EL DIABLO II Read online

  EL DIABLO II

  M. ROBINSON

  COPYRIGHT© 2020 El Diablo II by M. Robinson

  All rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, dead or alive, are a figment of the author’s imagination, and all incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s mind's eye and are not to be interpreted as real. Though several people, places, and events portrayed in this book are historically correct, the story is fiction that the author has made up for entertainment purposes only.

  LYRICS TO THE SONGS USED HAVE BEEN CHANGED FOR COPYRIGHT REASONS.

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CONNECT WITH M

  KEEPING HER UNDER THE MISTLETOE

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Epilogue

  DEDICATION

  Angela Pepe

  This story is the best it could possibly be because of you. Thank you for everything. I love you.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Personal Assistant: Heather Moss AKA Yoda

  Editor: Amy Briggs

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  COMPLICATE ME

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  EL DIABLO (THE DEVIL)

  ROAD TO NOWHERE

  ENDS HERE

  ROAD TO NOWHERE/ENDS HERE BUNDLE

  EL SANTO

  EL PECADOR

  EL SANTO/ EL PECADOR BUNDLE

  LOST BOY

  THE JAMESON BROTHERS BOX SET

  CHOOSING US

  CHOOSING YOU

  HATED YOU THEN

  LOVE YOU NOW

  FROM THE FIRST VERSE

  TIL THE LAST LYRIC

  NOVELLAS

  KEEPING HER WET

  KEEPING HER UNDER THE MISTLETOE

  Prologue

  —Cruz—

  With a wide stare, my eyes tore from one nightmare to the next. Shifting my gaze to the path of their wrath, I gasped loudly. Unable to hold in my emotions, suffocating for my next breath.

  My chest tightened.

  All the blood drained from my veins.

  I was suddenly freezing.

  Bitter fucking cold.

  My feet were glued to the goddamn dirty floor beneath me. Dragging me straight into Hell where the devil wanted me home.

  Our eyes stayed connected for several seconds. Fuck, it could have been hours. Time just sort of stood still. It wasn’t until my eyes lifted to theirs, that I didn’t think twice about it.

  I fell to my knees and begged, “Please.”

  Tears escaped my eyes, there was no hiding them. I’d never felt devastation quite like this. It was ripping me apart, crushing my bones, tearing me to shreds.

  One-by-one.

  I was a pile of ash.

  “Please,” I pleaded, unashamed.

  I thought I knew it all, had seen it all, experienced it all.

  I was wrong.

  So. Very. Wrong.

  “I’m begging you.” There was no hesitation in my decision when I spoke with conviction…

  Ending it all.

  “Kill me instead.”

  PART I

  Chapter 1

  —Cruz—

  “Pero, Papá!” my older sister Adriana shouted, “But, Dad!” loud and fucking clear in Spanish. The sharp sting of her disrespectful tone bounced off the living room walls of our home.

  If there was one thing our father demanded, it was respect in his presence.

  “You cannot continue to do this to me! I’m twenty-two years old! An adult! Non puoi!” she raged. “You can’t,” in Italian.

  Adriana only did this when she was rip-roaring mad, fucking fuming from the inside out. She’d start speaking in Spanish, Italian, or English—any languages we were fluent in. It was like her mind couldn’t process her thoughts fast enough, so she’d spit fire in whatever dialect formed first.

  He narrowed his intense, beady eyes at her. His stare taking her in with the intimidating demeanor we all knew and had experienced firsthand.

  Especially me, his only son.

  In one breath, he reminded, “I can do whatever I please, Adriana. Who’s going to stop me? You?” he mocked in a condescending tone.

  Her short fuse wasn’t going over well. It never did with him. Not that it ever stopped either of us from stoking
the flame.

  What did our father expect from his offspring? His blood ran through our veins. We were exactly like him.

  Proudly showcasing it more in moments like these where we’d question his authority. Making our demands known. The outcome of our argument never mattered. It was the war inside our souls that needed to be set free.

  At the age of twenty-one, I was less than a year younger than my sister. The older we became, the harder it was for him to control us. It didn’t help that he guarded Adriana like a rabid dog, ready to tear anyone who crossed her path to shreds with his bare teeth. Never thinking twice about it.

  We both knew it too.

  In the eyes of the law, she was an adult. Though it didn’t matter, our father still treated her like a little girl. Case in point, she still lived at home with no hope of moving out anytime soon. He controlled every aspect of her life and had no plans to change the rules he set forth upon her since she was conceived.

  However, he was much different with his only son. Our father didn’t place a shield in front of me like he did with my sister. If anything, he let me do whatever the fuck I pleased. Always saying he’d raised a man to take care of what was his.

  Our family.

  He expected—no demanded—I protected Adriana and our mother with each breath, including my last if necessary. With my help, our father sheltered Adriana from the world.

  I, on the other hand, was taught that fear of anything or anyone wasn’t an option.

  Maybe it was the symbolism behind my name. Crucifixio, which meant cross in Spanish. His mother, my late grandmother, wore a silver cross around her neck her whole life from El Barrio, the streets of Colombia, to the United States of America, the land of the free and the home of the brave.

  I’d heard all the stories. My grandfather migrated to the US to divide and conquer. He was God in the land of his greedy disciples, who chomped at the bit to have his head on a silver fucking platter.

  Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

  My father wore the heirloom until the time came for my mother to wear it around her neck. To protect her from his hell. Something our father did best, and I wasn’t talking about his life.

  Her roar hushed the devil.

  Or should I say…

  El Diablo.

  Once I was born, the cross was passed down to me, and I never took it off.

  My protection.

  From what?

  Adriana met his eyes, fully aware if she didn’t, he’d demand it of her. Standing her ground, she held her head high in defiance. If I noticed Adriana’s challenging stance, he sure as hell did too.

  “Why can’t you let me live my life? Huh? Why is it so hard for you to let me have any normalcy? Why can’t you trust me to make the right decisions?”

  Our father remained eerily calm, placing his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He simply replied, “Trust is earned, peladita.” Calling her a little girl in Spanish only earned him a disdainful expression through the slits in her eyes. She hated being called a little girl, as much as she hated him treating her like one. She despised it more than anything, and he’d been doing it all her life.

  “And what have I done not to have your trust? Huh? You barely let me out of your sight. I was homeschooled up until my sophomore year of high school, but Cruz was allowed to go to school since he could walk. How is that fair?”

  Everywhere she went, I followed. Along with three armed men. The private school we once attended was funded by our father. He built the library, the cafeteria, the goddamn football field.

  Money always ruled with an iron fist.

  Administration let us do whatever we wanted because of the almighty dollar.

  “I never said life was fair, Adriana. How many times must I remind you, everything I do is to protect you?”

  “Papá—”

  “Cruz,” my father interrupted her. Cocking his head to the side, he peered over at me. “You make sure she doesn’t leave your sight tonight. You’re her protection. I have business to attend to first. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Oh my God! It’s a graduation party! Are you for real? What exactly do you think is going to happen? I’m going to eat cake and stumble upon a dic—”

  “Protect my sister. Protect my mother. I’ve heard this my entire life,” I chimed in, unable to hold back any longer. “I already know, considering your goons have guarded us within an inch of their lives for as long as I can remember. But tell me, Padre?” I emphasized father in Spanish. “What exactly am I protecting them from?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Adriana grinning at me. Proud as fuck I was taking her side. Our mother was currently on our father’s private jet, on her way home from visiting her family in Oak Island. When she wasn’t around, his demons decided to come out and play.

  “Don’t question me, Crucifixio. You do as I say.”

  It was my turn to narrow my eyes at our father. Searching for the answers I desperately wanted since the moment I realized our life wasn’t normal by anyone’s standards but his. Growing up with bodyguards would do that to a child. You’ll inherently doubt everything.

  The rumors.

  The light whispers.

  The outright obedience our father commanded any time he walked into a room, wasn’t something we could ever overlook. It was blatantly displayed right in front of our eyes. Although no one ever told us why…

  We always knew.

  We’d seen the evidence with our own two eyes. The internet was a powerful tool we had at our disposal. Photos of the people who crossed him and didn’t live to tell about it were merely a click away on the world wide web. Though I had yet to meet this man people used to call The Devil. We’d see glimpses of him, mostly in battles like these.

  Never once had he admitted who he truly was.

  Is.

  I felt it in the deepest part of my bones. In the center of my being. The truth hidden in plain sight. The devil I was born to be, reflected in his daunting, seedy eyes. The fire, the darkness, the soulless glare stared back at me every time he barked an order.

  He knew it too.

  He felt what I saw.

  Now don’t get me wrong, he was an amazing father. We loved him as much as he loved us. But when it came to his family, El Diablo arose from the depths of the hell he buried himself in. Faking his own death. His enemies might have thought he was dead, though his demons…

  The ones he fought with and tried to hide from everyone, were still thriving and breathing all around us. It was Luciferian, his eternal flames scorching us alive.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Where I go is none of your concern, and quite frankly, Cruz, it’s none of your business.”

  Except, it wasn’t just him they were clawing for. They laid in wait, preying on what they really thirsted for…

  Me.

  “What if I’m making it my business?”

  Chapter 2

  —Cruz—

  He didn’t move, he didn’t make a sound. If our father was amused or taken back with what I challenged, he didn’t show it for one second. No matter the situations or the circumstances, Alejandro Martinez was always in control of his emotions. You never knew what the man was thinking or feeling, or what punishment he’d deem fit once he decided the argument was over.

  Weakness was never an option. I was either the wolf, or I was the sheep, there was no in between.

  Not when it came to him.

  Before I could even contemplate what was happening, or where this was going, he casually reached into his holster and pulled out his gun. Aiming it down at his side.

  I jerked back as Adriana gasped. Both stunned by the turn of events.

  “Papá—”

  Without looking at his daughter, he held up one finger in her direction.

  Silence.

  I would remember the next words out of his mouth for the rest of my life. In a jarringly still voice, he questioned, “You want to be a Martinez,
Crucifixio?”

  “Cruz, don’t—” Adriana stated, before I interrupted.

  I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  So many conflicting emotions erupted in a matter of seconds. I still didn’t fully understand my role as a Martinez, or what our father was implying. My body locked up when he presented his Glock for me to take. There it was, the polished black metal, shining bright in the space between us.

  The power it held.

  The control it had over me in that second.

  The path it would lead me down.

  My gaze shifted from his gun up to his vacant green eyes. I tried like hell to govern the sudden uncertainty, coursing through my body at rapid speeds with no end in sight. This was the first time in my life, I felt like he was finally showing me the devil inside of him.

  “You want to be a Martinez, Crucifixio?” he repeated, nodding toward one of the guards behind us. “Ambrosio, ven,” he called for him to come in Spanish.

  The guard quickly came, knowing his place and stood behind our father.

  “Man up, son. What if I told you Ambrosio betrayed us? How would you handle it?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “What did he do?”

  “The mere fact I told you he betrayed us is enough justification to make it right. Family over everything, Crucifixio. Including life.”

  Without thinking, my stare locked with his guard.

  “Don’t look at him. You look at me,” he ordered, snapping my attention back. “You look me in the eyes when I’m talking to you, Cruz. Always.”

  I swallowed hard, fighting back the emotions trying to climb their way to the surface.

  “Is this what you used to do, when you were El Diablo?”

  He cunningly arched an eyebrow. “Believe none of what you hear and half of what you see. Do you understand me?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I don’t have to.”

  “Are you going to kill him?”