Chapter Thirty #2
“Yea… I get that,” he muttered after a beat, tone detached.
It sliced me so deep, I had to grip my stomach for fear my guts would spill out.
“But it changes nothing. Do whatever you need to… Come here, try to kill me, I don’t give a fuck.
I’m burying my mother tomorrow and nothing, not even you, is gonna stop me from saying goodbye to her. ”
“I’m not trying to stop you from—” My agitated response was cut off when I realized he’d already hung up. “Ugh!”
I called right back, but of course the phone had been powered off.
“Fuck!” I hollered, yanking my hair in my fists. Then I aimed a helplessly wrathful glare at my team; Yari, Kent, and Paulino, all standing by in nervous wait. “Get me everyone who’s responsible for this.”
They all gaped at me, terrified. They were right to be.
“Juan, Mike… Alejo,” I snarled. “All of them. Anyone even remotely involved in what happened to Tammy… I want them here. Now.”
Paulino was the first and only one to speak. “Sir, with all due respect, that’ll start a war—”
“Good,” I barked before he was even finished, my tone downright diabolical. “I will bury every last one of them.”
Naturally, they did what I asked without further question.
It didn’t take long at all to track them all down. My men were putting in work; ambushing people, hog-tying them, throwing bags over their heads, and bringing them to the Isle. When all was said and done, the ferry was packed with culprits, all of whom were going to die, slowly and painfully.
I learned from one that apparently Jonathan and his partners had already done some of their own investigating. They’d lured Tammy’s dealer to the house and interrogated him into revealing what had happened… The truncated version, of course.
The problem was that there were far more layers to it than any lower-level dealer would understand, and because of that, the optics were not looking favorably for me, and the truth.
The angst of misinformation being spread was like an itch beneath my skin I couldn’t reach. Someone needed to pay for my discomfort. For the poison they’d unleashed on my world, even deadlier than the poison they’d fed Tammy Chevelle.
I spent all day today beating men’s faces in, mutilating them and unleashing every ounce of contempt I’ve been holding in for far too long.
When I finally came up from the tombs, I was dripping in blood and viscera, though it was nothing compared to the malignant retribution I’m now holding within my chest after watching one of my lieutenants put a bullet between his own brother’s eyes for betraying me.
But it had to be done. Because unfortunately, this was the work of some ballsy putas trying to get back at me for some shit that happened years ago…
Some of my men were involved as well. Even if just in conjunction, it makes no difference. One goddamn text message makes you culpable.
Alejandro is dead; a kid who’s worked with me since he was fifteen. Shit, even the asshole who’d been fucking Harley’s wife turned out to be involved.
I knew I should have just killed him for being stupid enough to fuck a cop’s wife. But I didn’t, and it came back to bite me in the ass. There is nothing I hate more than regret…
So I cut his dick off and stuffed it down his throat.
It’s fine, he died.
Hours of torturing and slaughtering worked as some rage therapy, but it didn’t really fix anything. Because Jonathan is still gone, and he still thinks I killed his mother.
Look, I’m not in the business of defending my actions to my employees, nor do I give a flying fuck what people think about me. And believe me, I’ve done far worse than ordering the intentional overdose of someone’s mother.
But there is something so profoundly unsettling about being accused of something you know you didn’t do. Specifically, the disturbing irony of Tammy dying only after I’d stopped my men from selling to her.
That shit seems intentional… Like it’s the universe’s way of telling me that my attempts at humanity are frivolous and futile.
You can try to have a heart all you want, Marfil… But you and I both know you don’t, and so it will always backfire on you.
Don’t. Fucking. Bother.
He will hate you forever, no matter what you do. They all will.
Because you breed pain, and nothing more.
You are made for only excess, exploitation, and authority. Oppression, and domination. This is what you know.
Not… love.
The alliance with the Mexican cartel is frayed as fuck now. As far as I’m concerned, they started it, but we’ll finish it. Sacrificing their pride isn’t something they like to do, but I’ve only just begun handing out spankings.
Every few years they need to be reminded of their place. It just so happened that this time, they fucked with more than just my territory.
I’m sitting in the atrium, drinking myself stupid, puffing a cigar and staring up at the stars through the skylights.
Lemuel Love just left. I had him down for a drink. It would have been nice if it’d been just that; a social call. A drink and some casual conversation shared between friends when they both clearly need just that.
But of course it wasn’t. I think we’re both too self-involved to have real friends.
I’m sure it’s for the best. Trust, even on the most superficial scale, has earned me nothing but unrest.
It’s lonely at the top for a reason. Because bringing someone else up there means trusting that they won’t try to push you off. And they always fucking try.
I had Yari bring Lemuel down here so I could confront him about the unapproved houseguest.
Es loco, verdad?!
A serial killer is in my home right now. As we speak, The Carver is upstairs, sharing a bedroom with his doctor.
I’m chuckling into my scotch just thinking about it. I can feel Kent and Yari gaping at me like they’re afraid I might have truly lost my marbles.
But I mean, come on… That’s funny!
This highly respected, world-renowned clinical psychologist I brought here because of his sterling reputation, is now fucking his patient—my prisoner, one of the most dangerous humans in history—and has taken him home with him, to fuck and cuddle in the comfort of my house.
I have to say, I didn’t see that one coming.
The video of the ultrasound experiment was… enlightening. In many ways. I had no idea Lemuel was even interested in men, let alone murderous, sociopathic ones. But he’s officially sticking his dick in Felix Darcey, and acting like it’s no big deal.
I’ve gotta give him props… The guy sure knows how to display confidence, regardless of how loco his behaviors seem to the outside world.
Even so, I could tell the moment he joined me down here that he’s way out of his depth. I could read it on his emotionless face, displaying the subtlest of insecurities. In his robotic movements that were suddenly so much more human.
After all, I’m familiar with such plights…
And sure, I could run upstairs and snatch Felix Darcey up. Deliver him back to the prison, and bitch-smack Lemuel Love for taking advantage of my unprecedented goddamn generosity.
Or, you know… Have Kent do it.
But if I can be candid, I simply do not have the fucking energy to fight right now.
I’ve been fighting for days, weeks, months… years.
I’m tired, and all I want to do in this moment is get shit-faced and wallow.
If Lemuel wants to bang a serial killer, who am I to tell him no? I’m not his father. Or the AMA, or whoever punishes doctors for behaving badly.
I’m probably the last person who can judge anyone’s actions. I’m Satan.
Lemuel Love’s had his own hardships… I know we all have, but his were pretty bad.
His Uncle Stephen… The pedophilic rapist who kidnapped and assaulted him when he was a teenager. His family covering it up… It’s a tough pill to swallow.
Who knows. Maybe being with Felix Darcey takes away some of that pain.
Mira, I’m not a goddamn matchmaker, regardless of how it sometimes seems in this place.
The number of relationships I’ve single-handedly made possible with this island is sort of astonishing.
And maybe I’m just drunk, but right now, I can’t help wondering what that must be like…
Being with someone. Having someone, as more than just a pet, or a puppet or a pawn.
Paradise, over purgatory.
I dismiss Kent and Yari so I can be alone. But really, I just want to overthink in private. It only takes five minutes and one more glass before I’m calling him again.
I don’t expect him to answer. So imagine my surprise when he does.
“Yea?” Jonathan sighs, his grumbly voice stiffening me all over.
I’m way too deflated to be speaking to anyone right now, let alone him. But he answered…
So here goes nothing.
“Hi…” I clear that breathy, human tone from my throat, sitting up straight. “Hello, Jonathan. I just wanted to check on you… To see how you’re… How are things going?”
Ugh, Dios…
“As expected,” he grunts. “It’s a funeral, so, ya know…”
I swallow hard, blinking past how dizzy I suddenly am.
I’m drunk… That’s it.
I’m not high on the fact that he’s actually speaking to me and shivering down to my goddamn marrow…
Sucking in a breath, I mumble, “But you’re… holding up alright?”
“Do you really care?” He scoffs with a bite.
I’m beginning to feel sick.
“Jonathan, please.” I rub my eyes. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but I would like it if you would at least hear me out—”
“Oh, you mean like you do when I fuck up?” He snaps.
Okay, I deserved that.
“That’s not the same, and you know it,” I grunt.
“Doesn’t matter,” he sniffs. “My mother is dead, and it’s my fault… Just like everything else that’s happened since I met you.”
His words actually sting, like salt on a wound within my chest, and I hate it because I don’t understand…
“Why would you say that? You know it was never my intention for you to feel that way.” I shake my head. I’m not explaining myself correctly. I don’t know how to do this… “After everything we’ve been through, it pains me that you don’t know how important you are to me… That you think I would—”
“You say that now, but you just want me to come back,” he interrupts. “You’ll say anything to make that happen…”
“That’s not true.” I chew on my lower lip.
“Yes, it is. You think I’m stupid? Or do you just like treating me like I am…?”
“You want someone to blame? Fine. I’ll take that. But you know this is where you belong, Jonathan. Your home is here…”
With me.
“I don’t care…” He murmurs, but I keep pushing.
Going for broke, because I have to.
“I need you back, my pet…”
“No—”
“Por favor, I need you—”
“No. Stop doing that!” He barks with soft misery making up his grungy voice. “I just… can’t.”
“Listen to me, you are not giving up everything we’ve built for over a decade because of a misunderstanding,” I croak, tone hostile, with an undercurrent of flailing panic I just can’t hide anymore.
“I promise I’ll explain everything if you just listen…
I would never have stopped you from going to say goodbye.
But I’m just worried that you’re not thinking clearly right now.
You’re emotional, which is understandable. Just don’t… let this ruin us. Please.”
He’s gone quiet, and I’m wringing out my hands. Both hopeful that I’ve gotten through to him, and petrified of how goddamn vulnerable I am right now.
“I have to go,” he breathes, as if he barely heard me. Shut down. “Leave me to my business. I’ll see you soon.”
He hangs up before I can even take slight relief in the fact that he said he’ll see me soon.
It barely matters. On some level, I know he’ll be back. Whether he’s punishing me, or simply taking a break, he won’t leave for good. He needs this island as much as I do.
He’s as much a part of it as I am. And not that I would ever admit this to anyone… but it’s as much his as it is mine.
Slouching back in my seat, I drink and stare, thinking about how, eventually, they all fly away. Such is the curse of an evil king.
I must sit, forever chained to this throne. While the rest spread their wings, I remain. Shackled and alone. Como un pájaro… en el alambre de púas.
I’m the bird, wrapped in barbed wire.
Stuck… infinitely captured by this empire. In a crown of thorns…
Heavy hangs the fucking head.