Page 81 of Hell Breaks Loose

But you can predict that people will act in their own interests. Stick to their compass.

So in that regard, you can always trust, if you learn how to read people.

Knowing who will behave in the way that’s always true to who they are. Even a conman, a sleazebag, or a lying, cheating thief.

Know. What. To. Expect.

That way, when you step on the backs of the people beneath you, you will always have sure footing. Or at least you’ll know which back is going to cave in.

Every once in a while, though, someone really pulls the wool over your eyes.

Like Hellena.

I never knew just how devious she could be.

And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like who she’s become.

However, it’s a bur in my sock, the way she turned things around.

The little spiked nuisances that coated my shoes as a child growing up in the arid, desert scrub grass of the poorest fucking section of LA.

I started my uphill battle in those slums, doing the job that needed to be done. It’s all I ever ask of anyone who works for or with me, too.

What needs to be done.

Like my father taught me with the back of his hand. Then his fist.

He taught me that when the time came, I should not hesitate. Even to kill him.

And I did.

Just like Hellena thought she was doing when she ran. Or when she fought back against me. And now, as she panders to what she thinks I want from her.

Doing exactly what I want her to do by going back to Sanctum, paving the way for my return.

I wonder if she realizes that she’s one of those stones being laid for me to tread upon?

Set loose to dig up the secrets that I need her to find.

So that I can make my way to my end goal.

Sitting behind the desk in the White House. Or the equivalent power.

Leverage over that office. Because that, I believe, more than the gold underneath Sanctum, is the real prize that the Sinful held.

And why I still need the psychopathic woman I’m waiting for in the fading light of dusk, sitting under a street light in the middle of an abandoned park.

“Marco, darling, it’s so good to see you,” the purring, slightly raspy voice croons from the shadows of the trees nearby.

“I’d say the same thing, but you don’t look so well.”

She’s haggard, drawn. I suppose weeks of lying in a hospital bed will do that to anyone.

“It’s how I feel that really matters.” She steps up to the bench, sliding down beside me.

Up close, I can see that a lot more than a lack of food has altered her state.

She’s twitchy. Her eyes are glassy.

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