Chapter Thirty-Six
Then…
Crazy that, for everything to change, all it took was a choice. One decision made, and like a domino effect, it all came crumbling down.
Just one stone thrown, and here we are, vastly rippling.
Dash escaped. He’s gone now, and Velle and The Ivory’s already strained relationship has come to a head, all over a set of keys.
The Ivory instituted an immediate lockdown for the entire island, ending the parties indefinitely, as well as any importing of goods used to trade for sex with the prisoners. Inmates were forced to give up their things, and we guests were informed that our services were no longer required.
Fortunately, I’d already begun experimenting with stowing away on the ferries.
The last two times I was supposed to go home, I just didn’t.
I stayed on the ferry when everyone else disembarked, turned around and came right back.
The weather’s been nice enough that I can sleep in the woods under the stars, or in the garden, if I can’t sneak into the staff house.
Basically, I’ve gotten so good at hiding on this island that I no longer require their permission to be here. I have woven myself into the fabric of this beautiful, wretched, mesmerizing place.
It’s a good thing, too, because my opportunity for revenge is on the horizon. I can feel it.
Sometimes I stop to think about Dash… If what happened between us that night in his cell had anything to do with his episode in the caf, which ultimately led to him being in the East and available to be set free by The Carver?
A butterfly effect sort of thing.
I know our having sex didn’t directly lead to him freaking out. It was weeks later, and Dash used to freak out all the time before that. Still… it’s like stepping stones. One leads to another, then another…
What’s he doing right now? Did he make it to his final destination? And did he somehow track down his officer?
Curious or not, I can’t worry about it. I’m more concerned with how close I am to The Ivory… So close I can smell him. Literally.
Ugh why does he always smell so good??
Whatever, who cares about that? Focus.
Don’t breathe.
“Spare me the excessive details I don’t need to hear and just tell me if we’re ready to go,” Manuel Blanco snaps at his assistant.
Que carajo.
Yari nods, infinitely unfazed by his boss’s snippy shithead attitude. “Yes, we’re ready to go. According to Nestor, they’ll be here in about an hour.”
The Ivory shifts so that I can’t see his face. But I’d imagine it’s expressing something like sinister thrill. “Oh, man… perfecto!” He laughs and claps his hands together loudly. I flinch. “They thought they were so clever… Well, we’ll see about that. Quienes el jefe ahora, Jonathan? Eh?”
He’s practically shimmying, and now I’m worried.
What is he up to…?
Who will be here in an hour??
Que pasa, Diablo…
What do you have up your sleeve?
Watching from the secret space behind the bookshelf, I take in the demeanor of his people. Yari is on his phone, as usual—always working. Kent is posted up, also as usual. No emotion whatsoever; never an expression to give away what he’s thinking.
And then there’s el diablo…
“Where are they now?” He asks Kent.
“Day shift, so general population, I’d imagine.” He checks his watch. “Dinner for Group B.”
“Mm… bueno. The gang’s all together.” The Ivory sips from a glass of scotch, mouth quirked. “I want the team over there right away. As soon as they arrive, instruct them to go straight to the prison and get started on Phase 1.”
Yari nods, but Kent’s head tilts. “Phase 1?”
“Basically fuck shit up,” The Ivory snickers.
I swear, I’ve never seen him so jubilant. He loves this shit… Being an evil fucking puta.
But what is it??
What team? Team of who?
It’s no secret that he’s been butthurt since the showdown with Velle. I don’t know the full extent of what happened, but I heard through the grapevine—guards speaking when they think no one’s listening—that Velle’s mom died of an overdose.
Anything drug-related is undoubtedly tied to the cartel, and thus, The Ivory. I’m sure he reacted like a heartless fucking vampire, which is likely what led Velle to leave the island with Rook and Joy—their throuple is cute as fuck, not to mention badass.
Velle knows as well as I do that sulking and admitting defeat isn’t El Marfil’s style.
So hopefully they’ll be prepared for whatever this is…
“Very good, sir,” Kent stomps off.
And then there were two.
And I’m shitting my pants.
It was bound to happen eventually. I’ve gotten damn good at dodging the cameras, with the help of my mystery friend in the control room. But I’m not actually invisible, despite how I sometimes feel when skulking around here.
With The Ivory spending less time in the prison, he must be watching the camera feeds more regularly, meaning he caught a peep of the sphinx-like girl prowling around the East Wing.
The good news is that he probably doesn’t know it’s me. Probably.
I still think if he did, he’d have been all over me weeks ago.
Metaphorically, of course.
Callate.
“Any ideas about where Lemuel stands?” Yari asks him.
“Doesn’t much matter now, does it?” The Ivory shrugs. “I had a nice chat with Trevel… He’ll resume his sessions with the good doctor. We’ll see if that accomplishes anything.”
“You think it will?”
“Probably not,” he snorts, sipping again. “But I’ll get some use out of that miscommunication.” He sighs. “And in terms of Angelito, well… Looks like we’re back to square one.”
My heart stops. Honest to God, I flatline when I hear my name.
Back to square one…?
What does that mean??
“I hate to say this, but…” Yari’s tone is hesitant. Rightfully so, judging by the way el jefe is glaring at him right now. “Are you sure he’s… still present?”
My eyes have never stared at anything as hard as I’m watching Diablo’s face right now.
Black irises elucidated, his expression is one I’ve never seen before, especially on him. The mound in his throat dips, his posture visibly rigid, as if his very essence is thoroughly affected by this conversation.
“Yes, Yari,” he speaks so quietly, I can barely hear him.
“I am sure. The forty-eight hours I spent thinking he was dead were…” His voice dries up and he clears his throat.
I’m not breathing. “He’s alive. I know he is.
And I will get him back. Come hell or high water…
mi pajarito volverá a mí. He will come back to me. ”
Swallowing is difficult; dry and thick, like I’m gulping down a mouthful of pills.
I’m bewildered by so much of what I’ve just heard…
But it’s interrupted when a walkie-talkie goes off.
Someone’s voice comes through, muttering, “Twenty minutes.”
The Ivory’s face shifts. In a blink, he’s back, volatility replaced by the impish grin from before he started talking about me.
And he croons, “Let the chaos commence.”
I leave the mansion and go to the woods just beyond the ferry dock, to catch a glimpse of who’s arriving…
A hoard of cartel men stomp off the large boat, already in uniform.
They look like a SWAT team, loaded up with handguns, billyclubs, cuffs and shackles on their holsters.
Their uniforms look like the ones Velle and his team wear, only black, rather than dark blue and heather gray, with a patch on their lapels. A crest I recognize very well.
The bird wrapped in barbed wire.
My mind flicks to my father’s butterfly knife. It’s on this island somewhere… He has it.
That is what I’ll use to kill him.
I’m able to hang out in the staff house for a while, showering then eating. After a few hours, I return to the mansion, waiting in the secret passageway, slinking between his library and study. I find him seated in his big leather chair, sipping scotch, as he does. Alone, waiting.
Anticipating that one of his insubordinate captors will show up and try to kill him, because it’s what he expects. He knows it’s coming.
“You know I’ve been waiting for you too, pajarito…”
My muscles are tightly controlled, though I’m buzzing with expectations of my own.
I’m sure he has that knife on him…
Clomping footsteps interrupt my thoughts. They’re somehow unique to the only other person I’ll allow to usurp my revenge.
Because he deserves it too.
“I’ve been expecting you,” Diablo says superciliously as Velle enters the room.
Velle doesn’t respond. Simply strides in and stops in front of where he’s seated, standing over him, large arms folded over a broad plane of muscle. He’s so big; he could crush Manuel Blanco with his bare hands.
But The Ivory somehow towers over even this beast of a man.
Velle’s expression matches his boss’s indifference, pierced brow arched as if he’s awaiting an explanation. It’s quite the move.
Unfortunately, Manuel Blanco invented sociopathic detachment.
“How was your day?” He asks Velle, sipping from his glass.
“You think this is going to work?” Velle’s deep brogue is hushed, yet overflowing with every breath of history between them in those few words. The Ivory stares up at him, fluttering his lashes. Velle leans down, putting them face to face. “It won’t.”
Ivory cocks his head. “Well, considering that the purpose of this change in staff was to demote you, I’d say it worked just fine.”
Velle is visibly simmering. I can see his jaw about to snap from here. “Fine. You want to punish me? As if you haven’t been doing that for over ten fucking years already… Have at it. But keep them out of it. My men don’t deserve to die for this shit.”
“Stop being so dramatic.” Ivory rolls his eyes. “No one’s dying, Jonathan.” Velle gives him a pointed look, to which his lips twitch. “Not if you do your jobs and fall in line.”
“So what do you expect me to do?” He straightens, snatching Ivory’s glass and slugging it back while he chuckles. “I won’t take orders from those pricks. Cartel or not, I don’t give a fuck. That prison is mine.”