19. Chapter 16 - Aaron
I stumbled through the apartment, as familiar to me in the darkness as my previous home. Pulling on pants and a sweatshirt on my way to the front entrance alcove, I clutched the burner phone Kellan had supplied me with in my right fist.
The gun hung heavy in the pocket of my pants, its weight thwacking against my thigh with every movement. Sweatpants were not designed to hold weapons.
I deftly buttoned my jacket and pulled on my boots before I punched in the code Hillary had sent into the keypad on the wall. The door swung open ominously into the cavernous bunker beyond.
When my phone rang again, I answered without thought. My footsteps echoed against the concrete walls as I rushed through the shelving to the staircase at the opposite end of the hall.
Two people had this number. My Queen and the Cartel King. I would need both to help me with this mission tonight.
“Yes?” I answered succinctly, almost at the stairs.
“I’m ten minutes away,” Kellan growled. “The prisoners are unarmed and will be weak, but don’t take any chances. Shoot on sight if you need to.”
“It is done.” I hung up the phone and pocketed it, replacing it with the gun between my palms. The weight of the weapon was comforting as I quietly made my way up the stairs, listening for any sounds on the other side.
Hearing nothing, I rounded the corner where the stairwell met a long corridor and squinted in the inky black. I abruptly turned left when I saw no shadows. The large metal entry door had been left ajar.
The night was cool, but the universe smiled down upon me. The full moon overhead lit up the snow, giving me full sight into the stillness.
Two sets of footprints marked snowy paths headed in opposing directions. By the size of them, the prisoners were escaping on bare feet; it wasn’t cold enough for immediate frostbite, but they would not last long without proper clothing.
Which to follow?
I allowed the stars to guide me and selected the path to my right, following the trail eastward and down to the silhouetted track of a snowed-in driveway. It was just narrow enough to fit a single vehicle. The route veered to a sharp left where the curve of the road met a steep hill; the footprints disappeared into a roll of disturbed snow, suggesting the prisoner fell. I took my time on the icy embank ment, noting the fresh drops of blood crusting the top layer of snow halfway down the hill.
So, they were hurt. From the fall? Or had an old wound re-opened? Were they prisoners in isolation only, or had they been tortured?
Stinging mountain winds bit my cheeks, embedding icy claws into my skin. Surely, the fugitives were frozen by now.
Kellan had said they were weak; what had Hillary done to them? What had they done to her? Mi Reina was a fierce force to be reckoned with, of sound heart and strong mind. Whatever these two sorry souls had done, any punishment would have been earned tenfold.
The disturbed snow led into the copse of trees to my left; I stood stock still, listening for any sounds beyond the greenery. A grin tugged at the corners of my mouth when I heard the soft crunching of snow several yards ahead.
Picking up my pace, I raced through the underbrush. The thick branches tore patches out of my coat as I brushed past them, leaving a plume of goose feathers behind in my wake.
The shadow of a thin figure came into view. The wisp of a human cursed softly as they scuffled through a swath of thorny plant skeletons. Soft whimpers of pain echoed through the trees as the thorns scraped through their bare skin and blood spilled onto the white blanket below.
They didn’t hear me until I was upon them. A rake thin man with scruffy, shoulder-length matted hair turned at the very last second, haunted eyes widening in horror. I clamped a hand around the nape of his neck and yanked him by the roots of his hair, forcing him to the ground.
A slew of curses escaped dry, cracked lips as the man writhed in my grasp until the moment he registered it was a futile endeavor. I was far stronger, fully clothed, and determined to bring him pain. He softened in my hold and submit ted, what little life he had in his limbs draining out of him.
I held the gun to his temple, tempted to force him to his knees at my feet, to pay his penance to Mi Reina . I could kill this man right now, cleanse him of all his sins with a forced baptism in the snow. I could leave him to gurgle his final breaths through bloody gasps of air.
Now that I saw his lifeless form, ragged and on the cusp of collapse, my curiosity was piqued. What had this man done to incite the wrath of my love?
I had not tortured a soul in a good while, but the skill set never left the body or the mind once rooted beneath the skin. I would leave him alive until Hillary returned, but first, I would uncover a few answers for myself.
Without warning, I hoisted the frail man over my shoulder, his weight barely more than Hillary’s, and carried him out to the road and up the steep hill through the snow. Headlights lit up the path ahead from behind, and I turned to see Kellan’s Jeep rolling effortlessly forward along the unplowed road.
He stopped at the crest of the hill and climbed out like a bull; rage and aggression emanated from him in violent currents.
I waved him off. “I have this one taken care of.” I re-situated the man on my back. He’d stopped pounding on my shoulder blades, succumbing to his inevitable fate. “Follow the footsteps to the left of the entry door. That will lead you to the next one.”
Kellan nodded brusquely and leaped back into the SUV, snow flicking off his tires and into my face as he took off down the remainder of the trail.
Hillary had entrusted the two of us with this task—we would not let her down.
I again continued forward, contemplating this set of circumstances. Kellan and I were once again working together to support the woman in our care. The woman we would die for. I took comfort knowing he had grown to be my companero ; it was a natural coupling. In another life, we could have been brothers. Perhaps lovers. He was an equal opponent; the darkness in him rivaled mine. His fierce desire to claim Hillary as rabid as my own.
Tonight, we were comrades, unveiling our darkness to our queen’s enemies, unleashing it to protect her light.
I slogged through, the extra weight of my captive admittedly making the trek far slower. Back at Hillary’s building, I carried him down the dark corridor, curious to see where he’d been housed all this time.
The sting of this secret being held from me sat low in my heart, though more of an irritant than a stabbing wound. Two prisoners had been living above the safe house the several weeks I’d also used the building as my cage; judging by this man’s appearance, unless he had been previously homeless on the streets of Carlisle, he had been held far longer.
Had Mi Reina been concerned at my judgment? Was this a matter of trust between us, or had she kept the secret for my protection?
My love for her knew no bounds; she held my companies, my life’s work, and now my life in her hands. I needed her to understand she could lay all she held dearest in her heart at my feet. I would cherish it, protect it. Exact revenge on those who squandered it.
As I would now.
The dark corridor led to a set of metal doors locked with a keypad and a biometric scanner. I punched in the bypass code she’d texted me by memory. Then shifting the dead weight across my shoulder, I impatiently waited for the pneumatic door to slide open.
My captive had gone suspiciously limp in my hold, his chest rising and falling against my back, a cornered kitten waiting to claw.
I s trode down the empty, silent hallway as the hairs at the back of my neck stood on end at the sight to the left of me. Thick glass walls looked into white, padded cells. A single cot, toilet, and protected shower head were embedded into the ceiling. The confined spaces held nothing else.
The cells were clinical. Despite their bright exterior, they exuded immeasurable darkness—the intent of such spaces only two things: the insufferable torture and isolated torment of men and women who deserved it.
Mi Reina , the angel of persecution. This revelation was a mild shock to the system, and yet, exactly what I should expect of my passionate Queen. Taking matters into her own hands—exacting justice in a prison of her own making as she did in the boardrooms of our businesses.
Pitbulls could learn from her aggressive confidence. A blessing from the stars and a curse from the bowels of hell—it would be the very thing that killed the woman I loved.
The hoard of emergency supplies sitting on the basement shelves now made practical sense. How long had Hillary owned such a building? One did not purchase a torture condo—she would have had to design it. Who had she entrusted with such a secret?
A deep discomfort settled deep into my bones as I answered my own question. Kellan . He would be the only person she’d trust with this.
The figure shifted in my grip, pulling me from that line of thought. A sharp knee jabbed into my ribs. The wind knocked out of my lungs, I stumbled, the weight of his body propelling me forward and off my frame onto the concrete floor in front of me.
The waif of a man scrambled away on his hands and knees. I stalked towards him, swallowing the bitterness clawing at my throat.
I would fight for her trust in all things. She would no longer have only Kellan to protect her darkness. I would hand o ver my penchant for administering pain, and we could bask in the black sea of tormented souls together.
The desperation in the man’s gaze was no match for the insatiable hunger for violence in mine. By the time my hands clasped onto his scrawny shoulders, he had already slumped in defeat, hanging his head with a sob. I lifted his bony body off the ground and carried him into the furthest cell down the hallway.
I threw him on the cot, the sheets and pillow yellowing with grease stains. Perhaps this had been his room.
I pulled the string of my hood out of its casing, quickly employing a quick cuff around his hands to keep him in place. The short length of the rope didn’t lend itself to a more complex, more secure shibari tie, but it was all I could do under these circumstances. I removed the string from the hood of my sweater beneath my jacket, and tied the same design around his ankles. His eyes remained dormant while I worked.
Was he still coherent? Had he succumbed to the madness of confinement? Was he still responsive to a little… coercion?
Unzipping my jacket, I fingered the hidden pocket within the interior shell and unlocked the tiny metal clasp to grab the small stiletto blade of my favorite dagger.
I pulled out the military grade black matte metal; the custom design was one of my most prized possessions. The dagger had seen me through many of Vicente’s training ‘lessons’; had pierced the flesh of men who housed evil in their veins as if it were blood. I unleashed their evil into the drain on the floor, releasing them from their torment—only after a little torment of my own.
I was well accustomed to guns and how to use them; they were convenient weapons, but boring. They left jagged holes of instant brutality. Knives left beautiful trails of artwork on the skin—a lesson in delayed gratification.
I much preferred this method.
My captive’s face turned ashen as he eyed the weapon in my palm. I delicately fingered the blade as if it were my tender lover, excited at the prospect of using my old friend once again. It had been too long.
“What is your name?”
My words were calm and measured, soothingly hypnotic as I moved closer. A thrill of electricity tingled up my spine at the raw fear emanating from every pore of his skin. The stench of animalistic terror filled my nostrils when I loomed over his cowering body; the familiar scent separated my rational brain from the thirsty hind brain of a trained killer.
The man’s lips folded in on themselves, as if staying silent would spare him from my intentions.
“Your master is on her way, nero .” I spun the blade in my hand and caught it nimbly between two fingers; the razored edge sliced off a thin layer of skin along the pad of my knuckle. I’d sharpened it in recent days as an activity to bide my time; now, it was perfectly primed to exact vengeance for Mi Reina . “And you and I are going to get to know each other in the meantime.”
I advanced on him, deciding to start with the flesh of his shoulders, to peel back the layers of skin one by one until his sobs shattered the windows and his sweat slicked the floor. I knew how to keep a man alive under torture— Mi Reina would decide his end when she arrived.
I was the Dark Knight of a Queen, a bold title among men; I’d wield her wrath as if it were my own and punish her enemies until they were ribbons of flesh on the floor.
Starting with him.