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He’s never hidden who or what he is from me. People have been calling himEl Asesino,The Killer,around here for years, and there’s a reason for that.
He’s also taught me that there are two types of bad men in this world: ones who sin with their hearts still beating—like him—or those who are dead inside.
My father’s rhythm is his family: a wife whom he worships, and me, the fucked-up Colombian kid he adopted.
It beats for those who are dead, too: a brother who was gunned down at my age, and a son who never made it out of diapers before the car hit a truck doing one-twenty in a seventy. He’d die in the name of their memory. It fuels his ambition, making him harder and stronger. I’ve watched him pick off twenty armed men in a room and walk out with just an empty clip and a smile.
I’m the other kind of sinner.
I figured it out the day I noticed a big, empty hole in my chest.
“Any curse should be halfway to hell by now.” He pauses in front of me, his icy gaze raking over my face. I don’t know how or when things got so strained between us, but all the words left unsaid could fill up the Amazon River.
I flick my dead cigarette at the flames and keep my anger in check. If this is his attempt to reassure me after our disagreement earlier, it’s not enough.
It’s never enough.
I left more than broken bones in Bogotá, but I can’t tell him about it. There’s an unspoken rule in the Grayson household—he doesn’t share his pain, and I don’t share mine.
Instead, we watch the old witch burn in silence together, while on the inside I’m screaming.
If I could, I’d tell him this isn’t my first human pyre. That I’ve seen things, too many things, and done far worse. That if he looked closer at my drawings, he’d see the truth staring back at him—the way Ella does—even if she doesn’t recognize it yet. I know she feels it, and that’s enough for me.
By the age of eleven, Andres Hurtados, my birth father, had made me burn hundreds of men like this. Most were alive when I drew the matches, and I can still hear their screams in my head. Andres was first cousin to the Hurtados kingpin, back when Colombia was divided into theLos Cinco Grandes,the five ruling criminal classes, before Santiago crushed the competition with a bloody coup that led to his cartel dictatorship.
My birth father died during that war, along with Hurtados, but they were both depravedmalparidoswho got everything they deserved. By then, I was already atEl Refugio, but I wish I could have been there for their deaths. I would have pissed all over their corpses.
“Is it done?” I glance at my fatheras the flames lose their sting. I need to get out of here, find some pussy, and stop thinking so much.
I screw a lot of girls, but it’s more a predilection for self-loathing than release. None of them fit right, and I only end up hating them for it.
“Yes, it’s done.” He stares at the flames, as though he wants to say more. “Whoever thebrujawas, she’s gone. Get some sleep. Santiago wants to talk tomorrow.”
“What about?”
“He’s thinking about sending you to Monaco.”
My head jerks up in shock. “Thefuck?”
I’ve been my father’ssicario-in-training for a while now, wanting more, but never daring to ask. Silently accepting that my place in the Santiago Organization is here in Leticia when all I’ve ever wanted is to get the hell out.
“It’s time you learned how to run a business, as well as burn one to the ground. Our associate can teach you that. I know you had your heart set on that place at Goldsmiths—”
“For how long?”
Goldsmiths was a dream I killed and buried before it ever drew first breath.
“As long as it takes. We fly to London to handle some bad business with an Irishman first. After that, we’ll drop you off in Monaco with Aiden Knight. In a year or so, we’ll bring you back to Colombia, where you can take over operations in Cali.”
“I’m ready.”
Keep running. Never go back.
I ignored it for a time. Sunshine made is easy to forget for six years, but I remember everything now.
“You were born ready, Edier, even if you don’t know it yet.” I catch my father looking at me with a strange expression on his face. “Don’t stay out here for too long. It’s not good to linger near death. Kill and move on.”
“Kill and move on,” I intone, staring at the glowing embers as his footsteps disappear into the night.
