Page 67 of Make Me A Sinner
Fuck!
Fuck!
Fuck!
Out of all the fucking stupid shit that could’ve gone wrong, this one takes the lead. How the hell could I allow this to happen? How did I get so fucking careless?
The veins in my neck are pulsing, and the urge to unleash hell on the whole world is stronger than ever. I try to calm down, but I know I’ll never forgive myself for letting her find out like this.
I’ve postponed things for too long. Still, it’s not all on me. I was ready to tell her after the heist, but she’s the one who ran away. And after that... well, let’s just say trust didn’t come easy.
I needed more time for her to process what’s happening, one truth at a time, instead of being bombarded with the revelation that everything she knows about this world is a lie.
AND I want her to understand who I truly am. I’m not her fucking Prince Charming, or a hero, wanting to save the world. More like preserving the world just so we can keep our little playthings at arm’s reach.
After all, there’s no hell without people to torture.
My reasons aren’t pure, but flawed beyond any redemption. This is what she has to see. This is what I want her to love. I won’t allow her to project me as an image of what she wants me to be. I want her to see me as I am. Flawed but perfect. Destruction and salvation. The man who would bring angels and demons to tears if that would put a smile on her face.But right now, I’m too pissed off—too unstable to have a sane conversation with her and explain things. This isn’t something I want to rush. I’ll have to choose my words carefully.
Then there’s Surt. Stubborn bastard went after Dalvacio, and even though I know he can handle him himself, I don’t want him on my conscience. So I’ll use him as an excuse to get away and buy myself some time, because I can’t stand the look in Serena’s eyes when she sees me as a hero.
Surt welcomes me with open arms and a bottle of top-shelf whiskey. Not that I was expecting anything less. But I’m still pissed off at him for not telling me he was going after Dalvacio.
He managed to rally more than a few men, and now he’s headed for L.A. He’s got some intel about Dalvacio hiding there, trying to restart his business, or at least scrape together enough cash to crawl back to Chicago. But we’re not going to let that happen. This time he’s not slipping away. Not after trying to kill us.
It takes us a couple of days to get everything in place, which helps me take my mind off things. Lately, everything’s a blur. Splinters of my past, my existence, and Serena keep mixing into a cocktail potent enough to leave me drunk on chaos.
When the time’s right, we leave for L.A. We’ve got some contacts in this town who helped us with an exact location and time.
Dalvacio’s not exactly low-profile here. Matter of fact, he’s trying to make a name for himself—and that means makingnoise. But tonight we’re not making a scene. We’ll keep it low-key, since my plan’s a little different from my brother’s. We’re not drawing attention this time. I’m going for a more diplomatic approach because I hate cleaning up after idiots, or worse, getting dragged into a bloodshed when things spiral. I can already feel the darkness inside me waiting to break free, and one killing will only lead to many more. Besides, I’m already walking a fragile line, and it wouldn’t take much to lose what’s left of my soul.
I put on a driver’s suit, then get in the rental limo, and pull up in front of the five-star hotel where Dalvacio’s staying. There’s a lavish party at a famous producer’s place—and he’s on the guest list. Courtesy of me, of course—not that he knows it.
He also doesn’t know his ride won’t end at the party; it will probably end with a boom.
As soon as he’s in the car, I drive off, with a completely different destination in mind—the top of a hill.
It’s only halfway up that he realizes we’re off course. “Hey, you sure you’ve got the right road?” he asks, but I don’t answer. I could’ve fed him some lie about a detour, but I want to hear the panic in his voice, to see the fear in his eyes as he figures out we’re not going to the party. He starts cursing and thrashing, so I lift the privacy screen and lock him inside the car as I continue driving to the spot where I’ll meet, Surt.
The man tried to kill us. It’s only fair we return the favor.
As soon as I pull to a stop, my brother swings the door open, only to be greeted by Dalvacio’s gun. Surt saw it coming, so he dodges the bullet flying his way, grabs the guy’s gun, and turns it on him.
I step out of the car, though I already know how things will play out. It’s like a movie I’ve already seen. Still, I watch it anyway. I enjoy a good death now and then, even though I’m on the verge, I can’t afford to get my hands dirty.
“I’ve always wondered if you could fly,” Surt says, watching as Dalvacio crawls out of the car, just a few feet away from the cliff’s edge. “I mean, why come to my town and mess with my business if you don't wanna to learn how to fly?” There’s a splinter of madness in his tone. Comes with the family genes.
Same goes for the urge to watch your enemies meet their end.
“Now jump,” Sur’s voice thickens with disgust under Dalvacio’s whimpers. Not even mobsters are what they used to be. Men used to die with some damn dignity, accept their fate, and hold on to their pride until the very last second. Now all we get are whimpers, pleas for their lives, or worse—offering up the people closest to them, like Nick did. Not that Nick was any kind of mobster. Just spineless trash.
It makes me sick. I don’t even want him to jump. I want to fucking shove him myself. But that’d be easier for him. And I don’t do easy. “Jump,” I order, leaving no room for negotiation.
Still, the loser freezes, unable to end his own life.
“If Whiro were here, he’d probably jump with him. Guess it’s on me now,” Surt says with twisted amusement before charging straight to the guy.
Panic floods Dalvacio’s face, and instinct kicks in, making him take a step back. Wrong move. Horror replaces panic. His hands flail, grasping for balance, trying to cling to the last strand of life. It’s not working, though. The air grabs him, the darkness of the abyss pulling him in, and he does exactly what my brother ordered him. He flies.
