Chapter 14 Silas
How does the devil come to you?
It was a question my father asked me once. He said that, to be a good leader, we had to think like our enemies. If we knew our own weaknesses, then no one could use them against us.
There is no doubt about it. The devil comes to me in red bottom shoes and black lipstick. While black is her preferred color, today, she is wearing a long pink bridesmaid dress. I haven’t seen the little devil in two weeks, putting distance between us while I tie up some loose ends in Arizona.
Once I received the text, I came back quicker than I had anticipated.
Nero: Jefe, we have a problem here.
Silas: What kind of problem?
Nero: I’m pretty sure Thalia just signed her death sentence.
Thalia is losing control. In the countless stories that circulate about her, she is known to be calculated when it comes to her enemies. Sending the severed head of Gustavo Contreras to his mother was more than enough to initiate an ugly war with Los Bandoleros. A war that was sure to end in a sea of blood. She had assassinated their president, and it was every man for himself, trying to claim the throne. They won’t stop until she is dead.
I don’t trust her family to protect her. Her life is now a trophy. Which is why I am seated in the back of the wedding in my red Versace suit and Joker mask while said target is standing in a line with other women as the bride has her back to them. I watch from a distant table in the back. My eyes narrow on her as she jumps up high and her hand reaches for the bouquet. I take out my phone and send her a text.
Silas: Married women shouldn’t be catching bouquets.
It takes a while before she sees the message. She has to dance with the fucker who caught the garter. Lucky for him, it’s her uncle’s fiancé. As soon as she returns to her seat, she pulls out her purse. Warmth spreads through my body at the fear plastered on her face. Her brows bunch, and she looks around as if she knows who she’s looking for.
The wedding is packed with people, due to the bride marrying into an elite Houston family. Beatriz is Thalia’s nanny’s oldest daughter. The match is no doubt an arrangement made, a way of Thalia paying her debt to Do?a Clara for the years she watched over her.
The reception is the perfect place for retaliation. Thalia sits with her brother, cousin, and two friends. Nero stands behind them, dressed in a suit and dark shades. Since her bedroom cameras had been taken down, I have limited access to her through the hotel security footage. It isn’t enough.
I have been stalking. No. I have been studying my wife for the last few weeks. She’s masturbated more times than a teenage boy who just discovered his mom’s Victoria Secret catalog. Whenever she was alone in the penthouse, she would speak her perverse thoughts out loud.
“Fuck me like a slut.”
“Yes. Harder.”
“Just like that.”
Her moans would vibrate through the screen. I had to start wearing headphones in the office while I watched her. I am so invested, I even track her phone’s search history to see what stimulates her constant need to masturbate. Turns out, she has a humiliation kink. She has dark desires to be handled like a slut and treated like trash.
Her porn searches range from women being called pigs to getting spit on. It turns me on to think of all the ways I could humiliate her, to think of her vulnerable beneath my touch.
It made sense that a powerful woman like her yearns to be broken down in the bedroom. Men are intimidated by her, and that makes too many of them beg at her feet. They are intimidated by her power because she was never meant to serve their kingdoms. She is mine . And soon enough, she will bend and break before me. Even the devil has her weakness.
She ignores my text and starts drinking with her guard dogs, Osiel and Ricky. My blood boils at the way she laughs with them. I’ve learned the range of smiles Thalia shares. Most are fake, and I’ve learned to spot them. Yet some are dark and sad. Her eyes look blank, and her lip twitches at the corners. She is lost in a happy memory that makes her sad at the same time. Those are my favorite, because I hope to be the one lingering in her memories, haunting her.
The smile she is freely sharing right now is genuine. It’s one that is so radiant it draws in the rest of the world. People are fascinated by her. By the tales that surround her. By the poise that she possesses. The way she draws all attention to her when she walks into a room.
I down the rest of the Mezcal and call for another drink. That smile stays there as she continues to drink with her friends, laughing without a care in the world. Like she didn’t just call a hit on herself. She is aggravating me beyond control. Why is she behaving so fucking recklessly? And why the hell do I care so much? She is clouding my mind.
I have plans I need to stay focused on, and here I am, playing her knight in shining armor. The Houston Cartel Connect is larger in size compared to than Los Peregrinos. She has alliances all across the Gulf of Mexico and spread out through Jalisco. Why do I need to be the one to protect her?
An older man approaches her at the table and holds a hand out to her. They walk to the center of the dance floor. My hand clutches at my gun underneath the table.
Calm down, Silas.
You can’t kill everyone that dances with her .
His hands slide to her lower back. Fuck this.
Silas: Who's the Brad?
Nero: Looks like one of her investors, Fellipe Gallardo.
I look up to see Nero posted by the door. He gives me that smug bastard look. I flip him off and return to watching the man touching my wife. He looks like the type of dickhead that puts ketchup on his tacos, or wears flip flops with jeans. He is not her type.
She laughs at something Brad says. It’s her fake laugh. They dance one song, and she excuses herself from his grip. Her long legs cross the room. Each step confident as she makes her way to the bar. Brad stays in place, and I catch him looking at something above him.
I launch forward the moment I see it. A small red dot moving around her. Nero moves before I do, and shots ring out all around me. I rush toward her. Over a dozen armed men in ski masks are firing shots and shredding through the crowd. Adrian is frantically screaming her name.
“THALIA!”
The room is filled with chaos as everyone runs in different directions, looking for the person they need to be with if this moment becomes their last. Adrian rushes Alma and Mireya out while Osiel and Ricky move the innocent bystanders to safety. Where are you, Thalia? I don’t stop barreling through the crowd. She’s close. I can feel it. I can feel her.
When I finally reach her, she’s hiding behind the bar. She’s sitting down with her back pressed against the counter. Her eyes are shut, and her gun shakes in her hands. She aims it at me when I move in on her. Her eyes widen when she sees me. I move quickly, pulling her up and dragging her to the back exit, using my body as a shield as I fire shots behind us. When the cold air hits us, Thalia jerks her arm away from me. She stills and lifts her gun.
“Who are you?” Her voice shakes, but she holds herself upright. My diablita. I step closer and grab her hand. I place the gun to my forehead. Her hand is unsteady, her eyes a black of wonder and terror. I could stay in them forever.
“Take off your fucking mask!” she screams. From behind her, a door swings open, and one of the men hunting her makes his move. I push her behind me and two shots ring out. His body drops to the floor as pain explodes in my shoulder. Thalia has dropped the gun and is staring at the lifeless body. I pull her with me. She doesn’t question me. I get on my bike, and she takes her place behind me. Her arms wrap around my torso, and I take off. The warmth of her body around me is enough to distract me from the blood leaking out.