El Pecador : El Santo Book 2

by M. Robinson

  The respect.

  The power.

  The control.

  “I wanted to write this speech to prevent the emotion stemming from this occasion,” Salazar professed in Spanish, glancing all around the vast space. Purposely making eye contact with people in the crowd, allowing them to feel like individuals instead of a sea of bodies. He created a profound connection no one could ever comprehend unless they understood that…

  To his people.

  To his men.

  Especially me.

  Emilio Salazar was God.

  I watched and listened, feeling as though he was only talking to me. He entranced me in a way that only he always had.

  I wanted it more.

  I wanted it all.

  I was that man.

  Trained to be that solider. That warrior. The one who bled for my fatherland.

  Died for my fucking leader.

  My duty was to my country.

  Serving Emilio Salazar in any way I could.

  “Fatherland or death, we shall win!” Salazar shouted into the microphone for all to relish, but it felt like he was only truly speaking to me.

  Because all I ever wanted was to be him…

  I shook off the memories, witnessing all the grievers cry, mourn, and pray for the man who caused nothing but destruction wherever he went. Pure obedience like a fucking dog waiting for its owner’s direction and praise, the same way it had been for me. Looking back now, I couldn’t have been more fucking blind.

  I guided the chauffeur to drive us around the back, away from everyone, and park beside the church, nodding to him when the coast was clear to open the door.

  It was my moment of truth.

  Now or never.

  The day had finally arrived when I could put an end to the man who deserved to fucking die. Physically and emotionally in my mind. However, that didn’t stop my heart from pounding out of my chest as I grabbed Amira’s hand to help her step out of the SUV, bringing it up to my lips and gently kissing it before we made our entrance. She knowingly smiled, placing her other hand over my rapidly beating heart, comforting me the only way she knew how. I kissed her hand one last time, still holding onto it as I spun to lead the way toward the back door of the cathedral. Protectively walking in front of her, shielding her from I didn’t know what, but would soon find out. Trying like hell to go unnoticed by the press, guards, and everything else in between.

  I purposely dressed in a black suit and tie trying to blend in while Amira wore a tight black dress that slid down past her knees, hugging every delicious curve of her sinful fucking body. She would have preferred to wear a bright yellow spring dress, as she called it, wanting everyone to know she was celebrating Salazar’s death, not mourning him. But after I expressed that the less attention we drew to ourselves the safer the outcome would be, she decided against it and wore classic black dress instead. We were going into this situation blind and alone. Other than the guns we were strapped with, Amira and I were showing up to the viewing unprotected, and I would be lying if I said the thought alone didn’t make me nervous.

  For unforeseen circumstances, I left word back in the U.S. with anyone of importance of where I was traveling to in detail. Informing them if I didn’t communicate within twenty-four hours between phone calls then they could assume shit went fucking south. I wasn’t just any tourist traveling to Cuba to pay my respects to Dictator Emilio Salazar, I was refugee District Attorney Damien Montero, and I had the U.S. on my fucking side. Anything happened to me, all ties between Cuba and America would be severed and this godforsaken communist country knew it too. They’d be fucking stupid to fuck with me, but there was no way I could be sure, so I simply took matters into my own hands. Hence, the backup support.

  Once we made our way inside the cathedral, which happened to be where I married Evita, Amira subconsciously gripped my hand. The memories of that day came tumbling down on her as she was completely engrossed in the back of the church where I assumed she hid and watched me get married. I leaned into her ear, scanning the substantial open space, making sure no suspicious activity or people caught my eyes as I whispered, “Te amo, Muñeca.”

  Startling her thoughts. Her glossy eyes instantly connected with mine, and she tenderly smiled. Squeezing my hand again, appreciating the sentiment and reasoning behind my statement. Silently letting me know she was now ready to continue on with our journey.

  I checked every entrance, taking in account for every person who may be a possible threat. Salazar was constantly changing guards, and I highly doubted that changed after I left. If anything, it probably got worse. I didn’t recognize anyone, not even the visitors scattered around grieving. Some were sitting in pews, others were lighting candles, but there was no one surrounding the dark mahogany casket a few feet away from us.

  I no longer paid any mind to the distressed mourners, too fixated on the deceased man lying in the coffin we were suddenly walking toward. It felt as if I was hesitantly stepping in a slow, steady rhythm on the marble floors, biding my time. Checking the emotions coursing through my heated veins with each step that yanked me closer toward my creator. With my free hand, I swiftly clutched onto my gun in its holster, ready to shoot a fucking bullet in between his eyes if this was some sort of sick joke or worse, a possible set-up. It didn’t take long until we were standing in front of his lifeless body, peering down at the son of a bitch who destroyed both our lives.

  I expected to feel an intense, overpowering sense of rage for the man who was like a second father to me. Though I never imagined I’d feel an infinite amount of mixed emotions, each one conflicting the other in ways I wasn’t prepared for. You see, I hated Emilio Salazar with every breath in my body, but as I was standing there before him, I couldn’t help but feel a sudden loss for the fucking monster who did everything in his power to make me one too.

  Making me exactly like him.

  I was the spitting image of the man I despised, persecuting me to a life of murderous acts, defining who I was, who I’d become then and now, in every sense of the word. Thinking of the day he set my life in motion.

  The day he fucking cursed me.

  I thought if I came back to Cuba, back to Salazar, back to a life I never wanted but had been condemned to. My own personal hell where no one else existed, but me. I was shackled to my past and present, and I’d be damned if I was going to be chained to my future as well. I wanted to put an end to all the memories, the good and the bad. Cutting the tethered ties that held us together through the blood on our hands.

  There I was standing, praying in a church that I would no longer be the man with cold eyes and no soul. Who at the same time wished more than anything to have killed Emilio himself, with his bare hands. Ripping his life right out of him like he did with mine. With ours. It was the only illusion I craved in that moment. Imagining holding him down, pinning him to the floor by his throat, raced through my mind. The mere thought had me white knuckling the side of his casket. Physically feeling his windpipe constrict under my fingers, picturing the way I’d slowly choke the life from his body. How I’d savor his pain and anguish, his misery and torment as he took his last breaths. Envisioning his struggle and fight, flashing in front of my eyes as if I was murdering him right then and there.

  I leaned forward, getting as close as I could to his ear, staring dead at his tightly closed eyes. Still feeling his presence with me, even though he was supposedly resting in fucking peace. His ghost was sitting on my shoulder next to all my demons.

  The very same ones he enslaved me to.

  “Damien,” Amira muttered so low I could barely hear her. She squeezed my hand, reassuring me she was still there, conscious I was lost in my mind between what was real or what was imaginary.

  Between what was true or what was false.

  What was yet another sin or just simply retribution.

  She didn’t want to treat me like I was broken, only fueling the reality of how broken I essentially was.

  Tak
ing one last look at him, I ultimately decided to not give him another minute of our time because Amira was right, the motherfucker didn’t deserve it.

  The rest of this confrontation would be short and oh, so fucking sweet.

  “This woman you see standing beside me is Amira, Emilio. You remember Amira, don’t you? Of course, you do. You told me she was my responsibility. My daily reminder.” I smiled against his cold cheek. “I didn’t kill her, motherfucker. In fact, I’ve taken care of her, and it was all right under your fucking nose. I betrayed you from the second you revealed who you really were. And I traveled back to Cuba, back to this church to tell you one more thing.” Getting closer to his ear, I spoke with execution, “I hope you rot in Hell, you miserable piece of shit. And I will always regret that I didn’t send you there myself.”

  Finally freeing that monster from inside of me.

  Emilio Salazar.

  I whispered loud enough for Amira to hear every word that came out of my mouth, hopeful it would provide her with the closure she needed, channeled through me.

  Maybe it was the way she abruptly tensed beside me, or it could have been the way she whimpered my name, “Damien…”

  With desperation.

  Unease.

  Caution.

  A familiar lifeline she was throwing out for me, praying I would actually take it. Use it for the first time since she started trying to fucking save me. As if it were her only mission in life to conquer. I knew the second I straightened back up and turned around, I’d see the man I still hated but loved in every way, would be standing there in front of me. With a deep breath I did exactly that, coming face to face.

  With my father.

  TWENTY-NINE

  DAMIEN

  “Damien,” he voiced in the same tone Amira had just bellowed. Not believing his eyes that his son was standing before him. In the flesh and blood.

  I nodded, unable to form words to say what needed to be said which was a simple hello, but nothing had ever been simple between us. He stood there taking in the man he once called his son, intently eyeing me for what felt like an eternity. Rehearsing what to say in his head, making it clear that he had dreamt of this encounter for as long as I had been gone from his life. Way before I even left Cuba. I could see my childhood blaze through his eyes. Each time he blinked, another milestone came into his sight, leading us right back to the night he destroyed our family.

  Breaching our blood.

  Where we were no longer father and son.

  No longer anything but the man I lost respect for and the son he just… lost.

  He’d aged as to be expected after thirteen years, looking as exhausted as I felt after all the time, distance and years between us. His narrowed eyes shifted to Amira, zeroing in on her in a much different way than he had with me.

  “Hello, Mr. Montero,” Amira announced, breaking the deafening silence. “I’m Amira. Do you remember who I am?”

  Realization instantly assaulted his memory, remembering who she was indeed. “You look… well,” he stated in an unsteady tone, peering back at me and then at her again, wavering on who to focus on. “You both do.”

  “We’re here for—” I started.

  “I know why you’re here,” he interrupted me. “And to be straightforward, it doesn’t surprise me. I figured you’d come, just never imagined it would be with her.” He eyed Amira up and down like he couldn’t believe she was there, his gaze lingering on our entwined hands before he brought his attention back up to me. “Do you a have a few minutes to spare? To talk in private.”

  I swallowed hard, nodding for him to lead the way toward the exit where our SUV was parked. Walking through a sea of grieving men and women who were now forming a line to pay their respects to their prestigious leader. I scanned the space one last time, being overly cautious of our surroundings as we followed close behind my father. Noticing for the first time I still hadn’t let go of Amira’s hand since we arrived. I pulled her close to my body as the exit came into sight, welcoming her warmth against my tensed frame. We crossed the threshold into the Havana sun and stopped a few feet away from the building. My father glanced back and forth between us again, an awkward silence filled the stifling air amongst us. Only heightening the friction in my heated composure.

  Amira must have interpreted the trepidation like her presence was the problem because she hastily intervened, “I’ll give you two some privacy. I’ll be in the car waiting.” She was about to let go of my hand, taking a step to leave, when I firmly held her beside me. Not allowing her to move at all.

  We locked eyes. “Anything discussed can be said in front of you, Muñeca.”

  Her eyes widened in shock, realizing I needed her now more than ever, and I was openly making it known for the first time. To my father as well as Amira, and the expression on her face was worth the years it took to get to this place in time.

  “Damn, it’s good to see you,” my father addressed, dragging our focus to him. “Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve wanted to reach out, but didn’t have the courage. I was too afraid of how you would react, how you would read my intentions, that were strictly pure and out of concern for you.”

  “What do you want me to say?” I shrugged, shaking my head. “That I would have welcomed you back with open arms? That we could have tried to mend our relationship after everything that happened? A huge part of me left Cuba because of Salazar and a completely different part of me left because of you. You might not be entirely responsible for the man I turned out to be, but I still hold you accountable. And no amount of reaching out could ever change that.”

  “Look…” He faltered. “I can’t change the past, it’s already written. As much as I wish it weren’t true, it’s etched into who we are. You’re right, nothing is going to change what we’ve been through. But you got out, Damien… and I couldn’t be more grateful for that. This isn’t the life I wanted for you—the life of the man, the father, the monster you see standing in front of you.” He crudely jabbed his chest. “I hate Emilio Salazar probably more than you do. Not only did I lose my life to that piece of shit, I lost my son’s too.” Nodding to Amira, he heavily expressed, “And hers.”

  I could see Amira’s glossy eyes out of the corner of my mine, mirroring the way I unexpectedly felt inside. My chest constricted, making it hard to maintain my self-control with the sudden awareness that my father and I were more alike than I ever could have imagined.

  “I’m sorry, Damien. For everything. If you could please just put yourself in my place for one second, you’d see I did everything in my power to stop you from becoming Salazar, without losing my own life. Which I gladly would’ve handed over to him if it guaranteed your freedom, but you and I both know it wouldn’t have. I’d just be dead, another victim falling into his trap. Where you would’ve been left alone with him, and I couldn’t do that to you, not after everything I’d already done. I may have lost you, but I still held onto the hope that one day I’d find you again and we could make up for lost time. Maybe not as father and son, but as two people who could possibly build a relationship toward that again.”

  “Listen,” I breathed out, overwhelmed and slightly aggravated by his honesty that had me hanging on by a fucking thread.

  I couldn’t decipher the difference between my distorted emotions of wanting to hurt him some more with my actions, my words, my fucking truths, or to just finally accept his apology after all these years. They were as conflicting as my sentiments for Emilio, two men I once loved and eventually hated at the same time. I don’t know why I thought this was going to be easy when nothing in my life had ever been. I tried to control my inner demons, but one of the biggest afflictions was standing right in front of me, and I had no choice but to face them head on.

  “Now isn’t the time to figure any of this shit out. I didn’t come here for a heart to heart today. I did what we came here to do. Now if you’d excuse us, we have plans.”
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  “Damien…” Amira coaxed, squeezing my hand as she glanced at the side of my face. “Enough, please.”

  I looked into her eyes, trying to find any reasoning through her compassionate stare. She peered back into mine, knowing exactly what I was doing. What I was trying to find.

  “It wasn’t his fault, just as much as it wasn’t yours or mine. We’ve all been held prisoner by that man. He’s right, you escaped, I escaped, we left while your father stayed in this hell, subjected to him. Honestly, I’m surprised Emilio let him live after you fled.”

  “Amira—”

  “No, you wanted me to stay and listen, and I have. I’m going to voice my opinion because it needs to be said. You can’t keep punishing your own blood, he’s not Salazar. He’s your father, and he loves you. You don’t realize how lucky you are to still have a parent living, breathing. Standing in front of you, fighting to be included in any aspect of your life. You wanted to come back to Cuba to rid yourself of all your demons. Well I’m telling you, he”—she pointed to him—“is not one of them. Make up with your father because there will come a time when he won’t be alive, and I know you will regret not giving him a chance to make things right between the two of you. Stop creating new demons, you’re only setting yourself up for failure.”

  And there she was, the only woman who could ever put me in my place. I loved her more in that moment than I had in any other, for her forgiving heart and beautiful fucking soul. Two qualities I’d never have, I just wasn’t made that way.

  He didn’t make me that way.

  My father’s undivided attention focused on Amira, almost like he was trying to tell her something through his eyes. I ignored the sentiment, taking a deep breath, rasping, “We need to get going, Amira.” Not wanting to continue this conversation.

  She smiled at me before hesitantly stepping toward my father, throwing one arm around his neck, embracing him while still holding onto my hand. Almost like she was hugging him for me, providing comfort in the way I never could. From the look on my father’s face, he was just as surprised by her gesture as I was, but appreciated it nonetheless by returning the sentiment. She visibly relaxed into him, quickly whispering something in his ear I couldn’t hear before slowly pulling away.