by Amarie Avant
“Nothing.” I pull my Glock out of my waistband, tapping the trigger twice. The suppressor emits two muffled puffs. Placing my gloved hands beneath his shoulders, I ease his limp body to the ground inside of the entryway. I then close the door behind me.
“Benjamin . . . Benny?” Carlotta calls out as I start for the narrow stairwell. The fear twining her voice sends ripples of desire flooding through my bloodstream.
“Benny!” The inquiry grows frantic as I round the top step and enter the master suite. In the center of the king-sized bed, Carlotta cowers, clutching the duvet. The whites of her pupils expand as she stares down the barrel of my Glock. “What are you doing here, Dario?”
“You sent for me, did you not?”
“I-I know what you’ve been up to.”
“Hmmm, you’re tryna take the fun out of my forcing you to speak.” I wriggle my jaw. “What do you know, mami?”
“You’re sleeping with Dominic’s girlfriend.”
“What else?” I scoff, slightly disappointed Carlotta isn’t aware of the true me. The one the world hates to love.
“What the fuck do you mean, ‘what else?’ Dario, you sick pendejo! Does she even know who you are? I was at the gym. She called you Dominic, and I saw Dominic’s car at the salsa club that night. I was trying to work up the courage to tell them. Then I saw you.”
“You were so afraid of me.” I smile, picking up a bottle of her favorite perfume. “You had other chances to reach out to her or Dom.”
Jaw clenched, Carlotta growls, “I almost picked up the phone to call him, but who knows. Maybe you twins were playing a game? I’ve heard Dominic has an appetite for pretty women.”
“You included, sí?” I cock a brow.
She snaps. “I’m not that easy, pendejo.”
“Whatever you say, mami. You also saw her at the pier. Why not talk to her, then?”
“Someone was calling her name. I wasn’t going to get into it in front of someone else.” Carlotta gestures toward me. “Anyway, you can walk, you sick bastard!”
“You were the first person who should’ve known that, Carlotta. I had intentions of proposing to you—”
Carlotta shoves her curly hair out of her face to get a better look at me. “Aye Dios, propose?”
“Sí.”
“Not on your life! You went from quiet and broody, to polite, then to a total demon when I worked for you.”
“Because you—”
“Me?”
I snarl, “You cheating puta!”
“How did I cheat? Who the fuck did I cheat on, Dario?” She gestures between us. “We had a working relationship! Your hermano paid me—”
I level the gun at her. “You cheated with him?”
“No. Dominic paid me for hard, honest work! What do you mean propose? I-we—nothing happened between us, Dario. No matter how handsome you are, you are sick. No matter how attractive your eyes or amazing your bod is, it is not enough to stomach you. Put the gun down. Where is Benny?”
I stare at her. Even when stuck between a rock and a hard place, Carlotta is confused by how much power she truly wields. She has none.
“I said, where is Benny?”
“Dead. You will be too, soon enough.”
Her mouth launches wide, but my knife hurls into the wall, inches from her face. She starts for it, yanking at the lodged handle. Striding over, I nudge her nose with the silencer tip.
“Be smart, Carlotta.”
“St-stop it, Dario. I never manipulated you. All my patients received the same care and respect.”
“We were . . .” My speech trails off. Moments of Carlotta and I spin before my gaze. Yet, as I recall them, Alejandra is implanted into the scene instead. How can this be happening? I loved Carlotta, too. Where are our memories together—the ones where she surpassed being just my nurse?
As I contemplate, Carlotta yanks the handle of my knife. This time, she frees it. I bludgeon her temple with my gun, and the knife slips from her fingers. The beauty and doppelgänger of the woman who snatched my heart out years ago slumps onto the bed
Outside, Carlotta is draped in the sheet. I wrapped her in it as it was the only thing with fibers on it. Leaning her unconscious body to my side, I pop the trunk.
Glossy, brown eyes stare up at me. “Move over, gordita.”
Angelica whimpers, ankles bound, and arms zip-tied behind her back.
“Puta, move!”
She wiggles backward. The tape on her mouth muffles her silent cries.
I slide Carlotta inside next to her. My old nurse rouses, while I prepare a dose of propofol. Angelica is obedient enough not to need it. Moreover, my gordita has earned a treat. She will witness greatness tonight.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
El Santo
As if wearing an imaginary crown on her head, Angelica sits with her chin held high. We’re in a room of the building I own—on a different level than where I once held her captive. With a sliver of a smile on her face, she watches Carlotta suspended in the air. The tips of her toes attempt to gather purchase on the cement flooring. Carlotta shuffles about, arms stretching against her restraints.
I press a button, and the nurse ascends higher. More tears gloss over the duct tape covering Carlotta’s lips, wetting her chin. Drops cling to her chest, sliding over the tips of her taut nipples.
“Damn, what a beautiful sight.” The tip of my knife cruises over the sea of salted tears along the side of her breast. Carlotta sucks in air, heaving more tears. “What’s lovelier than a chula wet with tears? That very same puta devoid of the sickness inside her soul.”
I stalk over to Angelica and drape my arm across her back. My square jaw stops next to her cheek. Together, we glower at the enemy.
“Carlotta said she knows me.”
Bright shiny eyes beam at me with pride. “Then she should respect and revere you, El Santo.”
The nurse shakes as more tears collect across her luscious skin. With a few strides, I stand before Carlotta. In dreadful anticipation, her belly button hitches inward. My fingertips grip the edge of the tape at her lips, and I yank hard.
“Ouuuuh!” She sucks in air. “What are you calling him? His name is Dario Alvarez! Miss, please. You have to help me.”
Angelica’s face jiggles as she screams, “El Santo is helping you!”
“What’s wrong with you, bitch? You’re as crazy as him!”
I await Angelica’s answer. She has exceeded my expectations. Staring at her in awe, I notice my gordita has continued to slim down. I run my gloved hand along Angelica’s face. Then remove my glove to touch her warm skin. Unlike the others, her skin isn’t clammy to the touch, nor is she trembling.
Smiling, Angelica careens her cheek, the flesh of her fitting my palm. Feeling disloyalty to LeAnna, I step away from her, rubbing my hands over my jeans.
“Ge-get away!” Carlotta sways with the violent shout.
“Gordita wants to know how an ángel is created. I’m willing to disregard your disloyal heart, Carlotta. I’ll purify you.”
“Sick mother—”
“El Santo.” I clear my throat. “Now, for the process.”
“El what?”
“El Santo, mami. That’s my nombre.”
“No, no, no . . .” Carlotta sways, crying into her shoulder.
“Sí, puta.” Angelica laughs. “You are the scum of the earth. Using men. Torturing them with your beauty, ruining them for real women. Then when you have them in your snare, you’re running after the next. I know El Santo. Appreciate his offer to fix you.”
“Cleanse, gordita. Not only fix. Recreate.”
“You’re crazy, both so, so crazy.” Fury smolders across Carlotta’s skin, then blots out. I lift my index finger and gesture, at the very second, when she changes her tune.
She grovels. “Dario, I apologize if you ever believed I led you on. I can’t fathom how we were getting engaged. You’re extremely handsome, just like Dominic. You thought I had something for
him the day I quit. I didn’t. The two of you were just easy on the eyes, Dario. You’re being delusional again.”
“Don’t,” I sneer, “call me delusional.”
“Aye Dios! I’ve only ever dated older—”
A blood-curdling scream breaks free. Carlotta’s teeth clench in agony.
“That’s not the way I remember it, Carlotta. You loved me, then you took your love away,” I mutter. My knife slides into the sweet, soft area between the apex of her sex and inner thigh. An arch of fresh, hot blood sprays across my gloves, paints, and washes the mop bucket beneath her pretty toes. Humming, I create another incision along her inner elbows, severing her brachial arteries.
Placing the knife at my side, I turn around to my amiga. “Angelica, when it comes to my ángeles, I leave them suspended overnight. Their blood drains slowly.”
Her eyes rip away from Carlotta’s, and she nods slowly. “What’s next, El Santo?”
Reaching behind me, I cleave the knife into Carlotta’s chest. With narrowed eyes, I continue, “More serenity, less crying. Usually, I inject drain cleaner into their larynx, the first step, to silence them. They drain out overnight, as I said. Once they’re . . .”
“Asleep.”
I gape at Angelica. She distinctively said asleep, not presumed dead. Detective Carrington and the media at large have mistaken my ángeles need for a siesta in this world as death. Smiling, I offer her a nod.
“Sí, gordita. Once they’re asleep, Oxyclean purifies them—a very relaxing process.”
“Sounds soothing. She doesn’t deserve it.”
“Not at all. Why are you crying?”
Angelica’s lips shiver upwards at the edges. “I’m loyal to you, El Santo. Such a beautiful ritual. I’d love to know what else happens—if anything.”
The knife sinks into the bucket. I gage her interest, walking over to her. Then place my thumb along her inner wrist. She doesn’t respond to my touch as I seek her heartbeat.
“Next, I position their slumbering bodies like an ángel and leave a token butterfly at the center of their chest.”
“What does the butterfly signify?”
At Angelica’s question, my mouth furrows upward from fond memories. “The detective on the case made so many inferences.”
“How do you know?”
Ignoring her inquiry, I continue. “Miami PD first shared some intel to the media—just a tidbit meant to be a message to me. Of course, that was after the detective felt confident the women were an offering. He made inferences based on La Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre.”
“Our Lady Charity? Why?”
Again, I find myself studying my gordita to determine her interest. The puta who attempted to manipulate me about LeAnna has evolved. “In Barajagua, Cuba, there are legends of Our Lady Charity. Over the years, the statue has vanished from the alter to reappear again. During one such instance, a niña was playing outside picking flowers. Carefree, you know? Chasing . . .”
“Butterflies?”
“Sí. The girl was on a hillside near the Sierra Maestra, where she found the statue. The villagers took it as a sign that La Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre wanted to be there. In the field with the mariposas. The detective shared enough with the media to paint me as El Santo. The title stuck, though their profiles were baseless and meant as a message to me.”
“But how would you know the detective personally intended—”
“Because I do, Angelica!”
Her eyes bite shut. She takes a tapered breath. “El Santo, you’ve been transparent with me. Does that mean—”
I place my index finger over her lips. “We’ve become amigos, gordita. So, I’ll share. I was a surveillance tech for the Miami PD.” I glance over my shoulder at the milky hue of Carlotta.
“Since we’re friends,” she begins, measuring the pace of her words. “Will you let me go? Is my release still contingent on your relationship with LeAnna?”
I frame her cheeks. “You were so round, so soft when we met, Angelica Garces. Though you’ll never be an ángel, I’m fond of you, mami. I’ll keep you forever.” I search her over for any sign of rebellion. After a beat, I’m satisfied with Angelica’s show of appreciation.
“But the butterflies? El Santo, if the detective’s theory was incorrect. Why use them? I’m . . . curious.”
I give her soft cheeks a few slaps. “Another reason why you will live. I, for one, rather to save than murder. The butterflies have everything to do with the transformation of my ángel.” Though Angelica is waiting for the remainder of my statement, I silently contemplate how I save them because I failed Alejandra.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Dominic
“Dominic,” Aria groans in a seductively low tone. “I can’t be in trouble. I’m still half-sleep. Matter of fact, you’re depriving me of this right now.” She nudges her head in my direction.
Beneath the sheets, I peel the panties off her hips. “You’ve been fucked in your dreams. By whom?”
She giggles.
I nudge my nose against thick, slick pussy lips, then grate my teeth over her clit. “By whom, mami?”
Aria pushes the sheets down. I look up from her thighs and then bite down at the soft curve of her hip.
“You,” she chortles.
“You sure?”
“Yes, Dom. My pussy belongs to you, baby.”
My index finger twirls around her cunt curls as she smiles down at me. “Aye, I don’t remember fucking you in your dreams.”
“Ha! It was Dream Dominic, and I should warn, I thought you were the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. Dream Dom is a Cuban god with a mouth—outta this world. By all means, prove me wrong,” she teases, winding her hips so that I catch the sweetest, addictive scent.
My drug of choice is an inch away. I’d steal, kill not to let her go. Spreading her pussy with my hands, I drop a kiss from my lips to her glossed ones. “Damn, am I being challenged, Aria?”
I meet her gaze—mine, a dangerous glower; hers, a sparkling desire. She runs a hand over her breast, tweaking at her nipple. “Yesss, try me, Dominic.”
I run my fingers over her pussy. My hand becomes soaked. I swat the thick, wet folds.
Aria gulps on air. “You just—”
I spank her pussy.
“Dom, you’re craz—”
Again and again, I swat her fat cunt lips until the surprise shining on her face melts into dreamy desire.
“I’m cumming,” she screeches.
My mouth latches onto her pussy, tongue torturing and collecting the sweet sugar.
So much fat ass beneath her, it peeks out at the sides. I grip onto the heavy flesh, using it as leverage to fuck deeper into her. She can’t stop coming, sex rippling over my tongue and squirting down my mouth.
I slide up onto my haunches, lifting Aria around my hips. Her tits bounce as my dick drives deep. I kiss her neck, my lips tasting her beautiful brown skin as we grind together. She screams my name in my ear.
I fuck her with deliberate abandon. Happy tears stream down her cheeks, and her voice cracks as she comes on my cock. Gripping my shoulders, Aria screams until she can’t hold herself steady. I grip her hips, screwing into her. I slow to focus on how her pussy transforms into a second mouth, tasting the veins of my cock as it glides over my hardness.
“Who fucks you better, mami?”
“You! Dominic, you!”
Aria’s eyes close in ecstasy. Biting at the side of her neck, I growl. “Whose pussy is this, mami?”
“Yours.” Aria cries out in passion when my dick dominates her. I tighten my hold on her. My thrusts are commanding. Her moans are music to my ears. When Aria releases my cock, it violently fills her pussy with my hot seed.
I fall back onto the mattress with her on top of me. My arms encircle my everything, heart pounding against hers. She lifts her head, and it’s me who loses myself in her brown eyes. Those foreign feelings I’ve fought become menacing, in a desire to topple over. I sta
rt to speak, “Aria . . .”
At the same time, Aria says, “You’ve treated me like a queen far too long. I’m cooking breakfast.”
Gracias, Dios. I let out pent-up air. Bottling my emotions, I clasp her ass and smile. “You wanna know what’s better than bacon por la manana?”
“I’m not making bacon.”
“This pussy. You never have to cook for me, long as you keep your pussy wet, fat, and super-tight for papi. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, but—”
Aria’s laughter floats in the air as I flip her around until I’m on top. Then flip her once more, with her ass against my cock, which is hardening by the second. I palm her flesh, groaning at the small of her back dipping into an arch.
“Ass and pussy for breakfast is all I need, chula.”
“Dom.”
My tongue glides across her chocolate flesh, my teeth sinking in. “I wasn’t asking.”
In a fit of giggles, Aria begs. “Stop biting me, Dom. I’m the crazy one, remember?”
Her fingernails dig into the linen as my nose nudges her puckered hole. My tongue flies into her slit, collecting the marinated juice. My tongue is coated, and her pussy is a sloppy mess. I climb onto my knees and slide in.
“Dominic, we . . .”
“I’m addicted to this pussy.”
“I love you,” she groans, looking back at me. My heart pounds in my chest. Her breath tickling across my cheek. “Dominic, I love you.”
I sit on my haunches, and Aria moves around in a seated position.
“What do you want for breakfast, mami?” Fuck, my M.O. returns with a vengeance. If they don’t leave willingly, you present an illusion. I pushed one of the last few women I had at my home, before Aria, away for the same reason. Feed them breakfast, make them feel special, and then send them on their way.
She arches an eyebrow. My eyes fall to her breast. Then her gorgeous face out of respect and back again. “Mami, I care—”
“Of course, you do. I’m sure when women say the same three-word phrase while you’re pounding inside them, it’s less awkward.”
