Page 32 of Monstrous Grave

My beautiful little angel. At last mine for the taking, like an inevitable doom that no one could’ve predicted. Certainly not my so-called family.

My father would roll around in his grave if he found out I’m this reckless, going on missions that shouldn’t involve me but making them my responsibility anyway. He’d call me pussy-whipped, just because he’s never felt the tingling obsession in his fingertips, like a craving and need that urges you to purge what’s yours.

A don to an infamous criminal family should strictly act on business-related things, but all that’s ever been on my mind for the past few years is her.

Arcane.

Every step she makes, every room she breathes in, every person she speaks to. I’ve made it my business to know all about her ever since I infiltrated her home years ago, needing to know every single thing she did. She might exceed me on other things, but she’ll never beat me when it comes to hacking, no matter how good she thinks she is.

If she’s that good, how come I’ve been watching over her for so long without her knowledge? How come she doesn’t know to search the room for any bugged cameras? I’ve been watching very closely, keeping track of everything she does to make sure she is ready. And here she is. Unprepared for me, yet ready all the same.

She’ll beg for me by the time I’m done. She’ll wish she never met me, but it’s a bit too late now. She should have thought about that the moment she gave up on me. Not that I would blame her. I’d give up on me, too.

But I never gave up on her.

My beautiful, little devil angel.

Breathing in the fresh air of the forest around me, I know it will be even more crisp once I get my hands on her. I’ve been biding my time all these years, silently waiting in the shadows for the right opportunity to finally break free from the holds keeping me captured.

She’s been my sanctuary, my only train of thought.

They tried to take her away from me, the fucking Valentis, but I won’t let them. I might step out of line as the current don of the organization and start another gang war, but I frankly can’t care. She’s been my sole purpose, my only darling one for as long as I can remember, and I’m not about to give her up.

Ever since Louis García—my father—passed away in a gang war a few months ago, I’ve been slowly taking over the organization, handling the business and drugs along with the rest of my family. I’m the head of the heist we’re preparing for, with my little devil intentionally keeping me out of it. She’s too goddamn stubborn for her own self.

Unfortunately for her, I’ve been shadowing her every move, privy to the intel she lacks. That’s why I arranged for our meeting at the cliffside. I knew she wouldn’t agree, which is why I’m concealed within the forest near her home, biding my time for the right moment while deactivating her security alarm.

She once told me I could do to her whatever I wished, and, well, I assume it still applies now. A smirk dances upon my lips as I examine the zip ties in my grasp and the chloroform tucked in my pocket, thinking over my plan. It’s been torturous staying away for this long, but I’ve honed the art of discretion.

Observing her in all her glory has only fueled my obsession, making me want to plunge deep inside her to take what I haven’t felt for an eternity—what’s rightfully mine. Now, it’s finally time.

I’m coming for you, my little devil. There’s no salvation from the reaper that will purge your soul.

Chapter 14

Arcane

A tangible fear coils down my spine like a hungry beast. I can’t do anything to fight the paralysis keeping me immobile. There’s no saving grace, only the haunting presence lurking somewhere inside my room.

I try to breathe steadier, seeking refuge in the rhythm of my heartbeat, yet it proves futile. Especially as I sense someone drawing nearer in the darkness blanketing the room.

It’s as if I’m hurtling over the edge of a deadly cliff, chasing the end of the world with the speed at which I descend. I cannot tell whether I’m awake or not. A twisting figure appears, hovering above me with an aura of danger, a mask obscuring its features.

“I’m sorry, devangel. I never wanted to wake you.”

The words are a chilling brush against my skin, frosty tendrils reaching out to devour me. My heart pounds hard in my ribcage, and I struggle against the paralysis that binds me. Even in my confusion, I want to believe this is a state of limbo where reality blurs with nightmares. Though I know better.

That voice is all too familiar, achingly so, piercing through flesh and bone like a sword. It’s not merely the voice that renders me motionless, it’s that goddamn nickname. It’s unsettling, dredging up memories I would rather bury, of him calling me devil and angel, combining the two and coining the nickname ‘devangel.’ Yet, my mind stubbornly refuses to understand who it’s coming from.

That voice shouldn’t know that nickname. It doesn’t make sense.

All oxygen is gone from my lungs. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to wake up from this torment.

The crashing of waves against rocks, violent with no source of remorse or mercy, is a reminder of reality. With mounting dread, I strain to break free from the grip that holds me captive in a vortex of hell.

I manage to open my eyes and am met with the sight of the figure hovering above me. With a surge of dread, I jolt upright when the paralysis releases its hold on me.

My relief is short-lived when I realize I’m bound, hands tied above my head, restrained by what feels like a silken band. The figure before me remains silent, their breath the only sound in the room—a gentle rhythm with an enigmatic weight, as if they’re in agony.

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