Page 84 of Stutter

What my grandfather really said was, “break her heart and I’ll make sure you and every hijo de puta in the Syndicate aremurdered.”And a surprised Jonas replied, “Not if we get to them first.”

And then they shook hands, like they were old business partners and friends. My abuelo then kissed my cheek, told me how beautiful I still am, and then whisperingto me, he found Jonas and my men worthy of me. And that I always had a home with him in Spain.

“Yes, I’ll… I’ll be happy to attend.Wewill be happy to attend, won’t we, amor?” She says to John but there’s a certain timbre in her words.

“Yes, of course.” John replies, cold stare meeting mine.

I’ve concluded that Axel must look like his mother because he barely resembles John. Although there were never any pictures or portraits of her that I can remember, not even in the attic. Neither of them ever spoke of her like she was just some dirty, repressed secret. There’s ghosts at the Monroe Mansion and I always thought one of them was her.

John seems to be choosing his words carefully while sipping on a glass of wine. “I suppose congratulations are in order.” He lifts his glass and tips it in our direction, the smile never reaching his eyes “To the happy couple.”

I bow my head in small thanks as Jonas says it out loud, and up we go, back to my room, to replace old memories and create new ones.

________

If you thinking slipping around your old mansion in the middle of the night while there are twinkling lights in almost every room is easy, you’re fucked in the head.

Even though Damon has access to the cameras now, we can’t be too careful. Slinking around in a balaclava from my room on the third floor to the kitchen in the back of the house where all the champagne is being held, is still tricky. Jonas maneuvers easily enough except every time I turn, he bumps into me and the man is sporting a raging hard-on. What even causes that? It pokes me in the back every time I have to stop and make sure the coast is clear. I’m pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose because he keeps groping me.

I stifle a giggle, really wanting to laugh at how silly we probably look wearing all black clothes and balaclavas – two Grinches wearing fucking fanny packs about to ruin someone's Christmas and one of them has tented pants.

The fanny pack of course holds a fuckton of syringes. Mine is holding the vials of strawberry extract, courtesy of my abuelo, who, after Jonas told him everything I’ve been up to, (little traitor) simply told me I wasadorable,and he was so proud of me for taking back my life and bringing down those ‘hijos de putas.’Sons of bitches,if you will.

I stop at the edge of the hallway to make sure there are no staff wandering about, Jonas stabbing me with his dick, and his hands land on my hips. “Can I cut a hole in this later and fuck you in it, please?”

I nod. Absolutely, he can.

“Fuck, I feel like I’m gonna come just thinking about it.”

Now my nipples are hard.

I roll my eyes, and push back against the wall, using my arm to push him back too when I spot one of the housemaids, Lucinda, venturing out of the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron. Jonas moves my hand down to his dick. I give him a firm squeeze (or seven) and when I’m sure she’s not coming back, I stop fondling him long enough for us to tiptoe past the sunroom and make it to the kitchen through the back entrance.

The lights in the kitchen are off, but very convenient crates of white wine instead of champagne are everywhere, perfectly opened and ready to be placed in the large ice boxes Sofia rents that will be here tomorrow.

Did Damon cut the cameras?I ask with my hands.

Yeah, before we came down here. He signs back.He has them looping back-to-back.

I breathe out and give a quick jerk of my head. That was our biggest concern – anything coming back to us via CCTV.

We get to work immediately, filling the syringes we got from Damon, full of the extract in the vials to the brim, shove them through the corks, only letting but .01 ounces into each one.

It takes us two hours, but all two hundred bottles of wine are now laced with strawberry extract. Not enough to change the taste. Not enough to change the color. Only enough, that if someone with a severe strawberry allergy consumed, say four half-poured crystal flutes could begin to feel a certain itch that needs to be scratched.

________

Jonas is still asleep when I wake up in the morning, lightly snoring but highly naked under the comforter. I put my pajamas on, then my robe because where I’m going, there’s always a chill.

The house is eerily silent. No shuffling of house staff shoes on the marble floors, or even orders coming from the kitchen. Just me and the old ghosts of Monroe Mansion tiptoeing around. I wonder if Axel’s mom is watching me. I’m tired, unable to sleep, afraid we didn’t pull this off properly, paranoid that someone was watching us from the shadows, but Damon would have texted Jonas if that were the case.

I find myself in the sunroom, pulling my robe a little tighter as I stand to watch the snow land and billow around the glass ceiling and large windows. I used to pretend I was inside of a snow globe when I was here. For a moment, it feels like I’m eighteen and I never left, and I was perfect. So, in my snow globe with the statues and the plants, I let myself pretend… until I hear footsteps slow and steady coming. The only other person that ever joined me in here was – Axel.

He grins and my heart sighs at the sight of it. “Thought I’d find you in here.” He says quietly, putting his hands in his pockets, stepping closer to me.

I shrug.Old habits die hard; I sign.

He inclines his head. “You could say that.”

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