel is laughing at me.
“You’re not helping,” I tell him, as the pony stamps a foot and swishes his tail at the flies swarming around his flank.
Picking up the reins again, I drive my weight down into my heels, keeping them as snug to Rufus’ belly as I can. He’s the oldest, most dependable rescue pony at the animal sanctuary where Anna works, so why does it feel like I have a Porsche between my legs? Still, I’m doing it. I’m taking risks. I’m learning to embrace life again.
It’s been six weeks since I returned to America. Six weeks since I was deposited on the ground at Miami-Opa Locka Executive Airport with only the dirty white clothes I was dressed in. Six agonizing weeks of no contact; of few highs and bone-crushing lows; of unbearable solitude and feverish longing to a deception on a scale I never dreamed I was capable of.
Once again, I lied through my teeth to the authorities—painting a picture of Dante Santiago with every contradictory description I could think of. With no clues as to where I was being held, and no outward signs of rape or abuse, they’re growing weary of my case already.
I’m home.
I’m safe.
I’m not outwardly traumatized.
More importantly, I’m showing a readiness to put the whole episode behind me and to get on with my life.
As if I could forget him so easily .
He’s the man who has filled my life with every color and emotion. He’s my first waking thought and the last flawless image in my head when I close my eyes at night. He haunts my days. He plagues my nightmares. In the first flush of dawn, I swear I can feel his strong arms wrapped around me, soothing away my loneliness. I wake from dreams so sexual and intense; I throb for hours before seeking my own release. His name is the only one I cry when my fingers tip me into the void.
A deep whicker from Rufus snaps me out of my reverie. With renewed gusto, I squeeze his girth with my heels and click noisily with my tongue. “Walk on, boy.”
“Okay, I’m letting go,” I hear Anna cry.
“Do it!”
A thrilling blast of joy hits my senses as I kick Rufus into a slow trot, sliding effortlessly into his two-step rhythm, posting exactly how I remembered. Every action and movement comes flooding back to me as I angle his head to the outer path of the arena and complete a full circle before tugging him back to a walk, red-faced and breathless from exertion.
“You did it!” hoots Manuel, his handsome face creasing into another grin as I pass him by. I return his smile and brush the tip of my whip against my hat in a mock salute.
I thank Dante every day for allowing Manuel to travel back to America with me as my bodyguard. I’m still shocked he agreed to it. Dante is a deeply possessive man. The decision would have tested him greatly, but it shows a level of trust in me, too. It shows how far we’ve come.
Manuel didn’t say a word as I cried my heart out on that plane journey home. He simply moved to the seat next to me and waited patiently for the storm of my grief to pass. The silent gesture cemented something between us. He’s as close a friend to me as Anna is now. Everybody adores him, including my parents.
My parents.
In the last few weeks, the betrayal of my family has sprouted dark roots and infiltrated every part of my life. No one would ever suspect that Manuel is a trained killer, hired and coordinated by Dante Santiago himself.
He kept his story modest, like he’d been instructed to, and I corroborated every detail. Just another abductee, same as me, set free by a faceless stranger and dumped in an airport.
Dante provided him with a fake passport, ID, and visa, and they all checked out fine. There was nothing to suggest he was anything other than who he said he was, but we know. He’s a constant reminder of the danger lurking in the shadows.
Somehow, it’s easier to ignore Dante’s security detail—the five, scary-looking men who blend seamlessly into the background of my life. On the odd occasion, I catch a glimpse of a familiar car or a surly expression, and then they’re gone. These men are as discreet as they are intimidating.
“Take him around one more time, Evie,” shouts Anna from the middle of the arena.
I squeeze Rufus’ belly again and grit my teeth. My underworked muscles are aching so bad. I’d almost forgotten what a demanding workout horseback riding could be. The only exercise I’ve been doing in the last few months has been horizontal, and even though Dante was relentless in his appetite, taking me for hours each night, and again several times during the day, I make a pact with myself to start back at the gym first thing tomorrow .
Is he still alive?
I finally screwed up the courage to ask Manuel that question last night, but he just shrugged his shoulders. We’re locked in a hideous waiting game, with no fixed time frame and no respite. All contact has been severed until the target has been destroyed.
Just then a car backfires in the lot next to the arena. Rufus throws up his head with a grunt and goads his old legs into a canter. My body adapts quickly to this new rhythm as I deepen my seat and loosen the reins to give him his head. The cold air slices my skin and whips my bangs away from my face, and I feel my grin stretching from ear to ear.
Back at the barn, I remove Rufus’ tack, and Manuel helps me rub him down. As he bends over to reach the pony’s underbelly, I catch a glimpse of the gun concealed beneath his red shirt. I run my fingers along Rufus’ black mane and pat his broad shoulder, absent-mindedly.
“Did you know Dante was in the US military, Manuel?”
He hesitates before answering. “I heard the rumors, se?orita, but it was never my place to pry.”
“How did you first meet him?”
“My mother was a maid in his father’s house.”
I watch his face shutting down all emotion. Dante does the same thing whenever he finds the topic of conversation disagreeable.
He runs the cloth down Rufus’ flank, and then ducks under his neck to join me, throwing the cloth over the stall door. “I was a small boy at the time. Mamá would bring me to work some days and let me play in the yard. Dante was much older, more a man, but he always remembered who I was.” He smiles slightly at the memory.
“What was his father like?”
“Not good, se?orita,” he says, his smile vanishing. “Cruel. Like his eldest son. Their mother died when Se?or Dante was seventeen. I was six at the time. He left Colombia soon after.”
“What did she die of?” I ask curiously.
Manuel groans and runs his hand through his hair, leaving it a dark, disheveled mess. “Se?or Santiago warned me you’d be inquisitive.”
“I want to know everything, Manuel. I want to try and understand his motives for doing what he does.”
“Is this for one of your articles?”
I shake my head. “I wouldn’t expose Dante like that. Not anymore. Anyway, I can’t. I resigned from my job last month. I hate what he does, but I can’t justify writing about the narcotics industry…” I tail off, feeling depressed. “Do you think my silence is the same as endorsing it?”
“We are not all bad men, se?orita,” he insists quietly. “For some of us it’s a way of existing, a way of providing for our families.”
“But the effects on other families are devastating.” I’m not buying his argument for a second. “You had a good job, a decent honest job. Why turn away from it?”
“Because when Se?or Santiago asks for something, you don’t—”
“Hey, what are you two whispering about?”
Anna exits the feed room at the far end of barn and makes her way over to us. I watch her glance at Manuel, and then sidle her gaze away. In turn, I watch him eyeing up her killer body as she unties the knot in Rufus’ lead rein and tugs him into his stall. With her long blond hair spilling over her shoulders like spun gold and her golden tan bringing out the cool jade in her eyes, my best friend is undeniably beautiful.
Like him.
A shard of longing pierces my heart. Savage, dangerous, sophisticated, controlled—there isn’t a man alive that comes close to Dante Santiago. Please God. I know he belongs in hell but keep him alive for me.
“I think we should celebrate.” Anna’s voice floats out to me from the stall.
“Celebrate what?”
“Your successful return to the saddle, of course,” she says, reappearing in the doorway. “First horses, now mojitos.” She takes one look at my expression and rolls her eyes. “Don’t give me that attitude, Evie Miller. I haven’t seen you touch a drop of alcohol in years. I want to see you loosen up. We used to tear up that dance floor together back in college. What d’ya say?”
“Oh, why the hell not.” I’m never going to win this argument.
“Atta girl! Do you dance, Manuel?” Her voice takes on a sexy, suggestive undertone as she turns to address my bodyguard.
Could you be any more obvious, Anna?
“A little.” He shrugs, trying hard to suppress a smile.
“That settles it then.” Her green eyes are sparkling with triumph. “The place I work has a great cocktail deal on. I can get us free entry too.” She checks her watch. “We better get going. We only have three hours.”
“Three hours for what?” I say, mystified.
“To make ourselves queens of the nights, silly. And I have just the dress for you.”