Chapter Forty-Six
An annoying sound wakes me up. Several of them, in fact.
Some weird ringing, and voices from somewhere in the distance.
I’m trying to ignore it, nestling deeper into the bed, and the firm, long-limbed body that’s keeping me warm in a cocoon of spoon. Muscular bicep curled around my waist, soft breaths and sleepy kisses decorating my nape while absentminded rocking pushes an impeccably stiff object against my ass.
God, this has to be, hands down, the best possible way to wake up.
Totally worth all the insufferable arguing and throwing of body parts.
Yawning and humming, I purr, “Papi…”
“Say no more, baby love,” he rasps, extra hoarse, being half-conscious. It’s super sexy. “Get the lube and I’ll slide in slow…”
Fuck yea.
“Okay, but turn off whatever that ringing is,” I hum, reaching for the bottle under the pillow.
But he shoots up fast. “Shit.”
Scrambling out of bed, he’s practically falling over as he reaches for this clunky-looking cell phone.
“Si…” He answers it, rubbing his eyes. “Yes, I’m fine, just—qué?
No, that’s unacceptable. Tell him I’m busy…
Wait, what do you mean he’s coming now??
Well, did you find—Fuck. Alright, hang on.
I’ll be right there. I said I’ll be right there! ”
He hangs up, rushing around, jumping into his clothes while I just sit up in bed, watching him and clutching the blanket over my waist.
“I knew I shouldn’t have stayed in here,” he mutters. “You’re bad for business, sexy thing.”
“Yea, I’m sure I’d feel bad about that if you weren’t Freddy Krueger, CEO of Children’s Fears Incorporated.” I curl back up in bed.
He laughs, shaking his head as he bends to kiss my jaw. “Watch that tone, little bird, or next time I’ll leave the head in your bed.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a euphemism, or you’re trying to be Vito Corleone right now.” I grin.
“You’re just full of references this morning, huh?” He snickers.
“Mmm, I’m quite witty. Too bad you have to run off and be Mr. Scary Warden, grrr,” I grumble mockingly, and he beams. “Otherwise, you could stay in bed and play with what’s under this blanket while I continue being off-the-cuff hilarious.”
“Fuck me, that sounds so much better than what I have to go deal with,” he whines, purposely taking forever to leave, which tells me he really doesn’t want to.
I feel kinda bad. Sure, he chose this life, and he seems pretty hubristic when it comes to his work. Still, I can’t help wondering if he actually wants to be doing any of this, or if he’s just already down the rabbit hole and too proud to admit he’s getting sick of the bullshit.
And because I’m clearly some kind of na?ve masochist, I murmur, “Why don’t you just tell them all to fuck off then?”
His expression goes serious as I sit up.
“I’m serious, Diablo.” I gaze up at him. “You don’t really want to be running around blowing people up because they won’t bend the knee… do you?”
There’s a flicker in his black eyes; a split second of immense relief that someone’s finally given him an out. An opportunity to admit the truth of how fucking tired he is.
In that one brief look, I see the real Manuel Blanco. Ivory the man, rather than Ivory the persona.
A super-smart guy from Colombia who wanted to be a psychologist, to study human behaviors and use it, not to prey on weakness, but to help people better understand themselves.
Someone who would probably always be a bit of a terror, but still normal enough that I could have an actual relationship with him, without worrying about him playing toxic head games and throwing literal heads at me.
And maybe it wouldn’t be a normal life, but it would be ours and we could make it work because he wouldn’t be incapable of loving anyone as much as he loves power.
The look, as fleeting as it is, sparks a nostalgic feeling of familiarity, like déjà vu. I think… I’ve seen it before.
But it doesn’t matter. Because it’s gone as fast as he can blink it away. Replaced, of course, by defensive arrogance and unmitigated resentment.
Could’ve called that from a mile away.
“Oh… perfect. You too,” he grunts, straightening and scrubbing a hand over his face. “And let me guess, you think I should just surrender to the demands of every traitorous asshole who tries to steal what’s rightfully mine?”
I simply blink.
But he’s not done.
“Escucha, nino… You would have no idea what goes into running an operation of this magnitude. You have no conceivable clue what it’s like to rule this kingdom.
My kingdom, mind you. Mine, not his. I earned it.
I fucking built this through blood, sweat and goddamn sacrifice, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand that, because you watched your father—may he fucking rot—inherit an empire simply by being the fastest swimmer in your lying, thieving, murderous abuelo’s fucking ballsack.
“When you create something with your bare fucking hands, you don’t just let people come in and take it.
You fight with everything you have because it belongs to you.
Thankless or not… It’s not about being liked, or being nice or sweet or fucking coddling people.
You become the bad guy because someone has to, si?
? So let them hate me, because I’m fine.
Oyes?? I’m fucking fine with no one in the goddamn world understanding what’s happening in my heart!
As far as you’re all concerned, I’m fucking heartless, anyway, so what does it matter?
! It has to be that way, and I’m fine with it.
In fact, I prefer it. Me encanta porque es muy facil…
Be the bad guy so they have someone to blame when they need it.
“But that means never being good, entiendes?? You don’t get both…
I don’t get to just be happy, or relax or stop, ever!
Even if I wanted to… even if it’s slowly sucking the life out of me like a goddamn vampire, it doesn’t matter.
Because I chose this! I made myself this, and there’s no going back! You can’t go back…
“So you just carry that burden until it becomes you. It becomes who you are, solid as fucking ivory. No surrender, no remorse, no fucking mercy! That’s what no one understands…
you all think this is something I can just give up.
Like I can just stop… well I can’t! Because it is me.
I am the Alpha and the Omega in this world, pajarito, chained to this empire forever!
Until I breathe my last breath, this is what I am.
Fuck it. It’s all that I am… es todo estoy. Siempre…”
He finally pauses to gulp. “When you’re the villain in everyone else’s story, you have to be the villain in your own… whether you like it or not.”
By the time his tirade is through, he’s panting like he just ran a marathon. Eyes so hardened into hunks of coal, displaying only an unbridled, malicious fury. Tormented vulnerability buried so deep, you’d need to chisel away for years to uncover them.
But I know it’s there, and it weighs so heavily on my chest, I can barely breathe.
I can’t speak. What could I say to that?
He just unloaded a metaphorical magazine of hollow-pointed hatred right at me. I’m bleeding and full of bullet holes.
The thing is, I know that wasn’t about me.
It’s pretty clear that’s been building for quite some time…
Probably more than a decade. And even that little rant was a light drizzle compared to the hurricane I’m sure he has stored up inside.
He controls it almost too well, but you see it breaking loose in things like the violence, this war…
It’s all just a means to an end. Feeding his contempt for this life he’s woven himself into so deeply, he’ll never tear himself free.
When he realizes what he just did, his face goes a bit ashen, throat dipping visibly. I clear mine, glancing down at my fingers as they twist in my lap.
This is the man I love…
Jesus Christ. I actually love him.
Admitting it for the first time, even just in my heart, is so suffocating I think I might pass out. Because I know for a fact, there is no way he will ever let me out of this cage. Even if he physically allows my body to leave at some point, he will always keep me locked up in his life.
I’ll remain forever a prisoner to the agony of loving him… A cage that has no key.
The Ivory is visibly tight as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the knife. He stares at it for a moment before placing it on the bed in front of me.
“The next time I see you, I expect you to be ready to use this,” he speaks steadily, frighteningly calm, though overflowing with so much sorrow it hurts my ears. “I’m serious, Angel. You will kill me, because you have to. It’s why you’re here.”
I gulp, pressure building inside my skull, so tight I could pop. He turns and stalks away. And I watch him with tears welling in my eyes. Slamming the door and locking it.
Leaving me to sit and stare and cry silently until it all dries up. And I’m just numb.
For hours, I’m in a fog, moving on autopilot. Taking a shower and getting dressed, shuffling around my cage like a zombie with his words replaying in my brain over and over and over again. A song of hopeless heartache.
Whether I want to or not, I slip the knife into my pocket.
“Good little bird. Be ready to use it…
You will kill me, because you have to. It’s why you’re here.”
It doesn’t occur to me until the sun slips away that I haven’t eaten all day. No one’s brought me any food. Not that I have an appetite, but my stomach is rumbling.
It’s odd. Where is Kent?
There’s some commotion happening in the conservatory.
I can hear voices, people scattering. It goes on for a while, but of course I can’t see anyone or make out what they’re saying.
Eventually, I just sit down on the floor and hug my knees to my chest. Curling up and waiting for the inevitable moment when he comes back… and expects me to kill him.
What it’ll mean if I do…
Or if I still can’t.
My head springs up when I hear his voice. My heart lurches and my stomach binds.
He sounds like he’s coming this way, his voice growing closer as he barks at someone to fuck off. I think I hear Kent yelling after him.
And then everything goes dark. Far darker than it already was.
The sporadic lights in the ceilings and the lampposts lining the walkway have gone out. There’s no light whatsoever, aside from the glow of an orange moon, but it’s not bright enough to illuminate anything.
What the hell is going on??
People are hollering, footsteps clomping about, though no one comes this way. I don’t hear him anymore… His voice is lost in the clamor.
I have no idea what’s happening, but my heart is racing. Something is clearly wrong, and I’m trapped in here. Like a rat in a cage, awaiting potential danger.
Many tense minutes pass, and I wonder if he would really leave me here for good. Just take off and leave me to rot.
Or what if something happens to him…?
Just as I’m beginning to spiral in despair, I hear footsteps again. But they’re not his. I can tell. I know how he sounds when he walks.
These are much lighter; the lithe steps of someone who’s not supposed to be over here.
My pulse is galloping as I wedge myself behind the dresser, keeping hidden, listening to the sound of a person sticking a key into the lock. My tightens around my knife.
Click. Clunk. Clang. Creak.
Step… Step… Step…
“Hello?” A hushed, gentle voice calls out. “Are you in here…?”
British. Familiar.
Peeking out from behind the dresser, I try to make him out, but it’s so dark.
Still, I recognize that voice.
“Why are you in there?”
“Revenge.”
“Bad guy?” I murmur, and he turns in my direction, pinning me with violet eyes that shine in the dark.
“Oh.” His head cocks. “Hello… stranger.”