Page 40 of The Devil's Den

“Wow.” My body rouses with deep laughter as hers does too. I flip her over, pinning her underneath me, and I kiss her some more.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

MATTEO AGE 20

Every timeI leave this house lately, I don’t want to go. I used to like the car rides to that warehouse, the sun, the world almost at my fingertips, but I no longer look forward to them.

I’d rather stay back home with Aida and Robby. It’s like having a family again, as fucked up as that family is.

I know she hates when I go. The worry stitches up her face like it’s visible, for everyone to see. She asks about my bloodied knuckles when I return, and I don’t tell her how I got them. I can’t. What will she think of me when she finds out I not only hurt people, but I kill them too?

I’ve killed more in my young life than grown men have killed in a lifetime. I don’t dwell on it anymore. If I did, it’d haunt me. I have to bottle it up. Keep it contained. Or it’ll explode and send me straight to hell.

I shut my eyes as the SUV rolls over the bend in the road, remembering her lips, that smile of hers lighting up my world like it could burn every awful thing to the ground.

She keeps wanting us to sleep together, but how could we? Even if there was a chance we wouldn’t get caught, I won’t touch her chained up against the radiator, on the ratty mattress they call a bed, with my piss bucket right there.

She deserves more. I’ve told her that countless times and she tells me she’s right where she’s supposed to be. But that’s a lie. She deserves a guy who could take her out, give her flowers, go to a restaurant. I distantly remember those places exist, and she’s told me about the world. Every part of it. I want her to experience it all one day, with or without me.

No matter how badly I wish she’d forget me, I hate the thought of her with someone else, making a future that doesn’t include me.

I’ve begged her to run away with Robby countless times, to find someone to protect her in the ways I can’t. But she continues to reject the thought, saying if the tables were turned, I’d never abandon her. And sure, she’s right, but this isn’t about me. I don’t care what happens to me.

The vehicle comes to a stop and the driver I don’t know gets out, Stan in the passenger side. Drew, who’s been seated beside me, pulls me out by my arm. They don’t bother tying me up. They know I’d never run, not when it puts Aida in danger.

We march inside, me next to Stan, Drew and the driver behind us. The warehouse is dark until Stan pulls on the overhead string, illuminating the space that may as well be my second home.

Someone drags multiple chairs in, the whimpers coming from them heavy as though they’ve realized their time on this planet is about to come to an end. By me. I’m always the one doing the killing, while the others stand around and watch.

My heart is no longer my own. It’s been corrupted by the chains that have been branded on my soul. I can’t erase what’s been done. I can’t hide from it. I am what I am now. A killer. A man with no future. A boy with no past.

I walk up as the chairs are finally before me. At first, I don’t understand… Why is there a kid in one of them?

I glance back at Stan, who nods, stretching out his hand with a blade in it. Not a gun, a fucking knife. He wants me to gut a little kid, who’s probably no more than twelve.

I eye the boy, seconds drifting by, his brows huddled tight, his snivels louder, those eyes green like Dom and Enzo’s. I run a hand down my face.

I can’t do it.

I’m not that far gone. Not animal enough to end a kid.

The man beside him screams through the gag in his mouth, shaking his head, the chair clattering. I can only assume it’s his father.

“Take thefuckingknife!” Stan hollers.

But I could barely move, legs buried in concrete while I continue looking at the boy, not sure how I could get him out of this.

His small chest jumps every time I move, and he stares right at me. I think of Robby in that moment. Is that what his life will be like? Either becoming a murderer or being murdered?

My stomach stirs.

“You have one more chance to do this,” Stan grits, slithering closer, a hand clasping my shoulder so roughly, I want to rip his entire arm off.

Every second that passes is as heavy as eternity.

“It’s okay, Stan.” A voice I hate with every fiber spills throughout the room. “I know what’ll motivate our boy.” Agnelo arrives from the shadows like a demon you don’t see until it’s too late.

He drags his phone out of his pocket. “I can call one of my men right now and have him throw Aida in the car and let her get ripped apart at the club. Is that what you want?”

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