Cillian moves the mic away from his lips, whispering to me, “Let’s go get our girl.” He grins.
I nod my head before we address the crowd, taking a bow alongside our bandmates—ex-Reapers who, like us, saw the value in breaking free.
Before we exit the stage and the next band on the lineup of Cuervo’s Carnival’s first of hopefully many festivals takes the stage, I see Cillian’s glare zone in on Lola. Slowly inching backward, with a devilish grin, just waiting for us.
I nudge Cillian, who licks his lips before reaching for my hand, our fingers interlocking.
I glance over at him, waiting for him to give her the signal. Then, he mouths, “Run,” just like old times. Lola bites her bottom lips before turning around, beginning to make a dash for it.
Except, this time, when we capture our wickeddiosa, we need to make a slight detour before we fuck her.
After all, that rich soundtrack of shrill shrieks and blood-curdling cries isn’t going to record itself.
Cillian
Betrayal.
It’s the only thing in this life that I can describe in vivid fucking detail. What it feels like, looks like, and what it does to a person when it stabs you in the gut, time after time.
But now, betrayal has taken on a new form. It is what has solidified our bond and brought our music to life, bonding the three of us for eternity.
I pant as we trail behind Lola. Her plump ass jiggles in her shorts from Paxton and I chasing her, until finally, we close the space between where we are, and she runs.
Paxton extends his ringed hands, grabbing Lola before swinging her over his shoulder.
“Got you,Morta,” he groans, unleashing a flat palm on her ass.
“About damn time,” she giggles. “We have work to do,” she adds, twisting her torso still slung over Pax’s shoulder in my direction, mouthing a kiss my way.
“Hey, let her down,” I say to Pax.
We stop our stride, and he carefully brings Lola to the ground. I reach for her hair, fisting it in my hands, before bringing her in for a kiss.
“You ready?” I ask her.
“Of course,” she nods before planting another kiss on my lips.
She places herself in the middle of where Pax and I stand, and the three of us walk hand-in-hand to the back office. It’s at the farthest point from the concert tent and the rides. It’s a far trek but a necessary one, considering what we keep in there.
Finally, at the back office, Lola lets go of our hands, andPurgatorioappears, perching himself on her shoulder. She lifts her hands, stroking his feathers, before entering the code to the control panel to unlock the door.
The moment we step inside, our nostrils are hit with a foul metallic odor, as if the crimson that paints the floors isn’t enough of a reminder of what or who is kept here.
WithPurgatoriostill on her shoulder, Lola walks toward the two metal chairs, their occupants’ backs turned to us.
“Wakey, wakey.” She claps. “Purgatorio, get my machete, please.”
Purgatoriofollows her command, fluttering its wings up and toward the table of tools off to the left.
Lola’s boots scuff against the worn floor as she approaches where Zeke’s head hangs low in the chair. She leans over, yanking the crumpled fabric from his mouth.
Zeke takes in a deep inhale and begins rocking the chair forward. “You crazy fucking bitch!” he shouts, spitting at her. “Bruja,” he adds.
Red.
I see fucking red. How dare he fucking talk to her like that. Fist clenched at my side. I am about to charge him, when I feel Pax’s forearm in front of me, barricading and halting my movements.
“She’s got this.” Pax nods.
