Chapter Thirty-One #2
“Next time, be one million percent certain, chancho,” I hiss, spinning away from him, leaving him hanging and weeping in the freezer of this random butcher shop I’ve owned for years—mainly for instances like this. “Don’t talk shit unless you’re prepared to face the repercussions.”
With the flip of my hand on the way out, Nestor cuts the kid down, then proceeds to kick the shit out of him. Let’s be real, the sole purpose of owning a butcher shop is to have a purely terrifying place to bring people when you want to get the truth out of them. And slinging meat, of course.
But anyway… That fuck-ass really had me going for a second there!
Maybe it was an honest mistake, but the point stands. You never bring information El Jefe until it’s been properly vetted.
This hassle was easily avoidable. Now we’ve got Trevel Fenwick coming to the Pen when he doesn’t really need to be. He didn’t kill Angel and Avianna. He killed some other miscellaneous Alvarez twins.
Really, though… That’s quite the coincidence. From Colombia. Fraternal twins, twenty-two years old. Surname Alvarez, first names beginning with A…
I’m not saying I think they’re the only ones, but it just seems highly unlikely that all of those things would match up, and that they’d be tied to a patient of Dr. Love.
One too many coincidences… I should have known it wasn’t true.
Regardless, it’s probably good that the Brit is on his way. I won’t be able to rest until I hear it directly from the mouth of Trevel Fenwick. He’ll be joining our little family soon enough. Perfect timing for a new monster to be added to my menagerie of mayhem.
It’s been all too long since we’ve had a fresh face around… Could be just the thing to sew some discourse into this tapestry of love.
Settled on the jet on my way back to the island, I get on my work phone—the Alabaster one—corresponding with Johansson, who’s still whining about all things Lemuel Love.
These doctors are becoming even more of a thorn in my side than the guards. Okay, not quite. But they are annoying.
No one’s seen Templeton in weeks. Johansson and Hassan are both afraid of Lemuel.
As they should be, since I’m almost positive he killed Templeton.
Or, his serial killer boyfriend did, and he provided the assist. Still, I wouldn’t believe for a moment that he’d just sit by without getting his hands dirty, especially after finding out that he killed his Uncle Stephen.
I’m not privy to what Templeton and Hassan were doing with The Carver while Love was gone, but I can’t imagine it was good. And so for that, I have very little concern for the state of Templeton, or the others, for that matter.
I respect the revenge game. And if those doctors were stupid enough to mess with a vicious killer, they deserve every bit of retribution that comes their way.
It’s the natural order.
As I’m hitting send on a passive-aggressively indifferent email to Johansson, a new text comes in, stirring up even more of that lovely tension that’s been bunching me up for weeks on end. Since Jonathan returned with his beaus and made his adorable attempt at a hostile takeover.
Jonathan: Rook, Joy and I are going to Boston for the weekend.
I mean… is he fucking kidding??
Me: Excuse me?
Jonathan: We’re leaving Friday morning. The schedule’s already handled, Peters and Jasper have it all covered.
This sensation of powerlessness is only serving to enrage me further. I can feel the control slipping from between my fingers, like a balloon in a windstorm that I’m clinging to desperately.
I will not lose it. I haven’t come this far, worked this hard, and sacrificed all that I have to be bested by my own goddamn creation.
Me: If I said no, would you listen?
Jonathan: No.
Unbelievable.
I would love to simply ignore him, but I think we all know I can’t do that.
Our text argument goes on while the plane takes off, like we’re a newly divorced couple attempting to navigate a goddamn custody agreement, and it’s fully ridiculous.
Most of me is so enraged I’m visualizing all sorts of cruel, violently spiteful things I’d like to do to my protégé at this point.
Huffing, I put the pointless bickering text conversation with Jonathan to rest, gazing out the window as my jet zips through the clouds, getting lost in my playlist.
So Jonathan is leaving for Boston… Going to visit Finn and Jeon Jameson, for a sweet little lovers getaway so that Harley can meet the parents.
Why is that even more disgusting to me than any of the other gross contempt I’ve had to put up with from my pet since Harley Samuels came into the picture?
I might have to send Lio over to check on them while they’re there. You know, just to make sure they’re okay. I worry about them…
If I’d known this would happen, I would have just killed Harley Samuels that night when I found him holding one of my dealers hostage, instead of his wife. But at the time, I found his complete and utter lack of remorse and acquiescence to his being a police officer alluring.
Contemplating how drastically things are going to change soon has me grinning to myself, eyes closed, smooth melodies lulling me into a trance of nihilistic serenity. Disorder on the horizon, I think about where my little bird is right now… What he would think about such things.
If he would understand that the reason for this unrest is just that. There is no reason.
Anarchy is much more entertaining than order.
Knowing Angelito, he would probably side with Jonathan. At first. He would tell himself that he was. But just like my errant pet, when we’re alone, it’s a different story. It’s compelling, the way they share so many of the same traits, though physically, they couldn’t be more different.
There is one key difference between Jonathan and Angel…
Jonathan is still fighting to become the hero, but my pajarito…
He’s desperate to be the villain.