Chapter Three
It was a regular day…
I’m nervous. This is weird.
I don’t know these people… And yet, I do.
I’ve been watching them for so much longer than they realize. That’s most of what’s freaking them out right now. Learning how long I’ve actually been among them, though we’re only just officially meeting.
I won’t pretend it’s not loco as fuck.
Still, being grilled by this ragtag group of warriors—this rebel alliance, if you will—isn’t what’s making me squirm. Not all of it, anyway.
Interrogations are easy. What’s a little more complicated is what’s likely about to happen to every last one of them because I’m standing here.
If he comes for me, they’re all dead.
And let’s be real… He’s most certainly coming.
Diablo.
I feel my face flushing, but I just keep trying to hide it. There are so many layers to this… So many unexpected pieces to the puzzle of this island and my presence on it. They’re only just finding out that I’m one of them… Connecting to some more than others.
I didn’t expect to be plopped in the center of them this way, but now that I am, I’d prefer to keep some of the details of what I know to myself. At least, the more… sordid ones.
My uneasy gaze creeps once more to the boy with the pink hair, and his large counterpart.
It might not go over well…
A garbled voice comes over Velle’s walkie, and he plucks it off his holster. His eyes stay on me while he responds to Officer Peters—I recognize the voice, mostly the obvious military training when he speaks.
“Boss… we got ‘em. Everyone’s locked and loaded. Ready to mobilize on your go-ahead.”
“Sounds good, kid. The watch team knows the drill. Just get your asses over here in one piece.” His eyes are gleaming amusement, but even more confidence.
“Tell Alex I said hi!” Ren squeals while Velle waves him off.
“Ten-four, Captain,” Peters replies, and Velle chuckles.
“Alright, Major General.” Velle finally takes his eyes off me long enough to peek at his partners, who are grinning. “Can’t wait to see you.” Ren is pouting. Velle rolls his eyes. “And Carson.”
Peters laughs softly. It’s a nice sound. I always liked him… Strictly based on watching, of course. But he seems like a stand-up guy, and his boyfriend, Alex Carson from the control room, is a true gem.
I hope I get to meet them…
I’m glad to see Velle looking himself again. The last time I saw him, he was much more stressed. Then again, it’s been weeks…
And I’ve been trapped inside the mansion the whole time—from one cage to another. In all that time, I’ve only seen one person—well, two, if you include Kent. And my stomach drops when I recall Byron telling us he was killed out there, helping them escape.
Kent was a good man. He didn’t deserve to die.
Aside from him bringing me my meals, though, there’s been only one other person I’ve interacted with since the night of the storm… And despite the confusing turn our last conversation took, he’s never been exactly forthcoming with me. If anything, he’s intentionally obtuse.
Ugh… Cono. Pendejo guapo….
Basically, I went from seeing so much of what goes on around this island to nothing but darkness.
Velle tucks his walkie back in place, returning to scrutinizing me with his penetrating blue gaze.
“Troops are on the move,” he says to everyone, but he’s still looking at only me.
I simply blink up at him, because I don’t believe I qualify to have an opinion on his war games.
“Our men, the prisoners… They’re on their way.
And when they get here, we’re gonna end this.
” He closes the gap between us, and I swallow.
“Once and for all. We’re gonna end him.”
I’m not sure if he’s saying this to gauge my reaction, assess any visible allegiance I might have to Manuel Blanco. I almost grin.
That’s funny.
“We’ve spilled blood, lost lives for this place. Because of him. And I know you know that.” His voice is a low rumble. Amedrenta. “I’m sorry to say, kid, but you’re my bargaining chip. I don’t want to have to… but I will kill you if it means toppling his goddamn patriarchy.”
I see Trevel step forward, concern on his face.
Byron holds out a hand to stop him. “Whoa, Velle, come on…”
“Yea, come on,” Felix chirps, like a trusty parrot on Byron’s shoulder. It’s comical. Weren’t they sworn enemies not long ago? “That’s a little extreme…”
Officer Jasper snorts. “Aren’t you a serial killer?”
Felix frowns. “Yea, but I don’t kill everyone…”
“Yea!” Dash chimes in.
Officer Hancock scoffs. “Way to contribute to the conversation, 101.”
“All of this chatter is irrelevant,” Velle grumbles, head cocking.
“It’s my call. Chances are he’s already realized his toy is missing…
If not, he’ll be figuring it out real soon.
” He lifts a brow, and I purse my lips by way of verification.
I’m sure el diablo will be on his way… “At the very least, we know his troops are coming. Pande-fuckin-monium is about to be raining down on our asses. So when bullets are flying, and my family’s lives are on the line, I’ll have a choice to make.
And trust me when I tell you, I will not hesitate. I will protect them at all costs.”
Lashes fluttering, I slant my head.
“I don’t know who you are to him, or if he’d let you die to win this war… But no matter what happens next, he will kneel at my feet,” he snarls, and it zips up my spine. “I let him take someone from me before… I will not be making that mistake again.”
Vengeance. I can see it on his face, in every angle of his features. Smell it on him, like blood, smoke and metal. My eyes fall to his hand, the one clutching his brass knuckles.
“Entiendo.” I nod. “I understand, Officer. Your pain, your wrath… I’ve felt it. Also at his hands.”
His brows lift in clear surprise, and he asks, softly inquisitive, “Who is he to you?”
Gunshots ring in my ears. Screams echo, the memory still sitting at the forefront of my mind. As if nineteen years haven’t passed since that day…
Just a regular day…
“El diablo,” I state. Feeling the weight of their full attention, I pull in a breath.
“Ojos abiertos, boca cerrada, pajarito.”
“Manuel Blanco saved my life…” I begin the story, “and he killed me in the process.”
It was a regular day.
Just like the ones before it, and the ones I was sure would come after it.
The mind of a toddler doesn’t comprehend mortality. Three-year-old me couldn’t fathom the possibility of no future. Nor did I see very far into it.
I was too young to understand things like death, or living the rest of my life without my family in it. The furthest into the future I could see was Avianna’s and my fourth birthday. I knew it was happening in two months, but that was only because Mami was planning a big party.
It was jungle safari-themed.
Papa was going to get me a puppy. I just knew it.
I didn’t even know how long two months was. Hell, I didn’t know months, or weeks, how many days were in them. I was three years old.
I was still a baby.
I mean, I didn’t think I was a baby. But I had no problem acting like one when the mood struck, because that’s what three-year-olds do.
Basically, I could walk, and talk, eat and sleep. I could feel joy, and pain…
Fear. Sadness.
Anger.
I could feel love, in terms of an emotional attachment to my family. A bond of adoration that I couldn’t explain, but then I had no reason to. My family was always there, so it didn’t matter.
They were never going anywhere. That’s what I thought, anyway.
Three-year-old me felt the standard infantile sensation of love for my family, simplistic in its underdevelopment. But he felt something stronger for Avianna.
My twin sister was a part of me. We were connected to one another inside Mami’s belly, holding hands until the very last second, when we had to let go so we could come out.
That was what Mami said; that I didn’t want to let go because I was afraid to come out.
But Avia promised me she’d be waiting for me, so I finally let go and let her leave me.
Only for three minutes, until I was born. I rushed out fast to be back with her, Mami said, and apparently Avia screamed her little lungs out until I showed up. After that, she didn’t cry once.
Avianna and I were two halves. Sure, we looked complete, on the outside. But inside, we knew we were supposed to still be joined. More than just holding hands… Like maybe she’d gotten some of my things by mistake, and I’d gotten some of hers.
Surely, I didn’t understand it then. I barely understand it now. But it was clear to me fairly early on that my sister was me, and I was her… In a sense.
Before that day, Avianna felt like a protector. Even though she was mere minutes older than me, she was the strong one. The bold and daring one. Curious… Well, we both were that. But at three years old, Avianna was somehow a handful, and yet a permanent comfort. To the entire Alvarez family.
And me… I was the quiet one. The one who easily flew under the radar. I knew my mother worried about how quiet I was. She had a tendency to fuss over me. But for my father, I’m sure it was a relief that at least one of us was trying to make his life easier.
Let’s just say he had a lot on his plate.
Arturo Alvarez was married twice before my mother.
The first time, to the love of his life—something he wouldn’t dare say in front of my mother—who passed away tragically when they were in their twenties.
The second time, to a woman he probably wished had passed away, but who instead would forever be a thorn in his side. An expensive one.
By the time he married my mother, he was in his forties.
This was never confirmed, but I don’t think Arturo Alvarez actually wanted children.
Much to the chagrin of those who would prefer an heir of his to take over when he died, to ensure the business was passed on to blood, like it had been to him, and his father, and so on.