6. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Roman
As I sit here in this small cell, my breath shallow, thinking of her—of that night, of everything that followed—I can feel it creeping back up. The rage. The desire. It’s been almost ten years, but time does nothing to erase the burn, the need for her. She’s everything I lost, everything that was taken from me. My father couldn’t handle it. He offed himself not even two weeks after I was locked up. Not that I blame him. I’ve always been a shit son—must’ve gotten that from my mom. Maybe it was the shame of what I became, or maybe he just couldn’t face what I’d always been. Either way, he left me to rot in here with nothing but my thoughts and memories.
And God, I’ve spent every single day thinking about Xena. Every night imagining how I’ll take back what’s mine. Not just claim her—but break her. Destroy whatever part of her thinks she can live without me. I remember the way she looked that night as they dragged me off—lips parted, eyes wide. But it wasn’t fear. No, it was something else. She knew. She knew she could never escape me. Deep down, I know she didn’t really want to.
Fourteen days before Christmas. That’s how much time I have. The countdown starts now. Cedarvale has no idea what’s coming, but Xena… she’ll know soon enough. By Christmas Eve, she’ll be begging for release. But I won’t give it to her. Not until she’s shattered, remade into something I can finally own completely. Not until she’s exactly who she was always meant to be mine, in every twisted, broken way.
I lie here on my cot for the last time after almost ten long years in this hell. Tomorrow, I’ll be free. No more barriers. No more walls between us.
Morning light filters through the small, grimy window of my cell when I open my eyes. It’s cold, pale, almost lifeless—just like everything else in this place. I didn’t sleep much in prison, but last night I finally drifted off. I needed time to move faster, for morning to come already. Somewhere between moping, reading, and losing myself in the same tired thoughts, I must’ve passed out. A rare thing.
Old man Carl should’ve been here to see me walk out of this hellhole. He wanted to be there, the moment I was free, to say his goodbyes. But he died two years ago, of a heart attack. Another memory to leave behind in this godforsaken place. After Carl, they didn’t bother giving me another cellmate. I got too aggressive, I guess. So, they stuck me in isolation. Fine by me. It gave me time to think. And all that thinking? It always came back to her.
Xena Romero. Doesn’t matter how many years have passed, she’s mine—my woman, my whore, my stepsister. And God help whoever she’s with. No one gets to have her. Not then, not now. No one but me.
From down the hall, I hear the guards’ boots—heavy, familiar, the sound of them marching down the concrete. They’re coming for me. I fell asleep dressed, ready to go. Not that I’ve got much. Just these grey sweats and a crewneck that the prison tossed my way. But I don’t need much. I’ve got everything I need in my mind. The past? It’s staying here. The trauma, the pain? That can rot with this place. The only thing that matters now is the future. Going home. Getting her back.
"Delgado, get moving," one of the guards' barks, his voice snapping through the silence like a whip. It jolts me into action, my muscles tightening as I stand. A slow smile spreads across my face. Finally. I’m going home. To her. She’s my home. My everything.
The sound of keys jingles outside my cell, the metallic rattle echoing louder than usual. This time, it means freedom. The door creaks open, and adrenaline surges through me, making my heart pound against my ribs. The guards’ boots thud closer. This time, the sound doesn’t fill me with dread. It fills me with anticipation.
The door swings wide. I step forward, a wave of cold air rushing over me from the hallway. I’m free.
Finally .
Processing my release doesn’t take long. Some gruff guy behind a desk, a permanent scowl etched into his face, barely looks at me as he shoves a few papers my way.
"Sign," he grumbles, his voice flat and bored. I’m sure he’s saying something else, droning on, but I don’t hear him. My mind’s already far ahead, racing toward her. I think of Xena—her smile, that soft, wicked grin she’d flash when no one else was watching. Her laughter, the warmth of it, like home. Like everything I’ve ever needed wrapped up in one twisted, perfect package.
I scrawl my name without a second thought, not even registering what I’m signing. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is getting out of here. Getting back to her. I can almost feel her already—the heat of her skin, the curve of her lips, the look in her eyes when she used to watch me, half scared, half wanting me to take everything.
The guard hands me a bag. My old clothes—the ones I came in with a decade ago. It feels laughable. I don’t even care what’s inside. I toss it over my shoulder, knowing none of it holds any meaning anymore.
I glance at the guard. His face is unreadable as he watches me, like he knows what’s about to happen once I’m out. But he doesn’t matter. No one does.
The only thing that matters is that I’m free. Free to find her. Free to take back what’s mine.
The gates creak open, and the December air hits me like a slap. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the cold bite into my skin like this. But I welcome it. It feels real. I step out, the wind sharp and icy, slicing through the thin sweatshirt I’m wearing. A younger guard, fresh-faced and clueless, hands me my release papers.
"Stay out of trouble, Delgado," he says, like he’s doing me a favor, like he’s offering advice I never asked for. I grin at him, and it’s not a nice grin. It’s the kind that makes people uneasy.
"I plan to," I reply smoothly, even though we both know it’s a lie.
I start walking, my boots crunching against the gravel that stretches out into the world beyond these walls. I don’t look back. There’s no point. My past is dead. What lies ahead? That’s where I’m focused. That’s where she is.
Xena. Her tan skin. The way she moved. The way she looked at me, torn between wanting to run and wanting to stay, to give in. And now, she’s out there, thinking she’s free. But she’s not. She never was.
As I walk, my breath turns into white clouds, disappearing into the cold. A grin curls across my lips as I whisper to the wind, "Xena, baby, you better be ready. Because this time, I’m not just coming for you. This time, I’m going to break you. Piece by piece, I’ll tear you down. And when you’re nothing but dust, I’ll rebuild you. Mine. All mine."
The road stretches ahead, long and empty. But each step brings me closer. Closer to her. Fourteen days before Christmas. Fourteen days until she’s mine again. Let the fun begin.