El Pecador Read online

  His chest rose and fell with each vicious word tumbling from my mouth. “Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

  “I’m the man you fucking made me to be. You should be thanking me right now. I could have fucked her and tortured her in front of you, but I didn’t. Instead she died instantly along with your bastard son.”

  He cold-clocked me with the butt of his gun, causing my face to whip back from his blow. I chuckled, stepping away. Spitting blood at his feet before wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “I’ll let you have that one, considering I just killed your offspring.”

  “Why? After everything I’ve done for you! You owe me an explanation!”

  “I don’t owe you shit! I’m the man who’s been talking to the Feds! I’m the fucking mole you assigned me to look for, you dumb fuck. It’s been quite amusing watching you all these months, digging your own goddamn grave with each thrust into your whore. Turning you into a pussy-ass bitch while she was giving me all the information you were sharing with her. But you know what the best part was, Emilio? Seeing you squirm in your seat, trying to figure out who was feeding the Feds when it was right under your fucking nose the whole time. Who knew everything you have built could be brought down by a piece of ass. I guess the saying about women in your case must be true—never trust anything that bleeds for days and doesn’t fucking die.”

  His eyes widened and he jerked back, stunned by my sudden confession. “You see, my wife was working for the U.S. Interpol. It wasn’t me she wanted, it was you. Is everything making sense now? Are the pieces coming together?” I asked. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t go digging? Come on, you know me better than that. After I figured out which agency she was working for, I took a fucking meeting. They obviously already knew who I was through her investigation. They’d been waiting for my fucking call. They didn’t give a shit about Evita, like you didn’t give a fuck about your whore. The United States wanted your balls, old man. Their initial motivation was to bring you down, but as soon as they found out about my knowledge, my temperament, my experiences—knowing I wanted to get the fuck away from you and your regime—they wanted me to be a part of their team. Making me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” I paused, wanting everything I just shared to really sink in. Seeping into his skin and pores so it would become a permanent part of him. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew where I was going with this.

  However, that didn’t take away from the pleasure of me confirming it to him. “You’re looking at a U.S. citizen, Emilio Salazar. The country you despise is now the one I work for. I’m an attorney, I’ll fit right the fuck in.”

  I contemplated providing the evidence the U.S. wanted for him, but it wouldn’t have been enough of a severe and brutal punishment. Neither would death. Taking away everything he ever wanted, including my loyalty. Turning my back on him and leaving with everything he ever taught me, crossing over to be an ally with his worst fucking enemy.

  Now, that…

  Fucking destroyed him, and that was good enough for me.

  “You think you’re better than me, Damien. You’re exactly like me. It doesn’t matter where you are or who you work for. That will never change. Do you understand me? I own you because we’re one and the same.”

  I stepped toward him, leaning into his ear. Whispering, “I know.” And with that I shot him in the leg, grabbed his cellphone so he couldn’t call in a hit on me before I made it to the airport, and got the fuck out of there. Leaving him to wallow in the misery I created for him.

  I made it to my private flight safe and sound, contemplating his last words to me for most of the flight. Knowing he was right, I’d become the exact man I despised. The one who taught me everything I knew through nothing but blood and violence. I had taken so many lives in the name of Salazar over the years, and each death chipped away another part of my soul, but this death tonight, this death brought me a sense of righteousness. This was my way of avenging Amira’s family, my way of making up for not being able to save them all those years ago, and as much as I wanted to tell Emilio the real reason for his unborn son’s death….

  I couldn’t.

  It would only bring Amira’s destruction, more than what I’d already caused. At least I had peace of mind in knowing he felt everything Amira did the night he murdered her family. I did it for her, like I do everything for her.

  Eye for an eye motherfucker.

  A tangled web of lies and deceit was the only way I knew how to live.

  By Emilio’s side.

  By Amira’s.

  Especially… by mine.

  I left the only light in my life back in the bed with the one person who would always hold my soul. I used to think I lost it to communism the night we met, but I didn’t.

  It was Amira’s.

  It eternally belonged to her, and a man with no soul destroys everything in his path.

  Including himself.

  I cheated death entirely too many times and death never fucking liked it. Evil always comes after you because in the end…

  Death always wins.

  My life started and ended with Emilio Salazar. The second I stepped foot onto American soil, there was nothing left of me.

  El Santo.

  Exactly the way fate always wanted it to be.

  TWO

  DAMIEN

  Three years later

  I started to travel around the world not too long after coming to America. In three years’ time, I’d seen Australia, Paris, New York, Florence, the Grand fucking Canyon and those were just to name a few. I visited every place she ever wanted to see, my memory of her being my only companion. Wanting to escape the reality of my actions, seeking solace with every mile I traveled alone. I finally had the freedom she always wanted, always prayed for, and always knew she deserved. Yet, I felt like more of a prisoner now than I had in my entire life.

  The irony wasn’t lost on me.

  I was thirty-one years old, having to see the world without her by my side was a life far worse than fucking death. I walked aimlessly around the streets of Amsterdam alone, taking in yet another city she always wanted to visit. Somehow feeling closer to her even though I knew she was so far away. It was the only time I felt alive, living day to day with the constant reminders of the things I could never change was just another burden I carried with me.

  A relentless torture of love and hate.

  I was fully aware I sounded like a love-sick puppy, a pussy-whipped bitch, but you wanted honesty and this had become my reality. My only form of humanity would continue to be her. It always had been and nothing would ever change that. Don’t confuse my vulnerability toward her for anything other than what it was. I was still a fucking monster and nothing would ever change that either.

  I swear there were times when I could touch her, feel her, breathe her in. She was everywhere. Her presence filling the void all around me, but all that was left of us were echoes, and echoes eventually faded away. Disappearing like dust in the wind. It felt as if it had only been a moment, a lifetime, trying to remember as if I could forget.

  Anything.

  Everything.

  Her.

  “Damien, do you know who Anne Frank is?” Amira asked from my couch, looking up from her history book.

  “Yes, Muñeca, I know who she is,” I replied, turning the page in the book I was reading.

  “Will you take me to Amsterdam? I want to see where she lived with her family when they were in hiding from the Nazis.”

  Peering up at her through the slits of my eyes, I narrowed them at her. “Why?”

  Even though she smiled, there was still a hint of sadness behind her young, tainted stare. “She was just like us, Damien. Trapped in a life she never wanted by an evil man who tried to kill her spirit, but that never stopped her from believing in the greater good. I want to go to the place they hid and tell her I believe in it too. And because of that, we escaped our prison.”

  I jerked back, speechless by her revelation. S
he was barely twelve-years-old and more insightful than anyone I’d ever met. “Amira—”

  “I know you don’t believe, but it’s okay,” she assertively chimed in, already aware of what I was going to say. “I believe enough for the both of us. We will get out of Cuba and away from Emilio Salazar, to live a life of freedom. I know we will because you won’t ever stop until it happens. So just promise me you’ll take me there, okay? I want to leave her a rose to thank her for being brave like us.”

  I reluctantly nodded, unable to form the words to lie to her.

  I was so engrossed in my memories, by the splitting pain in my chest, and the agonizing demons on my shoulders, I didn’t even realize I was sitting at a bar, until the bartender asked, “What will it be, man?” breaking me away from my thoughts.

  I quickly glanced around the dark, secluded room where only a few people were sitting on a couch, talking. “Where am I?”

  “An underground club. You alright, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I didn’t pay him any mind because out of the corner of my eye, I caught the other bartender opening what appeared to be a candy wrapper with brown crystal powder inside. She didn’t even try to be discreet when she slipped the substance into the guy’s drink, handing it over to him with a knowing smile spread across her face.

  I arched an eyebrow, looked back over at my bartender and nodded to the guy next to me. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

  The man laughed, “You don’t want to know what it is?”

  “Where’s the fucking fun in that?”

  I watched as he mixed the same substance in my drink before he slid it across the bar toward me. In one fast swig, I downed the amber liquid immediately squinting my eyes as I blew out the strong taste of liquor. The stinging, bitter aftertaste that I knew must have been the drug, burned its way down my chest.

  His eyes widened, chuckling, “Man, you’re going to be so fucked up. You are supposed to sip, not take it down in one gulp. That’s pure MDMA, it’s not cut up. Not like that bullshit you guys call Ecstasy or Molly over in the States. I suggest you start drinking some water.” He threw me a cold bottle. “This shit is going to hit you hard and fast.”

  I hadn’t really experimented with drugs until I got to the States. I’d snorted blow a few times while I was in Cuba, but nothing compared to the shit the Colombian’s were transporting into Miami. The same shit I had my dirty fucking hands in as well. Dabbling in a little bit of this and that, but always staying under the radar.

  What did real cocaine make you feel like? Well, it made you feel like snorting more cocaine, which was why I didn’t partake very often. I hated chasing the high, it wasn’t my vibe. As far as Molly and Ecstasy were concerned, it was a club drug, I never tried till this very moment. What’s the saying? When in Rome and all that shit… Mostly, I just wanted to forget.

  Her.

  Them.

  Me.

  I hid behind the only thing that would let me get away with everything and anything.

  The law.

  Political corruption was all I’d ever known—there was no reason for me to change my profession. I just didn’t want to be under Emilio Salazar’s thumb anymore. I couldn’t fucking do it, not for one more day. I spent a decade of my life bowing down to that piece of shit, knowing I was always meant to do something more, to be a leader, never a fucking follower. Proving myself day in and day out. I came to the States to divide and conquer.

  Nothing more.

  Nothing less.

  Except, evil didn’t always hide in the shadows, in the darkness like I did in Cuba. Most of the time, it was out in the open, in plain fucking sight. Possessing the man, you’d least expect. Who everyone thought…

  Was just a Saint here on Earth.

  I worked closely with the U.S. Attorney General, taking top priority cases for the U.S. and on the side, I represented my own clients. I was currently in the process of starting up my own firm. At the end of the day, all that mattered was how fucking clean I kept my hands, and mine were fucking spotless.

  “Any last words?” I questioned through slightly jittery eyes. He was right the MDMA already started hitting my bloodstream.

  “Welcome to Amster-fucking-dam, the city of drugs and whores. Just close your eyes, buddy, and enjoy the ride.”

  “There is no rest for the wicked.” I grinned, turned, and vacated the stool I’d occupied for who knows how long. Making my way toward wherever the night would lead me, straight down the goddamn rabbit hole. I felt like I was walking on water, invisible like fucking God. An unfamiliar tingling sensation crept up and down my spine as I strolled through a bright, neon hallway in the same building with flashing lights. Fucking with my sensory perception. Trying to make it to the next room where heavy beats of music were coming from.

  At one point, I tried to reach out and touch the beams of light just to see if they were real, or if my mind was playing tricks on me. The closer I got to where the music was thumping loud against the speakers, the more my heart hammered against my chest. The beats and the melodies felt like they were a part of me. Demanding movement from every fiber in my body.

  I found myself needing to take a deep breath, which only made my whole body tingle more, my nerve endings sprinting alive as I continued my journey down the black hole. With every step I took down the long corridor, I listened intently to the rhythm of the night coursing through my veins and pumping in my blood. From the moment I stepped into the two-story building, I took in my surroundings. Everything from the blinking lights to the neon strobes, strumming around every corner. The lights forming halos and tracers when they moved to the beat, beaming over the crowd. Or at least that’s what I saw.

  My world was spinning off its axis. All the colors and movements felt like kaleidoscopic art, shifting around, everything becoming brighter and more alive with each passing second. I watched an alternate universe come to life through high-definition eyes, in a way I never had before. I knew my pupils must have been so fucking dilated to be able to see so clearly. With the DJ spinning and the lights pulsating all around me, it felt like the crowd and I were now connected from the vibration of the music.

  Every beat, every drop, every lyric... we were right there with him. I closed my eyes like all the other fucked up people dancing their asses off, leaning their heads back toward the ceiling, letting the melody of the music take us over. Beating into my body, mind, and soul. I had my eyes closed for more than a few seconds, savoring the euphoria surging through me. Riding the high for as long as I could.

  Minutes…

  Hours…

  Days…

  It all blended together, not having any sense of real time. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so fucking free. The crowd of the club only got louder, heavier, deeper. I don’t know how long I stood there swaying my hips, watching people dance. Loving life, living in the moment, letting the drugs swallow them whole.

  Not a care in this fucked up world.

  A sudden insatiable urge to connect with someone fell deeply over my mind, almost knocking me on my ass. I was still zooming by the time I decided to wander, welcoming the cold breeze against my overly-heated skin. The frigid night air did nothing to stop my curiosity, if anything it made it stronger. I started to bar hop, randomly talking to people as if I’d known them for years. Smoking cigarettes and weed which sent me down a completely different hole, having the time of my fucking life.

  At one point, I somehow ended up in an alleyway with flashing red lights coming from each side. Like a moth drawn to a fucking flame, I made my way toward the crowds of tourists gathering on the narrow street. Once I got closer, I quickly realized there were women dressed in nothing but lingerie, provocatively posing behind their own glass enclosures. They looked like birds in glass cages.

  Yet another prison.

  Out of nowhere, out of pure instinct, emotion, and feeling, I felt her before I saw her. She appeared out of thin air right before my very eyes.<
br />
  A goddamn angel behind clear glass.

  My angel…

  THREE

  DAMIEN

  Her long, dark hair flowed down the sides of her face, framing every inch of her sinful fucking body. Her hips swaying in a slow, sexy, seductive way only she could pull off. It reminded me of all the times I used to watch her dance in the backyard at Rosario’s home. The way her arms would gracefully caress the wind or how the sun would reflect off her soft silky skin. How her smile lit up the entire sky in the same way it was right now. It physically pained me to look at her in the same way it always had before, yet there I was still soaking in her smile, her laugh, and every last inch of her perfect fucking skin.

  Fucking ethereal.

  I wanted to close my eyes and shake my head, shoving away more of my favorite memories of her to the back of my tormented conscience, knowing it was probably just another illusion of my drug-infested mind, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I never could.

  Not for a second.

  A minute.

  A fucking lifetime.

  An unexplainable desire came over me, replacing all the memories I spent the last three years desperately trying to forget. Pulling and pushing me to walk toward her window.

  Amira.

  She watched me make my way toward her, never breaking our connection, our state of mind, our love with each step I took rushing me closer to her.

  Five…

  Four…

  Three…

  Two…

  One.

  Until there were no more steps to take. No more games to play, until everything faded out—the music, the lights, the crowd.