22. Chapter Twenty-two #3
By the time we leave our quiet spot behind, night has draped the sky in shadows.
Stars blink awake, distant and cold. Kane doesn’t take me through the front door of the compound.
Instead, we slip down an old, narrow corridor, dark and lined with shadows, smelling faintly of oil and gunpowder.
He doesn’t explain why, and I don’t question it, but I notice how his hand hovers constantly near his waist, fingertips brushing the hidden outline of his gun.
I swallow thickly, tension settling like frost along my spine.
Javi is already waiting for us when we reach the hallway near Kane’s office, posture stiff, face an unreadable mask carved from stone. His eyes flick briefly to mine, acknowledging me silently, respectfully, before shifting his attention back to Kane.
“She’s secure?” he asks bluntly.
Kane’s entire body tightens at those words, the quiet implication behind them clear.
“She’s not to be involved,” he says darkly, each word clipped and razor-sharp.
Javi nods once, accepting without question.
I grit my teeth, frustration simmering beneath my skin. I hate being handled this way, gently nudged aside as if I’m too fragile, too breakable, incapable of surviving the flames just because I wasn’t forged in them. I’ve survived worse, and I’m tired of being underestimated.
Kane senses the ripple of my anger. His palm presses lightly to the small of my back, warm through my shirt, steadying me as he leans down, his breath hot near my ear.
“Go upstairs,” he murmurs softly, fiercely. “I’ll come find you.”
His words sound more like a promise than a command, but my pulse quickens all the same.
Kane
“Kane…”
Her voice is barely audible, that soft hesitant sound that slices through my chest, stripping me raw. She already knows my answer, knows the shadows clawing beneath my skin, but she wants to hear it anyway.
“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”
I freeze in the doorway, fingers tightening viciously around the button of my jacket. My throat is sandpaper when I speak. “Just to the office.”
But she sees right through my bullshit. She always does.
Her arms are crossed, hugging herself like she’s bracing for impact. Wind-tangled curls spill down over my shirt, my shirt, marking her, claiming her. Yet her eyes search mine as if she already senses the chasm opening between us, inch by ruthless inch.
“To deal with Luis?” Her voice is quieter now, careful. Like she’s creeping toward a loaded weapon.
Me.
“Yes,” I say bluntly, and her gaze sharpens, worry slipping through the cracks. She fears for me, not of me and that tiny, brutal truth is a blade to the chest every fucking time.
“Are you going to hurt him?”
Her voice trembles, not from weakness, but from the bitter knowledge of who I am, what I’m capable of. I pause, my voice coming out harsh, a razor-thin whisper.
“You want the truth?”
She doesn’t waver. “Always.”
“Then yes.” I step toward her slowly, deliberately. “Because he betrayed me.” Another step. Closer. “Because he betrayed you.”
She sucks in a breath, eyes darkening. Her chest rises and falls rapidly beneath my shirt.
“Men who betray us don’t get the mercy of walking away.” I continue, voice dropping, a lethal promise simmering beneath every syllable.
Her eyes hold mine, and there’s no shock, no judgment just a quiet, crushing acceptance of the monster she chose.
“I’m not sorry for what I have to do,” I admit quietly. “But…Camille, I hate that you have to witness it.”
She lowers her gaze briefly, a shadow crossing her face, but when she lifts her chin again, steel glints through the softness.
“Does it ever get easier?” she whispers.
I flinch internally, her words like a scalpel carving through old scars. “What?”
“Being this ruthless.”
Her question guts me, honest, unflinching. I meet her stare, jaw tightening until it aches.
“I don’t enjoy it,” I say, raw truth spilling from my lips. “Not this. Not when it’s personal.”
Her mouth twists slightly, understanding etched painfully clear in her gaze. “It always feels personal.”
“With you, it fucking is.”
Something shifts in the air, and she moves toward me, pressing her forehead gently against my chest. It’s tender, unbearably gentle, and every defense inside me splinters. My body fights to stay upright, when everything inside me begs to collapse at her feet.
“I wasn’t taught how to love safely,” I whisper hoarsely, a confession scraping the bones of my past. “My father taught me loyalty and survival. Protection at all costs. Sacrifice. Violence is the language I speak fluently because it’s the only one I ever learned.”
She lifts her head, staring at me fiercely. Eyes wide open. Fearless.
“Then teach me your language,” she breathes, words cracking me wide open. “Even the violent parts.”
She doesn’t promise to fix me. Doesn’t beg me to stop. She just wants to understand the wreckage that made me.
I wrap her in my arms, careful, trembling. My hands are unsteady, gripping her waist like she might vanish into smoke.
“I don’t want you ever speaking this language,” I murmur roughly into her hair, breathing her in. “That’s why I exist…to shield you from having to learn.”
“I’m stronger than you think,” she murmurs into my chest, quiet and certain. “But I understand.”
I press my lips gently against her temple, lingering in the safety she offers me, savoring this stolen peace. “Let me keep at least this promise to you.”
She nods slowly, heartbeat thrumming in perfect rhythm with mine before she steps back. Brave. Beautifully defiant.
“Do what you have to do,” she says, voice steady. “Just make sure you come back to me.”
I nod sharply. A promise carved from steel and blood. “Always.”
I’ll return. Every goddamn time.
Because Camille didn’t choose me for my light.
She chose me with blood staining my hands and violence seared into my bones.
Now I have to prove I’m worthy of that choice.
***
The warehouse air tastes metallic, thick with blood and fear. Concrete walls swallow screams exactly why I chose this place. No echo. No escape. Just merciless silence and the low, relentless hum of machinery.
Luis Torres kneels before me, battered and broken. Blood spatters the cement beneath him, dripping slowly from his split lips. His face is swollen, eyes bloodshot, panicked. Tremors ripple down his spine as I circle him, slow, deliberate footsteps echoing softly around us.
“You won’t even fucking look at me, Luis?” My voice cuts through the silence, quiet and lethal. “After everything?”
His jaw clenches weakly, teeth bloodied, mouth trembling. Pathetic.
I crouch down, forcing myself into his line of sight. My fingers curl under his chin, bruising bone beneath my grip as I jerk his head upward. He flinches violently, a sharp hiss escaping him.
“There you are,” I murmur softly, coldly. “See, I want you looking at me while we talk about this betrayal.”
“Kane, p-please…” he rasps, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “It wasn’t…t wasn’t personal…”
I tighten my hold brutally, silencing him, forcing his face closer to mine. Rage simmers just beneath my skin, ice-cold fury. “Oh, Luis, betrayal is always personal. You thought you could take from me…my money, my business, my woman…and not feel it?”
Fear floods his eyes, stark and raw. He knows there’s no escape now. His desperation fills the air, rank and sour, as I release him abruptly, rising to my feet.
“Bring it,” I command.
Joaquin moves instantly, signaling silently to my men. They roll in the heavy, metal barrel, dull and rust streaked. Luis’s head snaps toward the sound, his eyes widening into sheer horror as he registers the cement mixer churning steadily behind it, slow, thick, relentless.
“Kane…Christ…no!” Luis’s voice shatters, raw panic splintering the quiet. He tries to scramble away, but my men are on him, hauling him upright with merciless efficiency. “Please, fuck…please, Kane! I fucked up, I know…”
“You did,” I say calmly, watching as they force him roughly into the barrel. The metal clangs hollowly, echoing his screams back at him. “But you knew the consequences.”
Luis struggles wildly, his cries growing frantic, incoherent. I step forward, hands steady, taking hold of the cement hose. It’s heavy, gritty beneath my grip, loaded with symbolism and finality.
“You wanted my empire, Luis?” My voice slices sharp and quiet through his pleading. “You thought you could drown me in what I built?”
He thrashes violently, trying to claw his way out, eyes wild, lungs heaving. Joaquin presses his palm against Luis’s shoulder, holding him brutally still, like an executioner awaiting my final judgment.
I twist the lever. Wet cement surges forth, thick, gray, mercilessly permanent. It gushes into the barrel, rapidly swallowing Luis’s legs, climbing higher, drowning him inch by excruciating inch.
His screams turn ragged, choking, gurgling as he claws desperately at the barrel’s rim. Cement rises to his chest, pressing his breath from him, crushing his ribs. His face contorts with animal terror, body jerking violently against Joaquin’s unyielding grasp.
“P-please…” he sputters, eyes rolling wildly. “Kane…I beg you…”
“Begging?” I tilt my head, watching him with ruthless detachment. “That’s fucking pathetic. You knew the price.”
I flood the barrel faster. The cement creeps steadily upward, thickening, relentless, swallowing his neck, pushing against his throat. Luis gasps raggedly, mouth open wide, straining desperately for air.
I pause briefly, crouching once more, leaning in close enough that his strangled breaths brush my cheek.
“You tried to bury me,” I whisper, voice deadly quiet. “Consider this poetic justice.”
Luis’s eyes bulge, panic erupting as cement spills over his lips, choking off any final pleas. Joaquin releases his hold, stepping back as Luis sinks slowly beneath the heavy gray surface. His screams vanish abruptly, swallowed by silence, leaving only a smooth, featureless grave.
I stand slowly, calmly brushing dust from my hands. My pulse remains steady, the monster beneath my skin satisfied.
Luis chose betrayal.
I chose punishment.
Now every man who ever dares to cross me will understand the price.
Permanent. Ruthless. Unforgiving.
***
I leave the warehouse, silence trailing me like a ghost. Joaquin says nothing, just watches quietly as I slip into the back of the car. He shuts the door firmly, sealing me into a darkness I welcome.
“Home,” I say flatly to the driver.
The car hums to life, sliding smoothly through empty streets bathed in shadow. The silence presses down, heavy, suffocating. I stare at the city lights blurring past the tinted windows, trying to feel something, guilt, remorse, regret.
But there’s nothing. Just cold, satisfying clarity.
Luis got exactly what he deserved.
I flex my hands, knuckles bruised and raw beneath the surface. Still steady. Still clean. Violence pulses beneath my skin, calm and certain. Necessary.
My thoughts drift to Camille, waiting at home. Softness amid brutality, warmth in my ruthless world. A dangerous need grips me, fierce and sudden, overriding everything else. I pull my phone from my jacket pocket, dialing without thinking.
It rings twice, three times, then her voice, sleepy and soft, breaks through the darkness.
“Kane?”
Something clenches tight in my chest, the ice thawing slightly at the sound of her. I exhale slowly, closing my eyes. “I woke you.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs, voice husky, warm, safe. “Are you okay?”
Am I okay?
I glance down at the faint traces of dried blood still lining my knuckles. “I just needed to hear your voice.”
She’s silent for a second, and I picture her curled up in our bed, tangled in sheets that smell like me. Her voice softens further. “Come home.”
The quiet command in those two words settles something primal in me. Grounds me. I lean my head back, feeling the ache in my bones finally lessen.
“I’m on my way,” I whisper roughly. “Stay awake until I get there.”
She yawns softly, but I hear the smile beneath. “I’ll try.”
“Promise me.”
Another gentle pause, then her voice, soothing and warm: “I promise.”
I end the call, clutching the phone tightly, heart finally steady. Because this is what it takes to protect her. Brutality for peace, blood for safety.
I buried Luis Torres tonight, drowned him in cement, and felt nothing.
But Camille’s voice?
It makes me feel everything.