Page 3 of Fractured Devotion

“Archer… It’s Alex,” I said as soon as he picked up. “I need your help.”

“Morning, AJ.” Archer’s voice, tinged with humor, came through the phone. I hadn’t heard that nickname since the military. Archer had taken to calling me AJ since we had two Alexs in our unit. “Given it’s 5:30 where you are, I’m guessing this isn’t just a friendly chat.”

I grimaced, realizing I’d called him early. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Archer’s laugh was warm and reassuring. “It’s 8:30 here, and I’m up. My military days, plus the nature of my current job, don’t really allow for lie-ins.”

“Right, of course,” I said, stroking Falcon’s head absentmindedly. “Listen, I hate to drag you into this, but I need help.”

As I relayed my story to Archer, my words spilled out in a rush, painting the grim picture since joining the Anastasi family. I detailed the disturbing kidnappings that had become all too common, and then, with a heavier heart, I delved into Carmela’s disappearance—the part that gnawed at me the most. I explained how someone was running a human trafficking gambit and how Carmela had been caught up by a mere accident. Throughout the call, Archer’s intermittent grunts were a testament to his shared emotions. Each grunt seemed to punctuate my frustration and despair, mirroring the turmoil that had been churning inside me. He, too, was angered and agitated by the situation, feeling a sense of urgency and outrage similar to my own. His admittance of dealing with something similar made my gut churn with disgust.

“Think you can come down to Atlanta?” Archer asked after I’d finished. “My boss would want to meet you in person. He’d come to you, but things are tense here. His brother’s in the hospital after a car crash.”

“I’ll see what I can arrange and call you back,” I replied.

Ending the call, I gazed at Falcon, his keen eyes reflecting an understanding beyond his canine nature. The conversation with Archer had ignited a spark of hope, a rare feeling in the recent sadness of my days. Falcon’s presence, a new but welcomed constant and comforting shadow, seemed to bolster this newfound sense of purpose. The possibility of a lead through Archer, a connection in the tangled web of the underworld, gave me something to cling to. It was a thin thread, but one that could lead me through the maze of uncertainty and fear that had become my life since Carmela’s disappearance. As Falcon’s tail wagged softly, I realized that, for the first time in months, the weight on my shoulders felt a little lighter, the path ahead clearer. Carmela, wherever she was, suddenly didn’t seem so far away.

two

CARMELA

Darkness loomed, a shadowy tide threatening to engulf my very being, as I plunged the blade into the despicable man’s body. My soul felt long gone, a casualty of the cruel hands of men akin to one beneath me. They ripped it away from me during months of relentless torment, twisting their perversions into a sick form of entertainment. What began as a vengeful act against my family quickly morphed into a twisted game, a game that stripped me of everything—not just the pieces of my heart, but my very essence.

I had tasted the sweet possibility of freedom; it had been so close, only to have it cruelly snatched away when he, the only man I ever truly loved, slipped through my fingers and met his tragic end. The haunting echo of my own screams as I helplessly watched him sacrifice his life to save me is etched permanently in my memory. It was weeks later when I awoke, disoriented and broken, in some hospital on the outskirts of Bogotá, Colombia. I’d been dropped off at a nearby village by a local worker who’d been out in the forest by chance that day. He’d found me near death in the woods and spared my life by seeking medical help for me despite the risk it brought on him and his family.

As I lay there in that sterile, impersonal room, a fierce vow manifested. I would have my revenge. My vengeance, born from the ashes of my shattered life, had become my sole purpose, the only flicker of light in a world enveloped in darkness.

For weeks, I wallowed in my self-pity, refusing to let my family know I was alive, deciding life wasn’t worth living—who would want me now that I was tainted?

Then, one night, as I was slinking through the streets, I watched as two men savagely attacked a young girl. I hid in the shadows, fear immobilizing me from helping her. As I watched them use her body for their sick desires, something snapped inside me. Rage, unlike anything I’d ever felt, flowed through my veins until I decided then and there I wasn’t going to standby anymore. I’d finish what my brothers had unknowingly started. I’d spend an eternity wiping the planet of men like the two who raped that girl. Like the men who’d stolen me and sold me for sexual depravity. For weeks, I spent every moment I could learning about the man who’d taken me. I bartered and traded to earn money until a chance encounter with the man who became my salvation—Harlen Drago.

He’d taken me in, a desperate attempt to fill the void of losing his family. Harlen hunted the men I wanted dead. We became close, and he helped me find purpose in the fucked-up world that’d left me for dead. Being well off, he’d been able to provide me with the tools and resources I needed to fine-tune the demon I’d become. His wife had died at the hands of a human trafficker, then they’d taken his daughter, Kate. It’d happened while he’d been deployed overseas. Not even his precious military could help him—deciding to leave the Marines was a simple decision for him. Coming to Columbia to find her kidnappers was his original plan. But dead end after dead end, he’d resigned himself to her being dead and him being too late to save her.

Until me.

Even if his daughter was dead, he wanted to see the men pay. Despite the jagged scar that permanently changed my face, I was still beautiful, according to Harlen. He helped me hone my rage and beauty, turning it into a lethal combination I used to lure men enamored with a woman’s body—their perversions would be the thing that would destroy them. We spent months training with every weapon imaginable, but like my brother, I found a calming affinity with a blade. And like Vincenzo, I was good with one. Seven months later, I was a savage.

I became judge and executioner for the scum prowling the streets for the weak. My moral compass became frayed as the blood of monsters tainted my hands. But every dead skin trader meant more women would be freed. No longer afraid of death, I became the only monster they feared.

A grunting sound echoed off the abandoned building, reminding me where I was. Glancing down at the fat piece of shit pinned beneath me, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his ear.

“Tell me where he is.”

“He’ll kill me.”

I snickered, digging the blade deeper into the side of his neck as I let the heat of my breath caress his skin.

“As soon as I pull this knife out of you, you’re dead anyway. Give me what I want, and I won’t kill your family. Tell me, maiale, do they know what you do? Does your son and wife know the depravity you crave?” I’d never kill an innocent person, but he didn’t know if I was serious, and his family was the only reason he’d break. There’d been plenty of stories about the blonde woman with looks that killed—literally. I could feel his body trembling in fear. “So tell me where to find him.”

I’d spent the last two months infiltrating buyer events. Hundreds of women had been set free from the hell they’d been trapped in for months, even years. They’d dubbed me the Angel of Mercy—only I was The Angel of Death, the harbinger of retribution.

Still, I was no closer to finding the bastard, Aleski Lipovsky. He’d bought me, then his goon unceremoniously shot the man I loved before pushing him out of the helicopter. The way Alex’s eyes widened in terror, not from his impending death but from the knowledge he wasn’t going to save me, would forever haunt my nightmares. I couldn’t go home… not without being able to tell my brothers that the man responsible for everything was dead. So, here I was, seven months later, covered in another man’s blood, trying to get answers. Just thinking of that awful day, I twisted the handle, applying even more pressure on his body. Blood spurted out of the hole in his neck as he coughed. Red trickled out the edges of his mouth, curling down his cheeks in a river of crimson.

“He’s in America.” The fucker actually smirked as he gasped for air. “Vegas, to be exact. He’s got something going on at a sporting event, then a new shipment of women is ready for transport. He went to inspect the merchandise before his goons escorted them here. The next showing is going to be the biggest event yet.”

Hearing the name of my hometown made me shudder with regret. I pressed into his body, twisting the knife in his throat. His eyes widened briefly as he realized his time had ended. His eyes grew hollow and vacant as the last of his life drained from his body. With a last whisper of parting words, I jerked the steel from his slick flesh and pushed to a stand.

“Fuck.”

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