by M. Robinson
The memories I spent years trying to forget came rushing back to me while I sped through traffic. Running every red light, every stop sign, and anything else that got in my way. I couldn’t get home fast enough.
I answered my phone when it rang again, thinking it was Joseph. “Yeah?”
“Where the hell are you? Do you have any idea how bad this looks? You’re winning! You’re going to—”
I cut off my campaign manager, “You handle it! Pull some bullshit excuse out of your ass as to why I’m not going to make it! It’s why I pay you a fuckload of money, George!” I hung up, never giving it a second thought.
It didn’t take long until I was slamming on my brakes as soon as I drove up to my building. Abandoning my car out front, not giving a flying fuck I left it in a tow away zone. This was much faster than driving through the parking garage to my designated spot. I hauled my motherfucking ass inside the building, deciding to take the stairs three at a time versus waiting for the private elevator up to my presidential suite on the top floor.
“Jesus, Damien, calm down,” Joseph suggested when he saw me round the corner to my door.
I punched in the code without saying a word, leading us both inside my condo. Throwing my keys, phone, and gun on the coffee table in the living room, loosening my goddamn tie that all of a sudden felt like a noose around my neck. He sat in the armchair and I followed suit, sitting on the sofa in front of him.
“Talk,” I ordered, nodding to the folder in his hands. Ignoring the adrenaline and endorphins running through my body and mostly my mind from sprinting this entire time.
“I don’t know how I came across her file—”
“File?” I jerked back.
“Yeah, Damien. Her file. Listen, man… the reason I didn’t want to say this over the phone was because even though I did find her, she’s—”
“She’s what? Does Salazar have her? Is she hurt? Jesus Christ, Joseph! Where the fuck is she?”
He took a deep breath, shaking his head with a sullen expression on his face. My whole world came crashing down on me when he stated, “I’m so sorry, Damien. Amira’s gone…”
Fear set in, the room started to spin, and my stomach fell to the fucking floor when he added, “She’s dead. Amira died. I mean… she passed away shortly after you left Cuba.”
The forceful blow of his words was like taking a bullet to my goddamn heart, causing my hand to suddenly clench onto my chest.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t fucking breathe.
“I just came across her death certificate while I was looking for evidence for another case I’m assigned to. The woman I was looking for just happened to be in Cuba and matched her description. I’m sorry, man. God, Damien… I’m so fucking sorry… I never thought to look through death certificates. I mean, you know… it’s not something I would normally do—”
I put my hand up in the air, stopping him from going any further. There wasn’t anything else he could say or do to change the fact she was gone.
“Was it Emilio?” I asked, trying to hold it together. “Did he do this?”
He shook his head. “No, I don't think so. The cause of death says complications from cardiac arrest. A number of factors could play into that.”
I didn’t think I was capable of feeling devastation anymore. I’d done too much shady shit, killed too many people, hurt too many lives. That emotion inside of me was turned off long ago. My humanity gone. It had to be, it was the only way I could keep going.
The pain.
The misery.
The lies.
My truths.
Not once did I ever think about the pain I was inflicting. The consequences of my actions would be the biggest regrets of my life. I knew it was only a matter of time until it all caught up with me, I just never imagined it would be through her.
You reap what you sow, motherfucker.
I slowly shut my eyes, bowing my head in shame. My body unable to hold it up any longer. I placed my elbows on my knees, holding my hammering head in between my hands instead.
“Leave the file and get out,” I murmured loud enough for him to hear.
“Damien, don’t—”
“GET THE FUCK OUT!” I roared, seeing nothing but her face. Our memories—the good, the bad, and everything else in between.
I abruptly stood, my feet moving on their own accord over to the wet bar in the corner of the room, turning my back to him. Downing the amber liquid without thinking twice about it. No glass needed. I brought the bottle away from my mouth, hurling it across the room as soon as I heard the door shut behind him. Watching as it shattered against the wall, falling into shards of glass on the hardwood floor. My stomach churned, my mind reeled, and my body felt as if it was falling the fuck apart.
Everything progressed in slow motion, seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours, and the night felt like a goddamn eternity that would never end. My body couldn’t move fast enough around the room, pushing over everything in my immediate sight. Throwing and swinging at anything I could find, screaming at the top of my lungs over and over again, until my throat burned raw and my chest heaved.
Until there was nothing left of me.
I fell to the floor on my knees, panting and heaving, every breath harder to take than the one before. My adrenaline was racing, my body felt stiff, and my bloody hands were shaking. I suddenly felt bile rising in my throat, and fought back the urge to release the contents stirring inside of me. Taking a few deep breaths, I crouched forward unable to hold myself up any longer. Burying my head in my hands, gasping for air. Gripping onto memories—anything, everything that would make me feel closer to her even though she wasn’t there. She would never be there. Anywhere.
She would never smile.
She would never laugh.
She would never breathe…
Her heart would never beat. Dying because of me.
I. Killed. Her.
The only words that registered were…
“She was gone.”
“Amira’s dead.”
“She died of heart complications.”
They were endless phrases, repeating themselves over and over in my head. A cycle I couldn’t stop, over and over again.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t talk.
All I could do was feel.
Her.
All around me.
My vision blurred, unable to see anything in front of me. Was I crying?
Darkness settled as I sat there alone. Until my body couldn’t take it anymore, until my mind needed to see the truth my cold heart didn’t want to believe. I don’t know how, but I blinked and I was sitting on the couch with her file open in front of me on the table. Staring at her death certificate. Unable to form words or thoughts.
Just pain.
Nothing but fucking pain.
I grew anxious and impatient from the mixed emotions throbbing inside of me. I hadn’t felt these demons in so fucking long. The sentiments dwelled in the dark hollow spaces of my core and in the forefront of my mind. I allowed them to take over, to take control of every last inch of my being. That’s when my eyes shifted to my gun where I had left it, my hand moving on its own accord to reach for it. Immediately flicking off the safety, I instantly raised the gun up to my temple, keeping my eyes wide open.
I didn’t deserve peace by shutting them. I wanted to feel every second of my demise until the flames from Hell engulfed my body, burning me alive. It was what I deserved. It was what I had always fucking deserved. There was no comfort in knowing we would soon be together at the gates of Heaven, because we all knew I was going to Hell.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Muñeca,” I uttered out loud, throwing me into a memory I watched unfold before my very eyes.
“Please don’t do this,” Amira bellowed, her eyes welling up with fresh tears. “Please, Damien, I’m begging you. Please don’t do this.” She sounded like the panicked little girl I first met almost
six years ago.
Breaking my fucking dark, soulless heart.
“I promise I will listen to everything you say and order me to do. I swear I’ll stop teasing you. I’ll stop waking you up in the middle of the night. I will do whatever it takes to make you not send me away,” she pleaded, her voice breaking profusely. Gasping for her next breath.
I was surprised she managed to get it all out. Tears escaped her eyes, falling down the sides of her shattered face. Fueling the war between what was right and what was wrong. My heart battling my mind, when all I wanted to do was protect her.
“Jesus Christ, Amira. That has nothing to do with it.”
“Then why? Why are you doing this? Is it because your father knows about me? He’s not going to tell. And if he did, it doesn’t matter. I’ll hide! That’s what I’m good at, you said it yourself! I won’t leave the house. I’ll stay in my room. I don’t care!”
“What kind of life would that be for you?”
“One that’s with you! And Rosarío! The only life I know!”
Her words were like taking bullet after bullet to my motherfucking heart. Inflicting pain, far worse than I have ever experienced before. I had to push through. I had to stay strong, this wasn’t about me.
It was about Amira.
I needed to get her the fuck out of Cuba.
Right. Fucking. Now.
I stepped toward her, touching the end of her nose causing her to grimace. For the first time the sentiment I had been doing for years, tormented and agonized us both in different ways. I placed my hand on her cheek, hoping she wouldn’t recoil away again. I knew what I was about to tell her was going to break her.
“Listen to me. I need you to listen to what I have to say because regardless, Muñeca, I’m placing you on that fucking boat with or without your consent. Do you understand me?”
And she did. She broke. Her chest heaved, her body shook under my touch, and so many goddamn tears fell in between us. I could no longer see her bright, big brown eyes.
“I’m not making you go away, Amira. I’m just following through on my promise to always keep you safe, no matter what. It’s not safe for you here anymore. It never has been. If anything were to happen to you, because of me…” I didn’t have to continue with what I had to say.
She knew it as much as I did.
I would kill myself.
“No one’s safe here! Especially not you, and if that’s the case then you have to come with me. As long as Emilio is alive, you’re in danger too. Please Damien! I can’t do this without you! I can’t live without you!” she repeated until it made itself home within my core.
Where it would eternally live alongside the hatred I already had for myself for everything I had cost her.
In the end, it didn’t matter…
I cost Amira her life anyway.
“I love you, Muñeca. I will always fucking love you,” I wept, allowing a single tear to flow loosely down my face. Taking pride in seeing her beautiful face in front of me one last time, not hesitating to pull the fucking trigger.
Click.
I sucked in a startled breath from hearing the gun click over, indicating there were no bullets in the chamber.
“Motherfucker,” I breathed out, knowing Joseph must have unloaded my gun and taken the bullets with him. Fully aware of what I would do.
The realization didn’t sink in because the CNN alert on my phone went off right at that moment, bringing my attention to the news on the screen.
Damien Montero re-elected as District Attorney.
I once again had everything I ever wanted, realizing I would never have her…
Again.
TEN
DAMIEN
I had a fucking death wish.
After Joseph delivered the blow that Amira had perished, and we had been chasing a fucking ghost, I shut down. The pain was too much, yet I welcomed it. I deserved it. The last shred of humanity I was clenching onto snapped with the click of the gun that night. Burying El Santo and embracing El Pecador. My demons raising a fucking glass, greeting me at the gates of Hell, taking bets on how many brushes with death I could survive.
Which led me to this point in time.
A few weeks later, I was walking through a set of wrought iron doors that led into a mansion, where an invite only, black tie affair was being held at a secluded resort in Miami. The only setback was I didn’t have an invite, although I was wearing a black fucking tie.
I wouldn’t need an invite.
At least not by my standards, and as far as I was concerned, those were the only ones that mattered.
“Good evening, Sir. I need your name, driver’s license, and invitation please,” the security personnel greeted, standing front and center at the entrance. Along with an arsenal of others all dressed to the nines, covering their posts in the surrounding area.
“I don’t need an invitation,” I casually replied.
“No invite, no entrance.”
I eyed him up and down, cocking my head to the side. “I beg to fucking differ.”
He narrowed his eyes at me.
“I’m District Attorney Damien Montero, and I want to meet your boss. I’m not talking about the man you answer to. I want to meet the motherfucker you’re not allowed to talk about. If you don’t make it happen right now, I’ll call this little soirée in for a raid. Inviting my own officers to come figure out how many laws are being broken here tonight. How’s that sound? Is that form of invitation enough for you?”
I wasn’t surprised in the least when he swung at me. In fact, I was expecting it. I ducked, grabbing ahold of his wrist, twisting him around so his back was against my chest. Cranking up his arm behind him like he was under arrest. My gun to his head before he even saw it coming. In two seconds flat, every guard had their guns out, aiming them directly at us.
“Goddamn! Now, it’s a party!” I excitedly roused, digging my gun deeper into his temple. “Allow me to introduce myself to the rest of you, I’m District Attorney Damien Montero and as I was so graciously informing este hijo de puta,” I announced, “this son of a bitch” in Spanish. “I want to meet the man in charge of all the illegal activity happening here tonight. If one of you doesn’t make it happen right fucking now, I’ll invite more guests by calling in a search warrant. Turn this black-tie event into a real fucking party. Do I make myself clear?”
“Who the fuck do you think you are? We’re not scared of you, motherfucker,” the guard to the right of us gritted out.
“No?” I mocked, shoving the man in my hold away from me. Immediately shooting him in the back of the head on his way down, killing him point blank. Pulling out my other gun from my holster, taking down three others with single shots to their knees, no sooner than they could blink. Sparing their lives for now. I redirected the aim of my guns at the shit-talking guard, standing at my right and stated, “How about now?”
His eyes widened, taking in the scene laid out in front of him.
“We both know what’s going to happen if you kill me. You’re smart enough to realize I would cover my tracks. Anyone who matters has the knowledge of my whereabouts. Even if you hid my body, it’s still going to fall back on your boss. I will look like a hero who was trying to take down a sex-trafficking ring, while he spends the rest of his life in fucking prison. Getting gang raped in el culo by Chester and his friends. I mean, killing you, of course, after he tortures you and more than likely your entire family.”
He knew what I was saying was the truth. I could see it in his beady expression.
“I don’t give a flying fuck if I die… Can you say the same?” I paused, allowing my words to sink in. Lowering my guns to my sides, ending the standoff.
It was over.
I won.
“I suggest you use your earpiece and tell whoever the fuck you answer to, I’ll be waiting at the bar inside.” I didn’t give him a chance to reply, holstering my guns as I made my way toward the front doors. “He has ten minutes to send someo
ne for me, or I’m going to place a call,” I added, never once looking back.
As soon as I walked into the infamous party, I could feel the same aura and magnetic pull of all the whorehouses I’d been in. The smell of pussy and sex instantly assaulted my senses. It was hard to ignore when it was all around you, which was the point of these establishments. It suffocated people with the need to fuck, paying a shitload of money to own a slave for the night or even take one home with you.
I walked past the foyer, over to two of the most elegant grand staircases that flowed seamlessly to the marble floors, opposite of each other. There was translucent lighting everywhere with half-naked girls dancing seductively in certain areas around the open room. Food laid on the bare skin of both men and women, and the waitresses walked around topless, wearing nothing but G-strings and a fucking smile.
Some were straddling men, others were going at it with women, and some were even in groups. Taking it in every hole simultaneously. I watched as they sucked cock and ate pussy, being fucked and receiving pleasure. None of it got my cock hard. I was desensitized to shit shows like these. Especially since I knew this was just a cover up for the main fucking event, on display somewhere behind these walls.
“So, you’re the one who’s been misbehaving,” a busty blonde announced, stepping out in front of me. Catching my attention straightaway. “I’m Cecilia.”
“Is that supposed to impress me? I’m assuming you’re the one who’s going to take me to your boss.”
She smiled wider, placing her hand on my chest. “Wow, way to hurt a girl’s feelings. I thought we could do some talking first. Perhaps grab a drink.”
“The only talking I want to do is with your boss. I’m done playing games, take me to him. Now.”
She reluctantly nodded, leading the way. I followed close behind as we took the staircase to the second floor, leading us to a private elevator with more guards standing around. Cecilia set her index finger on the security screen, making the doors open. Punching in a code on the keypad once we were both inside. I stood on the opposite end of the elevator, the furthest spot away from her. My eyes stayed focused out in front of me, and her eyes stayed locked on the side of my face as we ascended to the top floor.