CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ALEXANDRA JONES
THE ANSWER IS CLEAR.
Diávolos killed him.
End of story.
My pen continues to tap against the empty sketchbook before dropping it, my hands circle around my neck and unlock the clip that held the necklace. I slowly raise it against the light. The necklace spins in the air, casting shimmering reflections across the room.
Why did he give this to me?
And what did he mean by it belongs to me?
I drop the necklace onto the sketchbook, fiddling around with it until my eyes slowly catch sight onto engraved writing.
Angelos.
With trembling hands, I reach for the necklace once more, tracing the letters of the name as if searching for answers. Everything was becoming more confusing by the minute; I look up and Mrs Toffee is already standing in front of me. “Nothing on the paper, we’ve been in this class for two hours Alexandra.” She speaks, leaning onto the table.
I put the necklace back into my hand and shrug my shoulders, lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed that Mrs. Toffee was standing in front of me, disappointment etched across her face. She pointed out the blank page, a stark reminder of my distraction. How could I create something when my mind was occupied on looking for answers?
“Sorry, I’ve been distracted,” I mutter, the pressure of the upcoming presentations and the scholarship hung heavily over me, but my mind couldn’t shake off the curiosity surrounding Ares and the secrets he guarded. This isn’t right, I should be putting my education first. This scholarship-this transfer has been something I’ve wanted since I came back to school. It’s what is missing from my life.
But there’s something nagging onto my heart, telling me that something else is missing.
So, what the hell is it!
“Distracted enough to forget that presentations are this week. I thought you of all people wanted this scholarship.”
“I do,” I speak up.
“Clearly not, Miss Jones.” She responds, Mrs. Toffee walks back to her desk, I gather my things the moment the bell rings and slide off the chair. I walk over to Mrs Toffee.
“I want this scholarship. I do. I will send you my presentation Friday morning, I promise.” She gives me a curt nod.
“Don’t break promises.”
“I won’t.”
I knew what was coming next - a confrontation with Catherine. Ever since that night at the club when she abandoned me, we hadn’t spoken, and I wasn’t sure how to face her. As I stepped out of the classroom, there she was, standing next to my locker, waiting for me. I attempted to slip by unnoticed, but her voice cut through the air, stopping me in my tracks.
“Alexandra, I know you saw me,” Catherine said.
Taking a deep breath, I turn to face her. “What do you want, Catherine?” I asked, trying to keep my tone steady.
Her face fills with apologies, she whispers, “I’m sorry. I never meant to leave you.”
I hesitated, torn between my hurt feelings and the fact that Catherine had been my best friend for years. People make mistakes, I told myself, and she’s not responsible for my every move.
She isn’t my mother.
We were both twenty years old, after all. I’m not a child.
“It’s fine,” I whisper, trying to bury my resentment beneath understanding.
“Oh, thank goodness!” Catherine squeals, pulling me into a tight hug. I chuckle awkwardly and gently push her away. As we walked towards the canteen, Catherine couldn’t resist prying into my personal life. “So how are things with you and Ares?” She asks, trying to act casual.
“We haven’t seen each other since the night I got drugged,” I reply, feeling a twinge of sadness. “He seems busy.” It’s true. I haven’t. and I don’t know if I want too, I still couldn’t believe that I vomited in front of him.
“Have you tried texting him?” She asks.
I shook my head. “No, I don’t want to be clingy or annoying.”
Catherine’s eyes narrowed slightly as she examined the necklace that Diávolos gave me. “That’s a cute necklace,” she comments, her jaw tensing involuntarily as she notices my fingers gently brushing across it.
“Yeah,” I murmur, suddenly feeling guarded as I tuck it beneath my jumper.
“Did Ares give it to you?” Catherine’s question caught me off guard.
“No, why would he?” I reply, my curiosity piqued. “Why would you think that?”
Her face fell slightly, and it was clear she had said something she shouldn’t have. Why is she acting so weird? Why is she acting as if she’s hiding something from me?
“I mean, isn’t it weird?” She stammers, backtracking. “His entire tattoo place is filled with butterflies, and his hand…”
No.
No.
No.
She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.
Everyone loves butterflies.
I love butterflies.
Who doesn’t love butterflies?
But Ares has an obsession over them.
His hand.
His parlour.
His artwork.
My heart was beating out of my chest, and now I’m trying to find ways where I can offer an explanation to my brain that Ares is not Diávolos! Ares cannot be him! Ares wouldn’t do that to me, he wouldn’t manipulate me like this! He wouldn’t treat me like a game.
“I need to use your car,” I whisper urgently, my mind racing with a need for answers.
Catherine raised a sceptical eyebrow but didn’t protest. She opens her bag and hands me her car keys without a word. With a swift nod of gratitude, I rushed out of the college, heading straight for the car park, and swiftly unlocked her car.
I threw my belongings inside and sped off in the direction of Ares’ tattoo shop. I hate driving. I don’t like it. But this is urgent. This is urgent!
Questions, confusion, and the desperate need for clarity consumed my thoughts. The drive to his shop felt like an eternity, with the weight of uncertainty growing heavier with every passing second.
Finally, I arrived at the front of the tattoo shop.
My heart was pounding in my ears as I park the car right outside and hastily got out, I slam the door closed- my steps quickening towards the entrance. Aliza, Ares’ receptionist, attempted to stop me, but I couldn’t be deterred.
“You can’t go back there!” Aliza yelled out; her voice filled with concern.
Ignoring her plea, I push past and hurried down the tight hallway until I reached Ares’ door. My hand shook as I grab the handle, taking a deep breath to steady myself before pushing it open.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, and the sound of buzzing tattoo machines filled the air.
“Alexandra? What are you doing here?” Ares stands up from the chair, dropping down the pencil that once sat in his hand. Ares glances at Aliza, who had followed me in, and then back at me.
Without hesitation, he instructs Aliza to leave, and she quietly closes the door behind her, leaving us alone.
“What’s going on?”
My emotions were a jumble of hurt, suspicion, and anger.
“Who are you?”
Ares leans against the desk, arms folded, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s funny how I never realised before,” I said, my voice tinged with bitterness as I recalled Catherine’s words. “how I never noticed the small details until today!”
“Alexandra.”
“Do not interrupt me!”
“What is going on?” He whispers, trying his best to compose himself against me. I could tell I was angering him by leaving him with questions of the situation.
“Raise your shirt.”
He looked taken aback by my request, a simple request. If he weren’t hiding anything he would have done so. But instead, he questioned me.
“What’s this about?”
“I said raise your shirt,” I repeat, my voice growing more insistent. Deep down, I hoped he didn’t have what I feared to find. I hoped. I begged even.
“I can’t do that, Angel,” he said softly, this time not using the affectionate nickname he often called me. No more butterfly. But this confirmed it all.
Angel.
Angel.
Angel.
“Angel,” I whisper, my heart sinking as I turn my necklace around, revealing the word ‘Angelos’ - Greek for ‘Angel.’
Tears welled up in my eyes as I realise the betrayal that had been lurking beneath the surface. I cannot believe I never noticed; how could I have been so blind? So stupid! So bloody stupid!
Now for one last thing to support it.
“Raise your shirt now!” I almost screamed; my voice choked with emotion as I try to hold back tears. “Raise your shirt Ares! I’m not joking!”
Ares hesitates, his eyes searching mine for understanding.
But he didn’t find it.
Because what was there to understand?
Slowly, he complies, lifting the hem of his shirt to reveal a patch on his abdomen, confirming my worst fear. Shock washes over me, leaving me feeling weak and unsteady as I stumble back.
It’s him.
“Who are you?” I whisper, my voice trembling as I tried to process the truth. All the warnings, the signs I had missed - it was because Ares was Diávolos all along.
His eyes. How have I not noticed his eyes!
He dropped his shirt and looks at me; his expression filled with a mix of guilt. “I think you already know that don’t you?”
“You disgust me,” I spat out, my emotions overwhelming me. With every step he took forward, I took backwards until I felt my back colliding against the door. He caged me in with his arms, his proximity making me feel trapped and vulnerable.
“You didn’t seem disgusted when I had my tongue down your throat, did you, Angel?” He retorted, his words dripping with bitterness. “You didn’t seem disgusted when you looked at me the night at the window, the way you smiled.”
His comment felt like a slap in the face, intensifying the pain and betrayal I felt. Anger surges within me, and I push against his chest, trying to create some distance between us.
“That was before I knew who you really were,” I said, my voice laced with hurt and anger. “You played with my feelings; you manipulated me.”
“Manipulated you?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “You make me laugh Alexandra Jones.”
“Stop acting like this…”
I felt torn and conflicted as Ares’ finger gently grazed my chin, tipping my head back to face him. His touch, once filled with tenderness, now felt like a cruel reminder of the deception he had woven around us. Why did I fall for the wrong man? I didn’t fear him-but now I’m not so sure. Maybe it was because he killed Clarks father in cold blood? Maybe it was because he lied to me this entire time.
But I couldn’t halt the tears cascading down my cheeks.
“Don’t cry, Angel. I can’t stand to see you cry,” his voice, soft and tender, barely audible over the tumult of my emotions.
His words pierce through the chaos in my mind, a bittersweet reminder of the love we once shared, now tainted by the betrayal that threatens to consume me.
“Stop crying!” I choke onto my tears.
“Are you going to hurt me?” I whisper, my voice trembling with fear and uncertainty. “Now that I know.” Ares’ gaze softens, his features betraying a hint of regret as he shakes his head.
“No, Angel. I would never hurt you,” he assures me, his touch gentle as he brushes away my tears. “I would protect you with my life.” Can I trust him again, knowing who he truly is?
His lips meet mine, tasting the saltiness of my tears, I find myself torn between the love I still harbour for him and the uncertainty of our future. “Did you kill Mr. Johnson?” I question him.
He steps away, and heads towards the tattoo station where his back now faces me. I pull away from the door.
“I did.” He responds, effortlessly.
With no hesitation.
No signs of regret.
How could someone just kill and not even have a bit of remorse?
“Why?” I manage to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He settles down onto the chair, turning to face me, and a chilling calmness envelope him. “How about you tell me why you think I killed him?” He counters, leaning against the back of the chair.
His response startled me, leaving me momentarily at a loss for words. But I knew I couldn’t let him deflect the question.
“I don’t know why you would do such a thing,” I said, trying to steady my voice. Ares glances down at my lips.
“Your lip is bleeding.”
Confused, I tap my lip with my finger, but there is no blood.
Then our eyes lock, and I saw the truth reflected in his gaze. Suddenly, everything became clear, and the pieces fell into place. My heart races as I whisper in shock, “you killed him because of me?”
“For you,” he replies, his voice low and intense. “I killed him foryou.”
My mind struggles to comprehend the weight of his words. “I never told you to do that,” I protest.
“Well, I did,” Ares said, standing up, his body tense with emotion. “You can judge me all you want, but no one touches you unless they don’t want their fucking hands attached to their body anymore.” I was torn between feeling protected by his actions and frightened by the darkness that had consumed him. The depth of his feelings for me was undeniable, but the lengths he was willing to go to protect me were chilling.
“Killing someone is not the answer,” I allege, “it’s not the way to protect me Ares.”
“You know Alexandra if you really feared me- you would have went to the police. But you didn’t. you came because you’ve been trying to figure out who I was for two years now, and now you know.”
He is right.
He isn’t wrong.
I should have went to the police if I feared him.
But I didn’t because deep down I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, I guess you could say I was just over exaggerating the situation. But I wasn’t and he knows I wasn’t.
God, why did it have to be him?
“I didn’t want it to be you,”
“What difference does it make?”
“It makes a difference!”
“I’m Diávolos, the one you were warned about, the one who should have scared you away.”
“Just stop Ares.” I whisper, not wanting to hear any more of this.
“You told me you didn’t fear me, so why now? What difference does it make?”
“It makes a difference!” I yell.
“I only kill people who do bad things; rape-human trafficking-abuse…”
“Did the girl know?” I speak, “the one who…died?”
“Yeah, she knew…” he answers me.
Ares stood up, but I held up a hand, signalling for him to stay put. “Don’t follow me,” I request, feeling the need for space and time to process everything.
He raises both hands in surrender, his gaze unwavering as he assesses the tension crackling between us. “I won’t,” he assures me, his voice low and husky. “But understand this, Alexandra. You’re mine. And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect what’s mine. Whether you like it or not.”
“I don’t need you to protect me,” I retort, defiance fuelling my words. “I can protect myself!”
A smirk plays at the corners of his lips, his hands remaining raised in a gesture of surrender. “Of course, you can, angel,” he hums, his voice dripping with seduction.
“I’ll just be a couple steps behind you.”
Ares is Diávolos.