He stood over me, adjusted his suit, shook his head, and then left the room. I heard a bolt on the outside, signaling I was locked in.
I didn’t get up. Why bother? I pulled up my panties and my pants, fixed myself up as best I could, but I did it all while lying there in wait.
I was going to kill him. I was going to fucking kill him, and only then could I have peace. It was either that or die trying. Miguel and I could not live on the same earth anymore.
My body felt weird. Off. Like it wasn’t mine. It was almost like I wasn’t really there, which I knew was wrong, because I obviously was. I felt numb. I couldn’t feel anything anymore, not even the cold concrete floor underneath me. My head still pounded, lightheaded and nauseous, but it didn’t bother me because it didn’t feel real.
Was this real? Had I fallen into a nightmare when I wasn’t looking?
How could this be my life?
Time ceased to matter to me. Whether it was hours or minutes, it didn’t matter either way, but eventually the door unlocked and a group of sleazy-looking Serpents walked in, all wearing the same leather jacket with the snake patch haphazardly sewn in. They grabbed me, pulled me off the floor, and threw a thick black bag over my head. They weren’t exactly gentle about it, but I didn’t expect them to be, not with so many of their brothers dead because of me.
They hauled me away, took me out of the room I was in. I couldn’t see a thing. After a while, they led me outside and shoved me in a car. They got in with me, and I didn’t try anything. I still felt like shit, and honestly, now wasn’t the time to try to be a hero.
I didn’t know where we went, but my guess was we left Cypress behind, to a place where I would meet Atlas—or one of his top men. Probably the latter, since even his men didn’t know who he was.
Eventually, we arrived at our destination, and they grabbed me once again and dragged me out of the car. Into another place, one with steps. It was a hassle walking up steps while unable to see; I tripped quite a few times. We made it to what must be the final spot, because they forced me down into a chair and tied rope around my wrists, so tight they felt like they were cutting off the circulation, but I didn’t complain.
I think the Serpents left, because I heard a door close. The bag was still over my head, so I couldn’t see.
I waited. I waited, knowing nothing could beat what I’d already learned today.
The door swung open again, and this time a low voice spoke, “What the hell is this?”
Another voice spoke, “The girl Atlas wants. That Santos fuck delivered. We had to cover her eyes so she wouldn’t see where we were going. We ain’t done nothing to hurt her. We’re saving her for Atlas, just like you said.” He must’ve remained in the room with me, because I’d only heard one set of footsteps come in.
The first man chuckled. “When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it.”
It struck me then that the first voice was familiar.
“Give me your knife,” the first man demanded, and the second man began to stutter, but in the end, he must have handed it over, for he added, “Now get the fuck out of here and let me and the lady have some privacy.” He sounded like a man who was used to giving orders.
The other man left, and it was only when the door shut that I heard footsteps approaching me. A hand yanked off the sack on my head, and I squinted, my eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the bright light of the room we were in—a bedroom, from what it looked like. A bed sat in the corner, along with a dresser. A small enough space, and yet there was room enough to drag a chair in here and tie me up in it.
The man tossed the sack to the floor, flipping open the switchblade he held with an easy flick of his wrist. He stood before me, a smile on his face. He knelt down in front of me, letting me get a good, long look at him. His dark eyes, the short, dark hair. The torn-up shirt and jeans. That big, golden chain around his neck. All the tattoos.
“How’s it hanging, baby girl?” Damian asked, still grinning. “Sorry about them. I told them to be gentle with you, but you can’t blame them for being a little… let’s just call it pissed off. They blame you for killing their brothers.” He took that switchblade and cut the ropes tying both of my wrists down, releasing me just like that.
“Damian,” I said, rubbing my wrists, not bothering to get up. “You’re with the Serpents?” I wanted to shake my head, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but stare up at him and realize all this time I had him pegged wrong.
“Does that surprise you?” When I didn’t answer him, he went on, “I’m sure it does. You and all those other people in Cypress tend to turn up your pretty noses at people like me.” He paused, adding, “Except Atticus. It’s why he extended an invite to Atlas. The Hand needs new blood and all that. I wasn’t going to come, but when I heard that you and your father had moved to Cypress to try to win that spot… I kinda had to.”
Atticus invited the Serpents here? That was information even my father—I mean, Miguel—didn’t know.
“It took a long time, but we eventually found someone who saw a pretty blond running away from the church the same night three of my men were killed, along with a priest.” Damian looked at me, fiddling with the sharp end of the switchblade. “I take it that was you? No use lying to me now, baby girl.”
“Yes, it was me. I killed the three Serpents the night they killed Father Charlie.” My dad. I killed the men who’d killed my real dad. If Damian wanted me to apologize, I wouldn’t.
“I knew it.” He pointed the tip of the switchblade at me. “Ever since meeting you, I think I knew. Did you kill the other men who came looking for you at Cypress’s church?”
“No.”
Again, he knelt before me. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m not lying. Those ones aren’t on me.”
All he did was say, “Huh,” and start to pace the area before me.