Chapter Thirty-Five
Now…
Pitch black.
The darkest dark I’ve ever been enveloped in.
All power is out. Backup generators? Nope.
No electricity to speak of. It’s… unnerving
Something is going on here…
A different kind of storm.
And all I can do is remember the last time the power went out on this island…
“Power’s out…” I hear myself saying in my mind, from within a dank cell in solitary confinement. To a pathological liar with blue eyes, chained to a bed.
The night everything changed.
I swear on my life, if any of them are responsible for this, I won’t just end their lives, I will wipe them from existence.
I’m in no mood right now.
More than ever, I just want to get to the aviary. But I can’t. There’s too much going on here, making it even more reminiscent of that night.
How can I be expected to run things when I know he’s nearby, in the dark. Waiting for me…
“Sir, we should get to the panic room,” Kent rumbles, nothing but flashlights guiding our way through the garden.
“Fuck the panic room!” I bark. “This was them, I’m sure of it! I don’t know how they pulled it off, but I don’t quite care for the fucking details. Just find them and make them all bleed!”
My men scatter, but Kent stays nearby. As my protection. I get it, but it’s just pissing me off more right now.
“Where’s Russo?” I growl, my tone like a blade ready to launch forward.
“We’re… not sure,” Kent mutters nervously. My brow cocks. “His chopper touched down, but he’s not with it. No one is…”
My brows pull together in severe confusion. I actually cough up a tiny chuckle at the insanity of all this. “Are you telling me that the Governor of New York is just mulling around my house somewhere and we can’t find him?”
“Well, no…” Kent grumbles. “That would be weird.”
“Uh yea. Yes, it would be,” I snap.
“We have Hector searching… Maybe he’s looking for Dascha himself?”
My lashes flutter in amusement. Right. Well, good luck finding him in the dark.
My mind is swirling through all of this while I stalk toward the stairs. “I’ll just go have a look… But I’d say getting the power back on in the priority right now. Which I suppose I’ll also have to handle because, truly, I have to do fucking everything myself.”
“Jefe, I do think you should get to the panic room,” Kent goes on. “It’s safer.”
Or I just want to get away from all of you because I don’t need a babysitter…
“I’ll locate the governor,” Paulino announces from somewhere, I can’t even see, it’s so damn dark.
Maybe Alexander caught up with Russo before they could get to him…
Maybe our governor is already dead.
“I’m sure Russo is fine.” I clear my throat to keep from chuckling. “But where, prey tell, is Dascha? Byron, Simon, Trevel…” I can feel him staring at me while I exhale slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Do we know where anyone is??”
“I’ll find them,” Kent grumbles, stalking in Paulino’s direction.
“Don’t come back until you do,” I hiss, exasperated in every sense of the word.
“Sir…” Hector’s voice comes over our walkies. “Love’s gone.”
Kent and Paulino stop in their tracks again.
I chuckle. A snort actually bursts out of me as I drop my head, shaking it in sheer baffled amusement.
Sounds about right.
“How’d he escape the tombs?” Kent barks into his walkie.
“The lock was broken from the outside,” Hector mumbles.
I nod. Probably Felix. Or Joy, or Kemper… Really any of them.
“He took out Johansson and Hassan,” he adds nervously.
I cackle out loud and clap. “There we go!” They jump. “Now it’s a party.” Aiming a seething glare at the shadows of them, I hiss, “Find my prisoners. Find The Carver… Find someone, right the fuck now, or I will break your goddamn kneecaps myself too.”
Kent and Paulino are scurrying off to the sound of a nearby helicopter. They look bewildered, because I thought they said the helicopter was parked on the roof.
Either it’s leaving already, or there’s a second goddamn helicopter…
My muscles are tight as I rush up the staircase to my floor. The rage in me is so thick that I’m just… numb.
I’m quite literally numb to all of it. The frustration, the impotence of not knowing what’s going to happen from one moment to the next.
It’s only mildly alarming how my mood is see-sawing between finding this all hilarious, a garish rage and feral need to slaughter everyone around me, and exhaustion so potent I could lie down and never get back up.
I chew on the inside of my cheek. I want to see him…
No. I need to. I need him right now.
He’ll make it all better… It’s what he does.
Distracts me from the magnitude of this life.
I’ve been thriving on control since I was a teenager. Since the trajectory of my life was changed with death, and revenge became the amuse-bouche to power.
Get it back. I can…
Whipping open the door to the roof, I storm over to the helicopter. It’s just sitting there, engine off, obviously. But I see no one around it, and when I try the handle, it’s locked.
Growling out loud, I squint at it. I don’t know much about helicopters, but something about this one is… off. I’m almost certain Russo’s is similar to mine, since we use the same fleet. But this one looks completely different.
I snap a quick picture of its tail number and text it to Yari to have him look into it. The unmistakable sound of a helicopter catches my attention, and I’m seriously wondering if I’m losing my mind.
“What the fuck is going on,” I growl to myself.
“You tell me,” the familiar voice startles me, and I spin slowly, brows raising. Alexander Reznikov steps closer. “I thought you said Russo was coming by helicopter…”
“He was supposed to,” I scoff. “Or he did… who fucking knows anymore.” I rub my eyes, then shoot him a skeptical look. “Are you telling me you had nothing to do with his sudden disappearance?”
He gives me a puzzled look. “What are you playing at, Ivory? Is this some kind of game to you??”
I’m going to push you off this roof, pendejo…
My jaw tics as my head cocks in faux-innocence. “Perdóneme?”
His eyes are burning with visible frustration, mirroring my own, though I’m clearly better at hiding it. Still, in this moment, I can feel that I’m running on fumes.
“Tell me what’s—”
Alexander’s threat is interrupted by the helicopter; the other one. We hear it then see it approaching, coming up from the west. It looks like it’s going to land on the shore…
Alexander and I stare at each other for a moment, during which I think he recognizes that I’m not pulling something over on him here. I have no fucking clue what’s going on.
The chopper is touching down as Paulino’s voice comes over my walkie. “Sir! Russo is here… He’s landing on the west beach. We caught up with the prisoners in the woods…”
I’m watching as Alexander processes this information. Only a split second and he turns, darting away from me. Back inside and down the stairs…
On his way to west beach, no doubt.
“Hang on…” Paulino is out of breath and audibly confused. “Is that… 35 and 48??”
I straighten. Staring into the void…
Luthor and… Ren?
My eyes slide to the helicopter.
Oh, no fucking way…
A deranged giggle slips out of me, and I press my lips together.
You clever little monsters.
There are jumbled voices and words coming through the walkie, but I’m barely listening. Just standing on the roof, beneath the glow of an early-evening moon. The sea air is crisp, and I pull in a long breath, holding it.
Now that the helicopter has landed, I can’t see what’s happening over the trees. Shame… It’s just out of sight.
“Jefe!” Paulino shouts. “So Kent’s staying with the prisoners, but Russo wants you to—fuck—” he sounds like he’s running, tripping over things, “—he told me to bring you there. To the beach. He wants you to come and meet him there…”
I snort. Yea, fat chance.
Russo with Dascha and Byron, and Alexander on the way??
I can think of a million things I’d rather do… Like drink a bleach-tini. Break bread with Hannibal Lecter.
I have no desire to feed Antonio Russo’s ego any further. And more to the point, I don’t have to. Alexander Reznikov is on his way to them right now, and he’s just itching for an excuse to end Russo’s life. If the governor even breathes wrong in his son’s direction, it’ll be the end of it.
Using my every ounce of remaining strength, I head back inside and down the stairs, each step that brings me closer to the aviary filling me with purpose.
“Jefe?? Está ahí?”
I ignore him, because no, I will not be joining Mr. Governor on the beach. I have more pressing matters right here…
I need to get to mi pajarito… Make sure he’s okay.
I can’t leave him sitting in the dark over there, with all this commotion going on. Regardless of how we left things earlier, I just… can’t. I cannot stay away.
I need him.
My movements slow as I pass my library, and the light streaming from the panic room. Odd that the door is open…
Choosing to investigate, I inch closer. My eyes fall to droplets of blood on the floor.
Peculiar.
Gunshots echo in the distance.
My hand slips behind my back to my pistol as I approach the panic room slowly. But there’s no one inside. Just more blood.
I breathe out rough, heart pounding. The cries coming from the walkie are growing more aggrieved by the second.
“Russo’s down! The Governor is down!”
Standing still, a shiver buzzes through me.
Well, then… The Governor of New York is dead on my land. That’s lovely.
My lips quirk. Rest in peace, puta.
I assume it was Alexander’s doing, but when someone shouts that it was The Carver, I’m faltering.
What the fuck is going on here, man?
A bubble of laughter puffs from my throat.
All I hear is gunfire.
“Copy. We’ve got eyes on—shit!”
“I need backup! West beach! Now!”
“Copy.”
“It’s Velle. All hands on deck.”
“Copy. Less than fifty yards north.”
My chest is constricting.
“Prisoners are fleeing south on foot…”
“…old armory…”
“Copy, we’re—”
“Shit… Kent’s down! Fuck!”
My stomach drops so fast, I’m dizzy.
Whipping my walkie to my face, I snarl, “Who took Kent down?? I want their fucking head!”
“It was… one of Russo’s men.”
The rapid popping of automatic rifles comes in louder while they’re speaking, softening in between. The fact that it’s audible from in here means they aren’t far.
I hear the familiar whirring of a motorcycle engine…
I have to go now. I have to… Fuck.
Not… Kent. Not him.
The ache in my chest feels far too real. It’s sore and throbbing, and I loathe it.
He was a good man… He didn’t deserve to die for this.
Qué estoy haciendo…?
What the fuck am I doing here?
Is this even what you wanted??
Squeezing my eyes shut, I gasp for breath as my heart flies. This is all so fucked…
In my bones, I know that now is the time to stop. To call it off because it’s pointless. I know that.
But then this is what comes…
Sangre por sangre.
It’s bloody for fucking blood.
Lifting my walkie slowly to my curling lips, I growl, “Go.” That one word is enough instruction for them to move ahead with full power. But I still seethe, “Todo. Every last one of you… Load the fuck up.”
No more hesitating, no more mercy.
They will feel my wrath. Because it’s all I have left.
Lo siento, pajarito…
But I told you who I was.
“Copy that, Jefe.”
“No mercy,” I croak, deadened. “Kill ‘em all.”
The cartel troops are on the march. Engines instantly blaring from outside.
I flip the kill switch, turning the power back on. Only the backup generators are working. The gall of these goddamn prisoners…
I think it’s clear now that Lexington Deon was in here. The place has been ransacked and his precious device is gone.
No matter. He’ll be dead soon, too.
They’ll all be… dead.
And I will sit here, alone on this island. Besieged by the flames of a wrathful blaze. And I’ll watch it all burn…
My chin dips to the collars on the floor, and I suck my teeth in irritation.
“Well, you tried, Johansson…” I scoff, reaching into my pocket for the remote to the collars, his final creation. He was so proud. “See you in Hell, you creepy old fuck.”
I toss the remote onto the table, closing my eyes, rubbing them until they ache. But then they spring open.
Wait…
I stuff my hand back into my pocket, feeling for the key.
No…
My pocket’s empty.
I dig into the other one, frantically checking them both. Turning them inside out. But it’s not there… I can’t find it.
No.
No no no…
“Fuck!” I bellow.
It’s gone. My key is gone.
“Hijo de puta,” I hiss under my breath, stalking through the library.
Running to the garden, pops and blasts of a war outside stiffen my spine. I move as quickly as I can in the dark of emergency lighting and a full moon. I know the layout. This is my home, after all.
All of these intruders in my home, messing with my things.
I’m foaming at the mouth, but swallowing a dry gulp of anxiety at how suddenly quiet it is in here. The atmosphere is already gone… It’s already dead.
In the aviary, I rush the path, the bronze cage just ahead…
“Do it, pajarito,” my voice is gruff. Thick with hunger and a storm of adrenaline, together like fierce, decadent need. “Tu puedes… I know you can, baby.”
“S-stop,” he whimpers, soft as velvet, but so angry about it. “Shut… up. Uhh, Diablo… ayúdame, Dios…”
“You should,” I hum, kissing a line up his inner thigh. “Sweet Angelito… You should absolutely kill me.”
“Lo sé…” he whines. “Fuck, I know… mmff, Papi… Don’t stop.”
Dazed amusement tugs at my lips while I kiss and kiss, and lick and lick, relishing the way he’s unfurling, as he does. Muscles easing…
Grip on my knife loosening.
“Tu quieres mi boca?” I purr, and he hums, showing me a small, defiant nod. “Mmm… you want my mouth between your legs, mi carino.”
“Si… por favor,” he breathes, shuddering when my lips ghost over the shape of him.
“God, I’ve missed you, little bird,” I trill to him.
It takes all of my strength to stop. But I must.
Overpowering him, I get him on his back, pinning his wrists at his sides. He gazes up at me, hazy green lust framing the self-loathing. I wish it wasn’t so blindingly sexy.
I wish I didn’t love the way he hates himself right now.
Taking my knife from him, I hold it up to his throat. His dark lashes flutter as he licks his quivering lips.
“I’m not letting you fly away this time…”
Stalking to the cell, my black heart is racing, bleeding out every drop of evil it’s pumping. Limbs shivering, pulse and ragged breaths drowning out every bit of deafening silence around me as I grab the bars of the door…
A door which is wide open.
His cage, now empty.
“Fuck fuck FUCK!” I roar so loudly the foundation rumbles beneath my feet.
He’s gone.
Storming inside the cage, I pace, seething and venomous like a feral beast.
My pajarito… is gone.