Page 18 of Taunting Tarran (Wild at Heart #1)

THE PUNISHER

The road stretches on forever, each mile dragging like an eternity as Sal and I finally pass the weathered, old sign “ Coto Privado”. It looms like a forgotten relic, marking the perimeter of the reserve on the outskirts of Pueblo Viejo.

Twenty more minutes to the compound. Twenty minutes too long.

The sight of it doesn’t surprise me when we arrive.

Time hasn’t touched it; the place is frozen, just as I had left it all those years ago.

The same stone walls, the same gates that creak like ghosts in the wind.

It doesn’t interest me – it never has. It’s just another one of my father’s cold, calculated investments, handed to me like some twisted inheritance.

But now it’s mine, whether I want it or not.

The reserve sprawls across a patchwork of land owned by several families, tucked deep within the rural hills around Pueblo Viejo.

It spans over a hundred and twenty hectares – isolated enough to keep wandering tourists at bay.

Pueblo Viejo itself, with its cobblestone streets, whitewashed houses, and vibrant red-tiled roofs, remains untouched by the wave of tourism.

Despite its rich history, woven with tales and legends of medieval knights and hidden treasures, it remains a quiet and almost forgotten gem.

The deeper we venture into the reserve, the heavier the air grows, filled with an unsettling silence that presses against my chest. Carlos steps out from the imposing masia . The stone facade, draped in ivy like a shroud, looms ominously against the encroaching twilight.

‘Finalmente!’ Carlos greets with open arms.

The creaking of the masia’s door shatters the stillness, and I feel compelled to follow him inside as if drawn by an invisible force.

Sal stands quietly in the corner like a silent shadow. He hasn’t said a word since we got off the plane, his stillness unsettling yet familiar. He’s always been good at making himself invisible, but his presence is a heavy reminder that this moment is unavoidable.

Carlos stands in front of me, the conversation twists and turns as we navigate the terms of the shipment with the Albanians, each word a subtle power play.

But eventually, over a few glasses of wine, the tension eases, replaced by an unspoken agreement.

Sal nods, his posture relaxing ever so slightly.

Carlos leans back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. His dark, sunken eyes bore into mine, pulling threads of memories I’d rather leave unravelled. ‘You know, you look a lot like your father,’ he says, voice gruff but steady. ‘Welcome home. I hope you’re both staying for the games.’

I swirl the last of my wine, the ruby liquid catching the dim light before I toss it to the back of my mouth in one go. ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ I lie.

Carlos nods once, sharp and deliberate. ‘Our clients need to see you’re capable – capable of stepping up, maintaining the standards your father set. Your absence these past years...it’s caused unease within the family. If it weren’t for your father holding us all together, who knows where we’d be.’

A knot tightens in my chest, coiling like a snake ready to strike. ‘Carlos, you know I don’t want to be involved,’ I say.

He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees.

‘You don’t have a choice, nene . Not anymore.

If you don’t step up, all our heads will be on the chopping block.

This year marks the 50 th Anniversary of Wilderness Warfare, and the clients – our clients – are expecting something big. They need to know you can deliver.’

I press my lips together. He’s right, in some ways. But knowing doesn’t make the noose around my neck feel any looser.

The clients he speaks of are an elite group, among them high-ranking government officials, esteemed diplomats, and influential magnates.

Their reach extends far beyond the boundaries of the reserve, with connections that penetrate the highest echelons of political and economic spheres.

These clients are titans, with the financial clout to orchestrate mergers, manipulate markets, steer the global economy, and they come here to have fun.

Carlos storms across the room like a caged predator, his hands tearing through his hair in restless frustration. ‘Those damn Albanians,’ he spews, spittle flying. ‘They’ll be here tomorrow.’

I stand firm. ‘Sal and I have it under control, we’ll take the van.’ The words feel hollow. Walking away wasn’t an option. The Albanians didn’t just settle scores – they erased them, bloodline and all, and neither Sal nor I fancied becoming mincemeat.

He pauses. ‘We need to keep a close watch on them.’

His eyes narrow, ‘And then there’s the auction this weekend. I’m getting too fucking old for all this shit.’

‘Sal will be meeting them at the port. We’ll be making the exchange, and coming right back. I have it all in hand.’

‘You need to be on your A-game. This is your chance to show them you’re ready to take the reins.’

Sal quietly steps out as Carlos and I continue our heated discussion. His bouts of silence speaking volumes.

‘We have some big players arriving soon. We can’t afford any fuck-ups.’

‘I’ve never seen you so worried, Uncle.’

‘Because, Angel, they’re coming for The Butcherbird.’ His expression darkened as he leant in close towards me, his voice taking a more ominous tone. ‘You know that little whore you helped escape twenty years ago!’

Confusion washes over me, but my expression remained steady.

‘Oh?’ I pour another glass of wine. ‘You found her?’

Tarran.

He sighs, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe why I was so calm.

‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? Your father fell in love with a girl. Well, I use the word “love” loosely.’

‘Is she here?’ I ask, dreading the answer.

‘Soon! I have confirmation she’s in tow.’

My stomach drops, my hand clasping the glass so tightly it takes all my effort not to shatter it between my fingers. ‘My father did the same?’

Carlos’s lips twist into a cold smile. ‘Yeah, only he got her pregnant, and he almost lost everything because of it. We got you though! I had to save this family, but I was younger then, and I’m too old to go through all of that again. When Maribel rang, I couldn’t believe our luck.’

No, no, no.

‘Come, nene. Let’s see the pigs.’

My mind races to piece together the implications of Carlos’s revelation. The legacy of my father, the looming threats from clients and now her.

‘How are the pigs? I ask, my voice casual as we step into the cool air to join Sal.

I can’t let on I have any interest in the girl. That would be suicide.

‘Big!’ Carlos shoots back, he grins as he pulls a cigarette from behind his ear. ‘They’re a bit restless, and grouchy. Don’t get too close.’

‘What’s wrong with them?’ Sal chimes in.

Carlos chuckles, ‘I stopped feeding ‘em yesterday. Gotta prime them ready for the weekend.’ He leans on the fence, eyeing the snorting beasts with pride.

The pigs jostle, thick and bristly, each weighing in at what I guess is two-fifty kilos, easy.

Hungry, ugly, and mean - a bad trio for anyone on the wrong side of the fence.

Carlos gestures with a casual wave, ‘Their hunger is insatiable. Raw, primal urge. Once they catch a whiff of fear, even a hint, it’s game over. They’ll tear through anything.’ He smirks, wicked and knowing, and I feel it – a flicker of something animalistic, something I can relate to.

Sal’s face turns white as he leans in close, his voice barely a whisper. ‘Boss, I don’t mean to be rude, but would you mind if I left? It fucking stinks here.’

‘Soon,’ I reply. ‘We’re leaving soon.’

Carlos talks to the pigs, each one he recognises by sight, their individual quirks and temperaments.

Disposing of a body via pigs was one of the first things I learnt, thanks to Uncle Carlos – he’s been disposing of bodies longer than I’ve been alive, and he has it down to an art form.

Moving a whole body is a struggle even for the strongest of people.

The best way is to cut it up into six pieces, then feed the pieces to the pigs.

Ideally, you want to starve the animals for a few days, that way, a chopped up body, according to Carlos, looks like a kebab would to a piss artist.

A single pig, depending on its size can consume roughly a kilo of flesh every minute, so Carlos’s sounder of boars would effectively remove a body weighing two-hundred pounds before you’ve finished a cup of coffee.

Except the hair and teeth – hair affects their digestive system, and teeth just pass right through, like corn.

Wouldn’t want to be sifting through shit to clean your crime scene.

‘I don’t mean to interrupt, Carlos, but I’m curious about this girl.’

Time is ticking...

‘There’s nothing to tell. That buyer was livid when she escaped. We’re lucky he only demanded double what he had paid for her. It could have gone down a lot worse. She’s indebted to us – should return a pretty penny at the auction.’

Carlos’s gaze cuts to Sal, his lip curling as he jerks his chin in his direction. ‘He seems quiet.’

Sal flicks his eyes to mine, a flash of unease passing between us. He catches my silent warning, a sharp cue to hold his tongue, and his discomfort deepens. His hands twitch by his sides, fingers flexing nervously.

‘He’s not much of a talker,’ I reply, though the tension coils beneath the surface.

Carlos smirks, as I revert our conversation. ‘So, what you got planned for the runaway?’

My jaw clenches, the ripple of anger surging through my veins like a live wire. I fight to keep my composure, every muscle wound tight as a bowstring, it’s physically painful.

My pulse hammers at my temples, the sound deafening in my ears. Behind my back, my hands curl into fists, nails biting deep into flesh - until the sharp sting brings me back to reality. The storm rages within, but I wrestle it into submission.