Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Is that any way to treat your favorite client?”
Pinning him to the cot he’s chained to in solitary for being an insufferable pain in my ass, I drop the gravelly revelation onto Warren Xavier’s lips.
As expected, his movements come to an abrupt halt. And he gapes up at me.
Yea.
That’s what I thought.
I can see him piecing it all together in his mind… The night before he burned down my club with Callum Kade inside—plus three people who didn’t deserve to die—in the dark room with bass thumping and teal lights flickering.
Him, in fishnets. Me, El Diablo.
Drugs and sweet fruit and hushed words.
I came to pieces when I came inside him… Sweet Angelito.
In that moment, he was mine. Trembling and crying in my arms.
But when I fluttered down from the high, like a feather in the wind… Reality weighed me back to earth.
It wasn’t him. It was nothing but a cheap facsimile. A shiny plastic imposter.
“It was you… in the mask,” Warren whispers, stunned, his fingers brushing my shirt open some more where it’s unbuttoned.
Wide blue eyes moving from mine to the tattoo on my chest.
Pajarito…
My lungs burn as I gulp secretly.
Ren doesn’t notice. He’s too busy reeling.
“Does this please you?” I lower my lips to his throat, kissing gently.
Please… be him.
I need…
My hips move, gradually developing a rhythm of rocking into the body beneath mine. Dazed and desperate for anyone or anything else to feel the same way it did when he touched me… And let me touch him.
“You were always so beautiful,” I tell Angel, via the body of Warren Xavier.
The perfect proxy to play the part.
Winds are howling outside, so loud it can be heard even in here. Thunder rocks the foundation, like the roar of a lion. An evil king’s madness.
“You were waiting for me…” I purr to my little bird, sucking harder, hoping to bruise his flesh. Mark it as mine. “Waiting for me to come back for you.”
I know you were, angel. That’s why you came for me…
Because, like me, you can’t fucking help yourself.
His hand slips between us, cupping my stiff cock. I shudder and thrust, giving it to him. To touch, and own, because he can have whatever he wants.
That’s it, baby…
Oh, Angel… don’t run.
Stay and burn with me.
A hum ripples from me while I use this body as a distraction, from all of it. The storm, and my ache, and this mess…
I need this. His wrath, melted into inexplicable desire.
“Do you still hate me, pajarito?” I ask Angel.
A boom of thunder shakes the walls, pieces of concrete rattling to the floor while I writhe and rock.
Come to me, angel… Show me how hard you hate me.
“Si, papi…” The hushed words are spoken for real… not in my head.
I freeze. That didn’t sound like Warren…
“Eres el diablo.”
Each word is spoken deliberately, riding on a chill, like delicate fingers running up my spine.
Angel??
I push up on my arms, turning to the doorway. There’s someone out there… A shadowy figure I can’t make out.
But inside me, deep, in a place I never even knew was there before, I can tell.
I know it’s him. My eyes lock onto a flicker of emerald green.
“Paja—”
My words are cut off by a boom. Ten times louder than the previous ones. Loud enough that it ripples in the air, the reverberation of thunder bringing with it an echo of elongated sound.
Crackling above my head draws my attention up as the ceiling splits. Almost in slow motion, I witness the crack in the concrete race and widen.
Without thinking, some survival instinct takes over, and I whip my body weight left, hard enough to flip the cot. And it works. The flimsy metal topples, shielding Ren and me just in time.
The sound of the ceiling collapsing is louder than it should be, and in that split-second, I understand that this is much more serious than just one ceiling caving in on one cell. The entire building is shaking in a symphony of loud crashing and crumbling as concrete falls on top of us. Buries us.
It’s purely terrifying.
Covering Ren’s body with mine, I squeeze my eyes shut and just breathe. No more than five seconds pass, but it feels like dozens more as I shiver through fear and adrenaline… But oddly enough, a wave of calm washes over me at the same time.
I’m going to die.
And it’s fine. It’s really no big deal.
For as convinced as I’ve been over the years that I am truly a god walking among mere mortals, a moment like this has the ability to shine a light of truth on everything I keep hidden deep within myself.
Padre… Lo siento. I know I failed you.
I’m so sorry I didn’t listen. I’m sorry I’m not… good.
Mama, I miss you. If you were still here, I might’ve been different.
Vengeance felt good. I didn’t need it…
Jonathan, I didn’t want this.
Pajarito, I hope you can forgive me… and understand.
But when I finally pry my eyes open, I realize that I’m not dead…
I’m alive.
Somehow, against all odds, that rickety metal cot actually saved my life.
Maybe I am a fucking god after all.
“Shit,” I cough, shifting to check on Ren.
I only have a few inches to move, but shoving backward against the cot wiggles me free some more. Ren’s eyes are closed, and he’s dirty, scraped and bleeding a little.
Shit, so am I.
“Fucking what the… fuck,” I breathe, coughing some more from all the dust in the air.
I press my face to Ren’s chest. His heart is pumping against my cheek. And a rush of relief warms me inside. Until I remember that I’m heartless and shake it away.
He’s breathing, but knocked out cold.
“Dios… That was close,” I chuckle hoarsely.
But my amusement falls away fast when I remember the voice.
“Eres el diablo…”
“Angelito,” I croak, frantically fighting against the rubble that’s burying us beneath the cot.
Fuck, okay, what if he’s here and now he’s hurt??
No no no. Not him.
Everyone else can rot, but if Angel is here, he needs to be… okay.
It takes a few minutes, but eventually I dig myself out and climb over the piles of rock, stumbling to the door. I cast one last look at Warren Xavier. He looks peaceful, sleeping beneath the crumpled bed frame in a pile of debris.
He’s fine.
I need to find whoever spoke those words to me. It was him, I know it was.
But how…?
And what about the girl??
Peering out into the hallway, I’m momentarily distracted from my hectic thoughts as I freeze, balking at the destruction. It’s staggering.
My prison is… destroyed.
The emotion that comes first, as a reflex, is a sweeping breath of relief fleeing my lungs. Like chains that have held me down for so long have been unlocked, and I’m finally free.
But I overpower it and frown.
This is mine. My empire is in ruins.
Shuffling through the halls, I’m tripping over things, coughing and holding my side. I might have cracked a rib, and there’s something sticky dribbling from my head.
But I don’t care. I need to get out of here.
I need to find…
“Pajarito?” I call quietly, peering around every corner. “Are you here?”
I don’t see any trail of blood, other than the one I’m leaving. No sign that he’s been hurt.
Recollection returns and I murmur, “Avianna…?”
This is so confusing. Just as I was wrapping my head around Angelito’s twin sister possibly being here, skulking around the prison, he pops up to taunt me in the dark? That’s far too big a coincidence for my inherent skepticism.
I know in my core that the voice from moments ago belonged to my little bird. Either they’re both here, or the mystery girl was…
Rubbing the daze from my eyes, I keep moving with conviction. I need to find answers before someone else does.
Before they find me.
The eerie silence that followed the crash is being swallowed by lots of noise. Most of it in the distance, likely from general population. Though there are muffled moans and aggrieved cries coming from within the East cells, corridors permeating blood and death and devastation.
My stomach bunches into a tight and unforgiving knot.
Jonathan…
Swallowing is suddenly difficult.
Last I heard, he was in the prison. They were all supposed to be here… It was part of the plan. But then nothing has been going according to plan recently, especially where Jonathan is concerned.
My muscles tense at the thought.
If he dies…
No. Stop.
He’s not dead.
If anything is going to kill him, it’s going to be me, and it’ll be when I’m good and ready.
Gunfire startles me out of my mild panic and rampant searching of the East Wing corridors. And I’m immediately on alert, rushing to the back exit.
Outside of the prison, I pause to let the cool rain hit my face, closing my eyes and pulling stormy ocean air deep into my lungs.
I am alive.
“Nice try,” I say to Alabaster Penitentiary with a smirk. “Keep trying, querida. Knock yourself out. But you will never kill me. I kill you, not the other way around.”
Wandering around the exterior of the prison, I’m gazing over the visible destruction. I don’t even need to find the source to know what did it, but of course, I can see. The guard tower fell onto the East Wing.
Welp, there you have it.
It really was only a matter of time…
More gunfire echoes, coming from inside the prison.
Specifically the west. I have no walkie, or cell phone on me, which means I have no insight as to what’s going on.
Inmates could be trying to escape… Though, to be fair, they’ve had hours to attempt that, what with Lexington Deon and his DIY computer disabling the entire server system with the press of a few buttons.
Man, that cute hacker nino really jacked things up for me.
I wonder if he actually made it to his demise, or if that too was bungled like every other job I’ve given anyone recently.
Here’s what happened…
We were all set to lock Jonathan and his cohorts inside the prison until he agreed to return to his place at my feet when Carlito called me to say the storm had knocked out the servers. Of course, I knew that wasn’t what happened.