by Amarie Avant
“Okay,” I stutter, eyes flicking to the bathroom where Roslyn is hacking into the toilet. His malevolent eyes follow. “Let’s talk, Dom.”
“Who is that?”
“Nobo—”
“Are you seeing someone else?” He grabs my shoulder as if he can shake the answer out of me.
“It’s Roslyn, my best friend. Can we talk in my art room, please?” I ask firmly, considering how I need to get him away from my pregnant friend. My gander flickers toward the knife in his other hand. “You mean so much to me. Let’s work things out. I appreciate your patience. Dom, I love you.”
“You’ve tossed that phrase around too many times, LeAnna. To me, to him.”
“What do you mean?” I inquire, gesturing for the door, but he stops to glare at me. Do I keep him talking? How do I put distance between my friend and us? Fear clings to me, making it hard to listen. I find myself drowning when Roslyn grips my hand, pulling me to her.
A million tiny particles of guilt gnaw at me. I had spazzed out in the time it had taken her to enter.
I look up at Dominic and try to remove Roslyn from my grip.
“Oye, what are you doing, Aria?” she whispers. “He’s got a knife.”
Fixating my eyes on him, I pry Roslyn’s fingers off my arm. Dominic’s words wrap around my brain: “You’ve tossed that phrase around too many times, LeAnna. To me, to him.”
To me. To him.
With Roslyn trembling at my side, I manage to free myself from her hold.
“No, Aria.”
“Let me go, Ros.” I gasp, in a trance, never removing my eyes from his. “You’re not Dominic.”
His head tracks side to side. It’s the creepiest gesture I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
“Aria, shuddup.” She wraps her arms around me. As he advances on us, the knife glides into Ros’ shoulder. My friend screeches as his hand comes down again. I block his attempt to stab Roslyn. The strength of his palm against my chest sends me flying. My temple bounces off the wall. The second plunge misses the side of Roslyn’s neck as she drops to the ground.
“Dario!” I shout the name of the cruel one.
The dripping wet blade stalls, midair.
“Dario.” I gasp. Oh, God! How is this happening? I propel myself to speak. “You love me. You wouldn’t hurt my best friend, would you?”
“Ar-Aria.” Roslyn shutters, clasping her bloody shoulder.
Inhuman, quiet, he turns all his attention on me. Blood drips off his knife. The history Roslyn and I share becomes an outlet of understanding as my eyes lock onto her. The once-popular girl chose me for her team in physical education. Hand signals were the reason I didn’t totally suck. I issue the one, warning her to run.
“I’m not leaving you.” She mouths, clamoring off the ground.
Dario extends a hand to me, just as Roslyn yanks the lamp from the wall. His knife sails into the same spot. He starts to stab her again.
He lifts his arm again, and I cling to him. “Please, please, pa-papi, please.” I hold tightly to him.
“She wants to keep you from me. They do! Her. Dominic!”
“Fuck everyone, Dario. You’ve always put me first.” Bile creeps up my throat, ready to spew out with the lies.
Images flicker in my mind of us. Intimate memories I was never aware of because he’d claimed to be my Dominic. I toss the chess piece on the table. “We’re pregnant, Dario. Like I said, we have to put each other first for the sake of our baby. Screw anyone else.”
Tensing up, I calm his nerves as my fingers skim across his face. Earlier, my heart had been blown to smithereens by Dominic’s antics. It occurs to me how his manipulative brother deceived me. But for how long?
Looking at him with the same adulation I would Dominic, I say again, “I’m pregnant. The test is in the bathroom.” Go check, bastard.
Once Dario finds Roslyn’s test in the bathroom, under the guise that it’s mine, I wonder how quickly I can get her up to escape.
Dario takes a few steps toward my bathroom. I signal for Roslyn. Her entire body freezes in doubt. I signal again how she will need to run on my count.
In a swift move, he’s spun around and gripped Roslyn by the back of the neck. “Go fetch, puta.”
Her fresh, bloody handprint coats the limestone as she attempts to stand.
“Let’s go,” I beg him. “Me and you. Now, please.”
Gorgeous eyes narrowed into slits, Dario declares, “I don’t trust you anymore, LeAnna. You’ll have to rectify that. Starting now.”
I nod, mustering sympathy. Going crazy now is bad timing, I warn myself. Separate yourself from Ros first. She’s pregnant. Oh, God, her survival is in my hands.
Gain his trust, second.
Last, strike.
“Toss it here!” Dario snarls.
“Here you go, bitch!” Roslyn throws with her non-dominant hand, falling against the doorframe. The entire front of her shirt is steeped in blood.
He catches the test, glances at it, and then at me. A gleam crosses his face; shoulders broaden in pride.
“Aria?” someone calls out to me. Dario faces the hallway. With the flick of his wrist, the knife launches out of his fingers.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Dominic
“Aria?” Bass backs the hardness of my tone. An eerie placidity follows as I start down the hallway of Aria’s apartment. “Aria!” I call out again, my vision modifying to the darkness.
Warning signs pop off as I notice bare feet inside Aria’s bedroom. Speechless, I fall to my knees, pulling her stiff body to me. I run my hands through the hair. It’s too light to be Aria. I lay the body aside and stand.
It’s Miranda. I’d avoided her as much as humanly possible when coming and going.
“Aria?” I grit out. Don’t be too late, I tell myself.
“Helppppp,” another feminine voice croaks, closer to the bathroom. I call for an ambulance, careful not to compromise the crime scene while heading over.
Roslyn is leaning against the wall, clutching her shoulder.
Snatching a towel from the rack, I apply pressure to her wound. “Where’s Aria?”
“She—fuck!” Roslyn grits her teeth. “He took her. He took my sister.”
“Where is she? Who did this? The police are on the way.”
“Dar-Dar—”
“Dario?” The revelation is almost enough to land me on my ass. Dr. Anderson had mentioned Dario was impulsive and manipulative during his appointments. He’d suggested further evaluation when Dario decided that he didn’t care to walk again.
The cabrón is walking.
He has Aria. I’m done putting familia over everything. I’m going to fucking kill him.
Chapter Seventy-Five
El Santo
Faded color bleeds across the horizon. Gripping the steering wheel of my Honda, I drive fast. LeAnna’s having my baby.
“What if it’s Dominic’s?” I blurt, turning an observant gaze on her while hustling past buildings.
“Why would I have his baby? I’m in love with the man who was always there for me. You, Dario.”
The stagnant air in my chest, which I hadn’t known I was holding, deflates.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“I have a stash of money I need to get to. Then we have to get the fuck outta Miami.”
“Because you killed Miranda. What about those other women . . . Di-did—”
My foot slams on the break. I brace my forearm over LeAnna as she’s yanked forward with the feeble seatbelt.
“What other women?”
Her head tilts, ever so slightly. “You’re not just Dario Alvarez. Tell me about the other women you murdered. We have to leave the city because of them, too, right?”
“They’re not dead,” I growl, damning myself for murdering Angelica. She understood. Don’t be estúpido, Dario, I tell myself, the gordita had to learn too.
“Explain it to me.”
“No.” I sta
rt driving again, wriggling my jaw at the guilt of losing Angelica. She was the first, and I determine she will be the last person aware of my ritual. Besides, LeAnna’s too frail to appreciate El Santo.
“Why not? We’re leaving. Starting a new life, right? You are El Santo.”
With a smile on my face, I wink. “You scared, mami?”
“No.”
“You should be.”
“Why should I be afraid of you?” LeAnna cocks a brow, shifting in her seat to stare at me. “From your own mouth, they’re alive. You’re not a serial killer. Not a murderer. I am.”
“Hmmm . . .”
“Also, from your own mouth, I killed my sister, right?”
“I apologize, amor.”
“That doesn’t suffice, Dario. I always thought my actions murdered my dad. He died an alcoholic, you know. ReAnna is a sore spot for me. But you have forever to make it up to me.”
I rest my hand on her thigh, concentrating on the shifting of her muscles beneath my palm. There’s not a slight jerk in fear.
“Are you playing me, LeAnna?”
“Why would you assume so? We’re in a relationship. This is what people do, communicate.”
“No, it seems like you’re only placating and agreeing with me.”
“I didn’t agree with your accusation that I murdered my twin.”
“Not that, amor.” I shift the gear and slide into a parallel position closer to the new condominiums than my empty lot.
Removing the keys, I then lean my head back and smile at her, offering the appearance of being friendly, still testing her loyalty. “You said I’m not a murderer. When Miranda came in to argue about company and being disturbed, I handled that puta.”
LeAnna snorts. “Not everyone counts. If you ever murder an innocent person, I’d leave you. Keep loving me, Dario, and I’ll love you forever.”
I reach over, tug her lip between my teeth. I whisper across her chocolate brown flesh. “You get me, Aria. I can’t wait to start my new life with you.”
Chapter Seventy-Six
Aria
Not all people count. Bullshit. Serial Killers don’t value humanity. They can pretend then show their true colors. I soaked up that bit of psychotic knowledge from one of the many profiles I read. I studied my ass off while searching for El Santo.
Now, the devil’s testing me. Last night, the bastard revealed his pitch-black personality when we were in bed. As he drives, I sit on my palms to halt the clenching of my fists. Days sift through my mind, and I grapple at distinguishing between the attractive angel and the desire I harbored for a demon. Blood scorches through my veins.
Dario played you, Aria. A genuine smile fans across my face while I pat my abdomen. “Dario, we have to get our baby to safety. Not many people will understand your response to Miranda or,” my voice cracks, “Roslyn. The cops will come after us. Now, I don’t doubt your capabilities El San—”
“I’m not El Santo, Dominic is.” Despicable lies spill from Dario’s enchanting lips. “All this time, I couldn’t stomach the sight of hurting you. I’ll regret not revealing his identity to you sooner. Dominic’s a bad motherfucker, LeAnna. My only fault is killing Miranda, but you hated her. I did her in for you.”
You lying fuck. I bottle an assortment of feelings, staring up at the attractive illusion. He’s a shiny red apple, rotten down to the core. I ask, “Is this where we pick up your money?”
“Our money, sí. My hermano values the good-guy image. For the past few years, he’s paid for everything. So, I’ve stashed my pension and some other money I’ve made from online gaming. I’ll make more.”
“I believe in you, Dario.” The lies run out of both of us like a leaky faucet. ReAnna was once my voice. When she needed reciprocation, I failed. Now, cue the cameras. The more talking he does, the calmer I feel, and the more I’ll whistle for the crummy-ass cops when I have an opening to fight or flee.
In an effort to follow suit as Dario gets out of the car, I jiggle the handle. I look like a goldfish in a bowl, useless, as I watch people entering and exiting the luxury apartment.
He rounds the curb, opening the door, and holds out a hand. “It’s broken, mami.”
Yup, you broke it. I take his awaiting hand; his reverent lips press against each of my fingers one at a time. My traitorous heart shutters. Electricity flies across my flesh as he clasps my lower back. For a fleeting second, I’m wrapped in the arms of Dominic Ángel Alvarez, tasting my addiction. When I come up for air, I bite the torrents of emotions threatening to spill out: the primal desire, lust, and, most of all, love.
Dario’s hip glues to mine as he escorts me. Insecure bastard. I have eyes for only him when a duo of joggers passes by. While the sharp tip of a knife probes my rib, I lean up, kissing the madman on the side of the lips. Take that!
A triumphant smile flourishes, simmering instantly as the ocean breeze carries a familiar voice. Seated on a stoop in front of an old apartment complex that has yet to be the focal point of gentrification—is Yasiel. He’s in the center of a small gathering of teens, exaggerating about something.
I curl my face into Dario’s neck, avoiding Yasiel like he’d done while running from the Colombians.
“Dom!”
Oh crap, identical twins.
“Dom, Aria!”
Dario walks faster.
Stumbling to keep abreast of him, I argue, “Yasiel’ll know something is wrong if—”
“Fuck him, LeAnna.”
“But—”
“I’ll gut ‘em like Miranda. All those cabrónes! You want that on your head, mami?” He reaches between us to grab my pussy. “We could fuck in their blood.”
I press my mouth to his, tangle my fingers in his hair, and stop short of trying to gouge his eyes out while kissing him. I’m yanked toward an enclave of the building. Not breaking our connection, Dario pulls out a set of keys.
“We should hurry,” I stutter, cringing at the lust in his eyes.
He pulls me back into the darkness of the dusty opening and shuts the door behind him.
“No! With lips like this, I can’t wait.”
His full lips feel divine against mine. A small seed of revulsion starts up my throat. Coming up for air, I gasp, “Dario, you met me at the rooftop restaurant months back?”
Framing my face with his hands, he says, “You remembered.”
Cold fury blazes across the surface of my flesh as the monster’s mouth descends onto mine. The kiss ignites a blistering hate so intense I have to focus on slithering my tongue around his.
Focus on when to strike, Aria.
“I knew you remembered, amor.” He alternates from English to Spanish, praising me as his queen.
“How could I forget? Dominic doesn’t fuck like you, Dario.” The sordid truth bonds in my psyche. I’d uttered the name of his twin, and he’d become livid. Screw my inhibitions. God, I’ve never hated myself so much. How I loved him.
Arm looped around me, he lifts me with extreme ease, and my ass drops onto the top of a barrel.
My legs lock around the titanium of his waist. Dario’s pipe pierces my softness. All of him is steel strength, a reminder of how soft I am. How my venom has to latch on to his toxicity, break him. You only get one chance, Aria.
I offer all the moans and grunts Dario craves while he laves my neck with kisses.
“Dario,” I purr against his lips. “Please let me suck your dick. I want you all over me, but first, I’m hungry for your cum.”
Was it too much?
I stare into a captivating green gaze. Dominic had been nurturing. I can see him looking down at me while I’m sitting on his lap in the interrogation room after the man’s death. Then another image of him, jealous, good jealous, and concerned about my well-being.
Fragments of time with him flash by, and Dario is here. His response was lost to me as I reminisced on his brother. But he’s unbuckling his belt and handling a cock worthy of worship.
“It’s a little les
s dirty on the ground over there by the window.” I point across the room. Dust cakes the glass, giving the appearance of blackout curtains on the outside, which should be no worry to him. But my palms itch to brandish the discarded wrench on the ground.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
El Santo
Hoisting LeAnna around the waist, I carry her over to the window. My cock strains against jean material. The need to ram my stiffness down her throat is great. I lower her to the ground, and she clambers to her knees, near a shiny weapon.
Lips cocked to the side, I reach down to kiss LeAnna’s temple and clasp the 16-inch wrench to throw it. The weapon clatters across the cement floor. I level LeAnna a pointed look, snatching her throat in my hand.
LeAnna’s teeth catch my bottom lip. She pulls me into her mouth. “Why do I have to beg to suck my man’s dick?”
Her big, brown innocent eyes are soaked in lust to please me. Suspicion on a decline, I shove my pants around my knees. LeAnna’s loyalty’s rewarded as my dick punches her tonsils on the first slippery drive inside. “Mmmm, your mouth is just as amazing as your pussy.”
LeAnna’s tongue snakes across the ridges of my stiffness while her mouth touches down along the base of my shaft. I thrust my hips, craving more of her amazing wet suction.
Stepping in a wide-legged stance, I drop my head back. “Keep sucking my dick like that.”
She hums, vibrating on my dick, cupping my balls. Ready to ejaculate, my toes crunch underneath. “LeAn—fuck.”
Her silky hand tightens around my nuts, and her teeth lock on my dick. I seize her throat with my left hand and slam my fist into her face. My knuckles repeatedly fly across her nose and cheekbone. “You are dead, puta!”
Nose leaking, LeAnna lets go. Her cheek flushes with heated blood. I cling to her neck, deepening the delightful hue. Choking, I pull her from the ground and slam her into the wall. “Instead of ReAnna, it should’ve been your ungrateful ass who died.”
Her fingers slap at my flexed forearms. Voice constricted, she snaps, “My—sis—not—de—”
