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Regan and I had become the embodiment of the complex choreography, performing the intricate steps with finesse and subtlety.Like ballet dancers twirling, leaping, and gracefully bowing, we strategically positioned ourselves within the organization’s broader dynamics.Our ambitions burned with the same intensity as a ballet dancer’s unwavering focus.Our resilience mirrored their firm determination amidst the exhaustion and their graceful surrender to the art.
Regan’s father, the untouchable figurehead of our organization, had to be the first domino to fall.His network of faithful subordinates would follow—I didn’t care if my father was one of them.I wanted them to break.
I visualized it as the climactic moment in a ballet performance, a breathtaking crescendo that would eclipse all that came before.Our plan represented our grand leap, a daring maneuver that, if successful, would propel us to the pinnacle of power.
I was prepared to seize it all, and our ultimate act would center around Evie.The culmination of our performance would bring our dance to a poignant conclusion.We aimed to ensure that she, too, experienced the searing sting of the pain we had endured.
Evie would be our graceful swan, embodying the sorrow and resilience we possessed.Nobody could deny the valuable lessons I absorbed while observing my mother teach my sister about poise and uniqueness.
I, too, possessed something extraordinary.My coordination was impeccable.The dance would be one of the best performances in history, and I would shine on my own stage.
ChapterThirty-Seven
“The difference between a successful person and others is not a lack of strength, not a lack of knowledge, but rather a lack of will.”—Vince Lombardi
The stage was set,and our meticulously crafted plan was about to unfold with precision.Regan and I had practiced every step, every move, like a well-rehearsed ballet.This was our moment to shine, to execute the best plan we had ever devised.
As we set everything up for Evie, our first step, and maybe our first mistake, was to kidnaphim.The drug lord helped us.We made him believe he was part of a gang that we needed to take down to take their territory.Since Regan and I had done this before for them, they didn’t question us.
Jet was in our hands before dawn.That was our first step to break my sister.I needed to torture him.The moment he arrived, we pumped his veins with heroin to keep him sedated.There were other things we had to do—too many.She wouldn’t come to see her beloved Jet until later.Right after, we caught Hanford.He was elusive and hard to track, though.
As the days passed, we were running out of time.People were beginning to panic.It had never taken us too long to take down a gang.I had to act before anyone caught us with Jet, but I didn’t know what to do.Out of desperation and without telling me, Regan kidnapped Evie.He called the drug lord and his people, claiming she was an important piece of the gang we were trying to take down.
“We had to switch the plan,” he said.“We’ll finish her before we take our fathers down.”
Evie arrived, bound and blindfolded, her lithe body trembling.At the corner of the apartment, Jet remained on the floor, drugged and soiled, because we hadn’t let him stand up or do anything.Every day, Regan and two of the guys who helped us tortured him.As they interrogated him, trying to get some information, I knew he didn’t have it.I watched the grim show with an intoxicating mix of dread and satisfaction.
But that wasn’t enough.I needed to see Evie pay for the loss of my innocence, for being forced to serve the men my father considered friends—his “brothers.”I had experienced unspeakable things since I turned thirteen, all because of them.It started with his boss, taking my virginity against my will.That was just the beginning.
My father justified it, claiming it was the price to pay to the men who had given him a home and supported our family.He believed that nothing in life came for free, a twisted sense of balance.
Life was about checks and balances.Evelyn owed me for everything I lived from when I turned thirteen until I went to college.Regan, in his own twisted way, rescued me by claiming me as his own.
Two of our men and Regan did everything that we’ve suffered at a younger age to Evie and Jet.The first gasp that escaped Evie’s lips felt like a chilling melody, an anthem of retribution.I watched as her body convulsed in agony, a cruel smile spreading across my face.Her silent pleas for mercy echoed off the cold, unyielding walls of the apartment.
The men thrusted their cocks hard inside her, marking her delicate skin.
Then there was Jet.He writhed in his own personal hell.They tied him so he couldn’t move while watching everything that was done to Evie.Then it was his turn.
Regan’s voice dripped with malice as he taunted Jet, urging him to endure the pain without complaint.Jet cried out, his anguished voice cracking, but his pleas only fueled a twisted sense of satisfaction within me.Each moment of torment brought a distorted sense of vindication.
The pain, the suffering ...it was an ugly mirror reflecting my own past, an echo of the countless nights I’d spent crying out, begging for mercy.Each scream, each plea, each tear that stained their cheeks was a poetic testament to the hell I once endured.
However, the ballet had to end, and that was when they did it.They broke her legs so the ballerina wouldn’t be able to dance again.“I’ll give you my entire fortune,” Jet pleaded.“But let her go.”
We didn’t, though.That’s exactly where everything went wrong.We should’ve killed them or released them that night.
As I write the words, I can’t believe I enjoyed watching how those men hit my sister while they raped her.They asked questions she couldn’t answer because she was just an innocent ballerina in the middle of a war I had created.
She begged me for her life, for Jet’s safety.Her thin body was broken, all bloody and bruised.I laughed when she asked me to help her.
“Remember those times you spent with Mom, and I was with Dad?”I ask, kicking her, slapping her.“This is what his boss and associates were doing to me.You have to pay for it—each time they touched me, each time they raped me and hit me.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.“Just let Jet go home.”
“I’ll probably kill him before you die,” I said with satisfaction.
Time, they said, was the great healer.But as the years unfolded, and the echoes of that horrendous time still haunted me, I wondered if some wounds were too deep to mend.The faces of Evie and Jet, contorted in agony, were etched into my memory.The grim sound of their screams still rang in my ears during the quietest of nights.
