Page 47 of Fall
“Did they send you here?” His once clean, sparkly teeth gnash with bloody spittle. He was a deceitful vision that my sister believed in. Lucifer dressed in chinos with a heartbeat destined to cease in my sadistic hands.
“Who?” The snap of my demand cracks like a whip. Fine hairs pricking my nape rise in hackles. Men skirting the scene crowd him, preparing to defend me. I look him straight in the eye. “Who do you think sent me, Miguel?” The sound of his name off my tongue is acid in my mouth. His lips press together, muting his voice. “Don’t worry, you’ll tell me everything eventually.” I nod to the crook in his arm. “One needle in that blue vein, and you’ll instantly spill all the secrets locked away in here.” My finger prods his temple. “I never understood what my sister saw in you.”
His mouth stretches to a sinister grin. “Gabriela begged me to give it to her. And that I did. Over and fucking over––”
It starts with tingles rocketing up my arm. Then a gush of hissing blood magnifies the violence seething within me. I seize his throat with a viselike grip. Ruthless leather-bound fingers to the palpitations thumping in his neck. My head tilts sideways, eyeing his pathetic gasps for air.
I could say I enjoy the power of having this man's life in my hands. But I don’t, it’s beyond simple enjoyment. I fucking bask in it. I’ve waited too long. Bided my time. And now the moment to ruin him has finally arrived. He’ll surrender to el Fantasma. Bow and beg for mercy.
With my forbidden love out of the equation, I’m untouchable. My heart is vacuum packed and sealed. Whatever actions I deem necessary are no longer a toss of what’s right and what’s wrong. My dice lands on death. Every single time. I have nothing left in this world to lose.
“You’re a dead man, Valez.” He gasps for oxygen.
Jets of air shoot from my nostrils. I raise my arm so his boots dangle. I don’t remember him so feather light and unworthy, then again, I’m so wired I could bench press his weight without breaking a sweat.
“Let me tell you a secret. Just between you and I. It’syourtime to die.” Releasing my fingers, his bones rattle as he drops. He shakes his head and snorts out a grunt of ridicule.
“You’re all talk, Valez.”
The audacity of his bluster spears my fraying composure. Self-control snaps into smithereens. I unleash a whirl of wrath in one punch. It connects with his face. A pathetic grunt echoes in the vast backdrop of emptiness. His head cracks on the concrete as he falls.
He lies in a heap. Semi-unconscious. Spineless. Worthless.
“Load him up.”
Voices drift in and out of my mind, Miguel’s undignified mutters and my men taking none of his pathetic shit. They manhandle him out of the building while I take a moment alone to work out the tension burning my muscles.
Even with a high roof, the space becomes airless. I clutch my chest and reel in the need for destruction.
Dragging a hand over my scruff, I look around, hatred spitting fire and turning volcanic at the sight of scattered corpses. My guys and his. The lives of fathers, sons and friends all ended. An intense swell of sickness rebels inside me. The steely composure smelts into toxic misery.
This is my life now.
Blood for blood.
I inhale the demonic need for justice burrowing in my soul. The starless cloud swirls around the woman I’ve left behind, bringing her face back into my thoughts. She’s free from me. Safe from destruction.
“Sir. Good news. The bullet missed Luiz’s femoral artery. After Jackson removes the bullet, he’ll be on his feet in no time.”
I stretch my neck and feel the tight muscles burn. “And the other guy?”
“It’s not looking good.”
“Take me to him.” I glance down at his latex gloves stained in gore.
“I doubt he’ll survive the journey back.”
I blink through the bodies as we weave around wooden chests stacked like building blocks. The smell of death is thick in the air. On the soiled concrete lies a man the same age as me. Recruited last year when I ramped up the team with ex-military. They knew the risks. All of them willing to serve me once society rejected their contained violence. War ruined them. Death chased them.
Every man on my payroll understands the importance of tactics and the upshot of gunfire. They gladly wear camo to blend into a natural world of protection and sleep with a weapon tucked to their side.
I drop to my knees, sliding in a halo of blood blooming from his body. Tanned cheeks have withered to grey, barely visible under bloody smears. Pearly teeth are washed in red as his life source bubbles from his throat. Eyelashes flit in a battle of survival. “Come on, Juan. Today is not your day to die,” I urge, gripping his chin. “Come on, soldier. Jackson is waiting for you. Let’s go.”
He coughs and chokes, spitting bright blood.
“There’s no hope for him. A bullet punctured his heart, and another sliced his neck. We can’t do anything for him.”
The guy can’t even die in peace without suffering. I grab my gun from its holster, press the barrel to his forehead and snap the trigger.
