Page 50 of Sin of Love

Julep ignores me, though his smile grows at the look on my face. “It all worked out in the end, though, don’t you think? When I finally found you that night? My beautiful, stupid doll, who just wanted to feel special and loved, was finally ripe for the taking. And isn’t that what I’ve done all these years? Made you feel special and loved?”

Panic reaches a crescendo in my ears, a hissing squeal that abruptly stops. Time slips. I blink. The limo door is now open, a bemused valet staring at me. Behind him, tourists with red faces and loud clothes stroll through the spacious, open-air lobby, with a backdrop of inky sky.

It all looks so normal. So fake.

“Tick tock, Deirdre,” murmurs Julep.

I slide to the edge of the seat, but can’t help looking back at him. The shining eyes, the boyish smirk. And the truth is obvious. It was always there, waiting for me to face it.

I never told Julep about my years on the streets.

I told Marco.

The Devil grins when he sees the sick comprehension sweep over my face, a rare lapse of control on my part. A flick of his wrist toward the valet and the back door closes again, trapping us in our tiny corner of hell. The air is thick and dense, pushing pushing against my mind. Unraveling it. Changing and breaking it.

“Finally,” he says, sighing happily. “After all this time and effort, you’re finally perfect for me. For Marco Julius Lazcano. Julep is a nickname my mother gave me when I was young and wild. Father hates it, which is why he insists on Marco. But when I found you and Nate that night, and saw all your potential under life’s tarnish, I knew I would become whatever you needed me to be. What I didn’t know was that you would awaken the real me, the boy I’d buried under duty. You allowed me the freedom to be Julep.”

“I prefer Marco,” I rasp, my throat aching, my eyes burning with tears I can’t access. “I hate Julep. I hate you.”

He palms my cheek, then slaps it lightly. “Liar. I’ll tell you how I know. At the core of every person is the desire for what we believe we deserve. You don’t want tender love and care, my doll. You want cruelty. Punishment. Pain. And I’m the only one who can give them to you. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you didn’t kill me ten years ago, and why you didn’t kill me three months ago. Because you know this—here with me—is your home.”

“No.” I swallow hard. “You have dissociative identity disorder. You were institutionalized for it.”

Leaning forward, he whispers, “What if I don’t, and wasn’t? What if I lied about the hospital? Why, then you’d have to accept that all your sweet tears, confessions, and affection was for me. Just me. Because Marco—doesn’t—exist.”

There’s a crisp knock on the window behind my head. I jerk in place, my heart thundering after a long, numbed sleep. Julep looks over my shoulder and nods. The door opens.

“He’s waiting,” says a guard.

Julep grins at me. “After you, my love. If you try to run, I won’t kill you. I’ll give your girls one by one to my men and make you watch what they do to them. I might do that anyway just to punish you for your subversion.”

He knows. He knows.

Fingers and toes tingling, I grab the edges of the door and pull myself toward the lights of the resort. If I can get to a restroom, I can figure out a way to ingest the tea. All the tea. I thought revenge would be killing Julep, but maybe instead it will be taking away his favorite doll.

Me.

Pausing on the threshold of my death, I tell the Devil, “I’ll never love you.”

Breath against the back of my neck, he whispers, “I don’t care. You’re still mine.”

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