Chapter Fifty #2
Clearing my throat, I’m not sure what to say, or even where to start. Simply apologizing will, I’m sure, come off as extremely disingenuous. I momentarily consider killing one of my own men, who are still lingering nearby, equally unsure of what they’re supposed to do now, as a show of good faith.
But then Angel takes my hand, the contact startling me. I peek down at him, and he cocks his head.
“You’re gonna have to do some serious groveling now, Diablo,” he hums. “Are you ready?”
No. “Sure,” I sigh, reluctantly, allowing him to pull me away from the hungry eyes and gnashing teeth of circling prisoners, yanking me inside the old armory.
The second I step inside, I’m gazing around the cramped space, stuffed to the brim with crates of supplies, a hefty goddamn arsenal of weapons, and even more puzzled faces.
Inmates and employees alike, all dirty, and tired, though not so much that they couldn’t easily pounce and each get their shot in.
Gurneys across the room with patients being treated by the psychiatrist. Of course, I can’t tell how they’re doing from over here, but at least one of them doesn’t look so hot.
Eesh… This is gonna be a tough sell, man.
Jonathan is standing in front, leading the pack, as he does, arms folded over his chest, gaze narrowed.
I can’t tell if he actually believes me—about not having authorized the killing of his mother.
I wouldn’t blame him one bit for being doubtful.
But I do have evidence I can give him, should he require it.
Lashes fluttering, I peer among the others, everyone from Byron and Trevel, to Lemuel and his filthy little Carver, to the resurrected Luthor and Ren, Dascha and Kellan, and even Alex Carson from the control room with his seriously enraged beau, Officer Peters.
Gang’s all here.
Noting the assault rifles they’re all clutching, I mutter, “So that’s where all the AK’s went… I thought I was going crazy for a—”
“I’ll fucking kill you!” Kellan Kemper roars, lunging at me.
In an instant, pure pandemonium.
Everyone is yelling and swarming. He gets only a fistful of my shirt before the others intervene. Angel attempts to get between us, joined by Dascha and Byron. It takes Jonathan, Rook, and Josh Peters to pull Kellan off me with shouting coming from all sides.
I’m just standing frozen, because I know I deserve this… I came down here expecting it. Rage and retribution for more sins than I could count if I tried.
I’d be saying Hail Mary’s for years…
“Calm down,” Jonathan speaks to Kellan firmly, a calm and rational tone while Kellan paces back and forth, snarling like a caged animal.
“That motherfucker deserves to be torn to pieces for what he’s done!” He growls from behind the wall of his peers.
“I know, but not like this.” Jonathan peeks at me.
“Let him come,” I grunt. “Take your shot, Kellan. I’m right here.”
“Diablo! Enough,” Angel snaps.
“What?! He’s right,” I mutter stubbornly.
“You all have a bone to pick with me, and I get it. But let’s not forget that you’re also all here because of me.
” The room goes quiet. “For better or worse, I brought you all together. Doesn’t that earn me, at the very least, the opportunity to give you the explanations you deserve… ?”
Joy Jameson snorts. “Explain this, bitch…”
“Alright,” Jonathan reprimands, turning to face me. “I mean, it’ll have to be a fuckin doozy, Jefe.”
“This oughtta be good,” Simon Hancock scoffs.
“Yea, let’s hear it,” Peters barks. “No, seriously. I wanna hear how you justify being the biggest asshole who’s ever walked the earth.”
Jonathan’s lips twitch. “You go ahead and explain, Blanco. And we’ll decide if it’s acceptable or not.”
Taking a moment to lament the brilliant fucking decision to lie down on the damn chopping block, I glance around at their irritable faces once more, considering how to go about this, if there even are any words I could use to talk my way out of this.
Notoriously, it is one of my greatest skills. But now that they’ve won, the spell is broken, and the people in this room might be impervious to my charms.
I think they’ve built up an immunity over the years…
Gulping down a dry mouthful of apprehension, I mumble, “My bad…?”
“Dios fucking mio…” Angel rubs his eyes.
They all gape at me in silence for three baffled seconds before erupting into even more shouting and clamoring curses.
“Alright!” I holler over the noise. “What I’m trying to say is that it was just business! Nothing personal…” My eyes flit to Jonathan. “For the most part.”
Kellan Kemper stomps forward, as close as Jonathan will allow him to get, anyway. “How is drugging someone and using them to take advantage of someone’s mental illness just business?”
I cringe, because yea… that one doesn’t look good.
I meet Byron’s gaze, which quickly falls to his feet, a visible flush crawling up his neck. Tipping my chin in Dascha’s direction, I find him being comforted by Felix and Warren, both of whom are shooting me extremely sour looks of simultaneous hatred and protection for their friend.
A rough exhale leaves my lips as I scrape a hand over my face. “You’re not going to believe me anyway, so what’s the point? I’m sorry I did it, okay?? It was… one of many oversights on my part.”
“I am going to rip your tongue out through your asshole,” Kellan hisses, deadly quiet.
“Hey! I just said that earlier,” I gasp, beaming at the humorous irony.
But Kemper doesn’t look amused in the slightest.
“Diablo,” Angel barks softly, as he does, jerking my attention away from the snarling beast of a man who’s two seconds from splitting me in two like a human wishbone. I blink down at my little bird, his green eyes shining insistence. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
I groan, head tipping back in severe irritation at this ridiculous situation that I would normally view as so far beneath me, it’s molten fucking lava. “Fuck it, just let them kill me.”
“I’m good with that.” Jake Jasper cracks his knuckles.
“óyeme, Manuel.” Angel grabs my face. “You want to move on, si? You want to finally be happy and have a real life… with me?”
His eyes are pleading, and I’m sort of melting inside, which is so strange, because I could’ve sworn I was hollow. But now there’s all this mushy stuff inside me, and it’s thrumming for this sweet, sexy, enduring creature.
I nod, and whisper, “Si.”
His shoulders relax a bit, and he nods. “Buen. Then be fucking honest. There’s a human being in there.” He taps his finger on my chest, right over the tattoo covering my heart. “I know there is. I’ve met him… Let him do the talking, por favor.”
“But he’s such a sappy puta,” I complain, rolling my eyes.
Angel’s lips twitch, but he forces it away, standing firm.
Such a demanding little thing, I swear… Me encanta.
“He’s not that bad,” he rumbles. “But more importantly, he can offer some insight as to how we got here… And why.”
He gives me a knowing look, subtly nodding toward Jonathan.
Ugh… God.
This is going to be just unbearable.
“Wow, chiquita got that magic wand, huh?” Ren snorts.
“Seriously, it’s like watching a snake charmer.” Joy shakes her head.
“May I speak to you in private, please?” I grumble to Jonathan. “The commentary is already becoming insufferable, and I’d rather not turn this into afternoon tea.”
Jonathan’s mouth quirks ever so slightly, head slanting to the side as he gives me this snide expression I’m somehow loving and hating at the same time.
“No, I think you can deal with some discomfort,” he chirps. “In fact, I think it’s what we all really want to see, am I right?”
He doesn’t have to look around to know everyone is nodding enthusiastically, murmuring their approval and clapping at the prospect of watching me sweat out the severe awkwardness of a forced emotional striptease.
Clearing my throat, I rub my eyes. “Fuck me… fine. Here goes…” I cough up the words, “Jonathan, I think my behavior over the years may have been… affected… by my…” I clear my throat a few more times, physically drowning in discomfort as I peek at his face, “sentimientos. Para ti.”
“In English, please.” He smirks, obviously understanding what I said.
Purely to torture me in front of all these people.
“Qué? I’m not from here…” I grunt, feigning ignorance. “Hablo muy poco Ingles.”
“Diablo…” Angel growls.
“Nice try.” Jonathan folds his arms over his chest.
“Ugh, my feelings for you, okay??” I groan, jaw set, stomach wrenching.
His brows jump and he mouths, “Wow…”
“I fucking knew it!” Rook grunts.
“That’s hot,” Ren whispers.
“Jesus, por favor, kill me now…” I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“So, now, when you say feelings…” Simon croons wickedly.
“Really doesn’t concern you,” I seethe.
“He’s right,” Jonathan sneers. “I think I’d like some clarification on exactly what that means.”
“You know damn well what it means,” I snap, fucking boiling under my skin.
“But there are so many feelings…” He smirks. “Which ones specifically had you acting all loco for ya boy?”
“Alright, wise ass. Listen up, because I’m only gonna say this once,” I hiss, stomping up to him.
“Yes, it’s true that I may have experienced some minute emotional or physical attraction to you over the years.
And yes, it might have caused me to lash out at you and treat you like a pet, because I enjoyed having you as one, and you were one of the more stubborn and infuriating examples of a person who both loves being tamed and resists it vehemently, which just so happens to be one of my kinks, I guess…
But that doesn’t mean I was in love with you, or that I wanted to date you or some bullshit.
“I’m not standing outside your window with a boombox. I’m not racing through the airport to catch you at the gate. No swelling music, no kissing in the rain, it was a fucking fluke, and it really meant very little in the grand scheme of sensations, so… whatever.”