Page 79 of Devotion

Diego Martinez.

My head tilts as he walks out and doesn’t see me standing in the corner, no clue he’s in the presence of the last visitor he’ll ever have. He tightens a towel around his waist, then pauses in front of a large stereo while using the towel around his shoulders to dry his hair. I press a button on the remote clutched in my gloved hand, smiling as he nearly jumps out of his skin, frantic as a song of my choosing blasts at full volume from the speakers. He feels around on the dresser for the remote as I start toward him, cracking my neck, reveling in the surge of adrenaline that always blasts through me right before the fun begins.

I toss the remote to his bed, then unsheathe two of my blades. At the last second, he turns and sees me approaching, and I note the moment recognition fills his eyes.

That’s right, motherfucker. You knowexactlywho the fuck I am.

Shock fills his expression as I raise blades in each hand, and then slam both down into his shoulders, splitting skin and muscle, wedging into bone. The force causes his fucking knees to buckle, and he hits the ground.

He cries out in pain, but no one hears him. He attempts to swing a punch, but with the butts of both blades still jutting straight up from his shoulders, his arms are useless. The more he moves, he’s only causing himself more pain.

“What the fuck? Why are you doing this?” he spits, breathing hard and fast as he experiences what must be the worst pain of his life.

It’s warranted. He’s dying tonight.

My steps advance as he scoots backward, trying to put a safe distance between us. He glances toward his nightstand where he expects to find his gun, but my laugh draws his eyes back to mine.

“Do you really think I didn’t take care of that? Trust me, I thought ofeverything.”

He pants as blood pulses from the wounds, mixing with the water still lingering on his chest and torso.

“What the fuck is this?” He’s breathless as his back meets the wall, and I’m guessing adrenaline is the only thing that’s kept him from passing out from the pain.

My eyes flit toward the ceiling a moment. “This…is the result of months of you fucking up.”

He shakes his head, trying and failing again to move his arms. He seems to realize they’re useless, which is why his eyes dart toward the door. I guess if fighting back isn’t an option, maybe he thinks he’ll run.

My head tilts, and I wonder if he’s really that stupid. “How far do you honestly think you’d get?”

He seems startled when I guess that running is his new plan, then this pitiful look of defeat sets in, and I don’t hate it. It’s nice getting to witness the moment he’s realized just how deep the shit is he’s gotten himself into.

I take another step, and he whimpers with pain when he tries lifting his arm again.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks through gritted teeth as spit dribbles down his chin.

“Oh, come on. You haven’t figured that part out yet? You reallyarea fucking moron, aren’t you?” My shoulders lift and fall when I let out a breath. “Here’s a hint. When your family buries you, there will be a lovely piece of art carved into your chest, hidden just beneath your suit.”

“Fuck.”

His head falls to the side and the rush of fear in his eyes is damn-near orgasmic.

I smile. “I take it you’ve put the pieces together.”

“She knew the whole time,” he says, being vague, but I catch his meaning anyway.

“Yes and no. When you all first started following my work, she was just as clueless as everyone else. But now, through a series of intriguing events, yes, she knows.”

His nostrils flare with anger, and his jaw tenses. There’s this look on his face, and I think this asshole actually feels sorry for himself. Like he’s been betrayed.

“You don’t have to do this. Things haven’t gone too far yet. The wounds will heal, and you have my word that everything you’ve confessed just now stays between us. If you just let me go, I’ll—”

His words cut off when I rush toward him, sick and fucking tired of hearing him speak. Gripping the handle of one of the knives wedged in his flesh, I use it to hold him still as my fist connects with his mouth.

He shrieks, likely not knowing which source of pain is worse at the moment, but he has no idea how much worse it’s about to get.

None.

“She’s not worth it,” he pants as his eyelids droop. “Whatever that bitch said, whatever she told you to make this seem like the way to handle things, she’s wrong. I swear to you, man, she’s on meds, completely unstable.”

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