Chapter Forty-Four #2
I swipe my forehead with my hand, smearing more blood on my face, no doubt. I’m pretty sure Nestor is dead. But I’m not done.
Standing on shaky legs, I still hear that ringing in my ears as I wander over to the cache of tools we have set up in preparation for Lemuel’s arrival.
As soon as I’m done with ol’ Nestor here, the plan is to bring Dr. Love down and begin torturing him, in hopes young Felix Darcey will get word and come to the rescue.
Doctors Johansson and Hassan will work their sadistic magic, but I plan to invite Trevel to head-up this project. He deserves it, for his loyalty, and his companionship for Byron Kang. He deserves to get his revenge on the doctor who betrayed him, like he was trying to the night of the storm.
Because that’s what Dr. Lemuel Love is, after all. A traitor. A backstabber. Someone I’d actually considered a friend, who turned his back on me the moment he fell in love with my prisoner.
Okay, so he’s butthurt about what Dr. Templeton did when Felix was left alone in my care… I get it. Think what you want, but I would never authorize something like that.
Still, it happened under my nose because I’ve been distracted.
Excuse me for having too much on my plate to fucking babysit these sick fucks… What with my guard dog running loose and all.
By the time I found out what Templeton had done, The Carver and his doctor had already taken care of it. Fine, great. More power to you.
I couldn’t give two fucks whether these doctors are breathing or rotting in a hole somewhere, which is why I don’t mind using them as bait now.
If Felix Darcey shows up and kills Johansson and Hassan, so be it. Cost of business to finally lure than little chiclet out of hiding.
It’ll certainly be one last fuck you to Lemuel, having the doctors he hates so much torturing him. I know, my petty side is showing. But I’m just so worked up over all of this other shit… Taking my frustrations out on other people who have frustrated me is one of my hobbies.
I’ll find Trevel shortly and give him his gift. For now, I’m getting my revenge.
Picking up a machete, I twist it in my fist, looking it over.
This’ll do.
Standing over Nestor’s rumpled form, I suck my teeth. “It’s too bad, really. You were an excellent employee. I certainly trusted you, to an extent…” Sniffing, I shake my head. “That was my bad. You can’t trust anyone these days.” My jaw tics. “It’s for suckers.”
The ache in my chest feels supremely unhealthy. I’m in physical pain thinking about Angel being here on my island, fucking a bevy of people on my payroll.
Maybe that’s why I haven’t brought it up to him yet… I don’t think there’s a way for me to do so without losing my fucking shit. And we’re already standing on thin ice as it is.
It is only a matter of time before it blows up in my face, but until then, I’ll take it out on the sack of shit who’s partially responsible.
Fuck it, I’m choosing to blame him in full right now.
After all, Angelito was only trying to get back at me. I get that, and I do deserve it.
But that doesn’t mean I have to just sit back and take it.
“I can’t… trust… anyone,” I shiver as the fury heats well-past boiling point. “Look what fucking happens! When I trust!”
Cocking back, I swing the machete down on Nestor’s neck, again… and again.
Snarling and roaring, I hack and slash, chopping the fucker’s head right the fuck off.
“Trust no bitch ever,” I pant when I’m done.
Heaving, out of breath and just soaked. Sticky red splatters saturating the front of me.
A throat clears, and I turn to find Kent standing there, gaping at me.
“Oh, hey,” I breathe, wiping my face on my sleeve. “What’s up?”
He blinks at me, then at the decapitated head of his colleague, for a solid five seconds before he mumbles, “I, uh… have some news.”
My shoulders fall. “What now?”
His eyes flick to the machete in my hand. Rolling my eyes, I toss it onto the floor.
“I heard back from Vegas,” he says warily. “Avianna Alvarez is dead.”
It feels wrong that I haven’t been down to see Angel yet… To tell him the unfortunate news of his sister’s passing. But I’m stalling.
I know he’s going to be detrimentally upset.
He’s going to grieve deep and harsh, the loss of not just his twin sister, but the last remaining member of his family.
I need to comfort him through it, but he hates me right now.
And surely he sees that in many ways, his devastation is my fault. Because it is.
I killed his parents. I allowed his sister to be taken, and by the time I attempted to locate her, it was too late. The damage was already done, and he’d already spent most of his life alone.
I wish I had an excuse that would provide him even just a little consolation, but I don’t. All these things that I’ve done have happened for reasons that are entirely self-serving.
Still, I just can’t let him deal with this tragedy alone, locked away in a cage. But he won’t let me in. Even with the key, being able to open that cage and step inside is meaningless when he has me locked out of him.
Am I expected to just stroll down to the garden and drop this bombshell of devastation on him, then leave? There’s no way. I have to get through to him somehow.
Enough of this superficial cold-blooded tin man shit. If there’s one thing I’ve learned through my many many acts of vengeance, it’s the power of the hunt. I don’t want to be the one to take that away from my pajarito…
I think I know what I can give Angel that will bring him some satisfaction. One last gift… Though this one will have a more meaningful impact, I’m sure of it.
The idea came to me just moments ago, in my office while I was speaking to Trevel Fenwick…
Today was a big day. The troops got into a firefight by the old armory, and wound up taking a prisoner of war… Simon Hancock, who took a bullet to the shoulder before he was grabbed by Rivas.
Fortunately, it was a through-and-through—still, a pretty brutal one, from a goddamn 7.62. But he’ll live, thanks to the medical training of Johansson and Hassan, with the assistance of Lemuel, I suppose.
Simon will be fine, which is a good thing. He was always one of my favorites.
And now I have a very important piece of the puzzle, because I’m sure Officer Jasper is just freaking the fuck out.
He and Simon have been rather codependent friends for years, and it’s my understanding that they’re in something of a relationship now.
Meaning I’ve just acquired a very important bargaining chip.
Team Velle must be beside themselves…
I don’t see a scenario in which Jonathan will just leave Simon over here to rot. He’s likely devising a plan right now, thinking up ways to get Officer Hancock back. Hopefully, he’s stupid enough to send his troops over here… Or better yet, come himself.
Either way, it’s the perfect time to move forward with Operation Draw the Fox Out of His Den. Which is why I brought Trevel up to meet with me and gave him full control over what happens to Lemuel going forward.
Johansson and Hassan have everything set up in the dungeon—Kent got rid of the remains of Nestor for me. Well, all but one important piece I’ve added to my collection. Trevel will oversee their Love experiments, similar to the things they used to do in the East.
We lost our subjects in the fall of the Pen. We have to make do with what we have.
Good luck, Lemuel.
If I know Felix Darcey like I think I do, he’ll find a way to get to his doctor. And when he does, I’ll get him back. Then all I need is for Dascha to come home, and I’ll have my most special monsters here where they belong.
I really wish the hacker and the arsonist hadn’t gone and drowned themselves in the ocean…
I really thought Lex Luthor was smarter than that… But clearly, love will do that to you.
It makes you fucking stupid, hence what I’m about to do.
Making my way downstairs and across the foyer, I stalk toward the atrium. Head down, heart thumping harder and faster with each step that brings me closer to him. I’m out in the conservatory in a matter of minutes, crossing the garden bridge and taking the stone path to the back.
In a tunnel of sequestered thought, I’m not concerned with any of that other shit right now.
I’m not worried about if we’ll be able to get Dascha or Felix back, I’m not thinking about Russo’s harassing insistence that he needs to come check up on me, and I’m not debating if I could actually kill Jonathan, if it came to that.
I’m barely even paying attention to my surroundings.
All I care about is getting into that cage. Getting to him, and giving him what he deserves.
Reaching into my pocket, I fish out the key from where it’s resting right beside his knife, and I don’t wait. I just unlock the door and step inside.
Angel is sitting on the big squishy chair thing, reading an old copy of Animal Farm—one of a handful of books I left in here for him. He immediately looks up when he hears me, eyes rounded, expression baffled.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He huffs, slapping the book shut.
I can’t think of what to say just yet, so I pull the knife out of my pocket.
His green eyes widen as he sits up. They move between me, and the knife in my hand, before something despondent crosses his face and his chin dips.
“Why am I not surprised…” He grumbles, standing up with a tired breath. He pads over to me. “Just… make it quick, okay? I think I’ve suffered enough at the hands of The Ivory.”
My forehead lines. “What—”
“You’re here to kill me,” he growls, getting up in my face. “So do it, puta. Kill me in a cage like a bird with broken wings… Since you’re not man enough to—”
“Take it,” I hiss, thrusting the knife at him. “It’s yours. Do with it what you will.”
Angel’s expression shifts to one of more consternation than I’ve ever seen on him. I wish it wasn’t completely adorable, but it is.
He’s just too beautiful, unbelievably so. Except that I can believe it.