Page 52 of The Devil's Den

“Sorry.” Drew’s friend chuckles. “Told you. That kid could kill anyone.”

“I taught that fuck everything he knows. I can take him.” Drew folds his arms over his chest.

I advance on the man who shakes his head, pushing himself further into the wall.

“I don’t want to hurt you more than I have to,” I tell him. “So stand up. Let’s end this because you’re not getting out of here alive.”

He weeps as he tries to climb up, falling to his knees instead.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I lift him up, my arm suffocating him, his body growing limp. I let him fall to the floor. Walking up to Drew, looking straight into his eyes, I ask, “Anyone else you got for me, or can I go home now?”

* * *

AIDA AGE 21

I’ve been waiting for him alone in the basement, hoping he comes back soon. Worry is my permanent state of being. In the last few months, I’ve pushed what happened to me somewhere so deep, it’s like I blocked it out, like it never happened. But when my head hits the pillow, it all comes back with a vengeance.

I find myself awake, tears streaked down my face, realizing I wasn’t crying solely in my nightmare but in my reality as well. Talking about it will only make it more real, so I don’t.

Last night, I saw that blonde woman again, but this time her face was clear, like she had wanted me to see her. Those charcoal-brown eyes gazed at me, her long, shiny hair swaying over her shoulders. She was gorgeous, and when she smiled, her hand reaching for me, I took it. But then I suddenly woke up, wondering who she was and why I keep seeing her. Was my mind conjuring up what I think my mother looks like? That’s probably it. But even still, knowing she isn’t real, I want to see her again. She brought me a sense of comfort among the chaos, like a quiet wave of tranquility.

The basement door swings open, multiple footsteps climbing down, and Matteo comes to view, his white shirt streaked with red. I widen a stare at it, knowing it’s blood. My pulse pounds at the sight as Drew pushes him toward the mattress.

“Your boyfriend lost me a lot of money today.” He throws him on the bed, grabbing the thick silver chain and clasping it around his wrist.

“Poor you,” I hiss, my face turning up with disgust.

“Bitch,” he grits.

“Call her that again,” Matteo growls, “and I’ll have you on the ground with your throat slit open.”

Drew breaks into laughter. “Funny kid.” Then his face goes hard as he grabs Matteo by the neck, pinning him into the mattress. “You may have balls, but I’ll break them. Try me, bastard. I fucking dare you.”

I jump to my feet and smack Drew’s back. “Let him go!” But they both ignore me.

Matteo’s glare goes cold. He doesn’t even flinch as Drew practically chokes him. Just when I think I’ll have to find something hard to hit Drew with, Matteo kicks up his knee and lands it square into Drew’s crotch, flipping him under and positioning himself on top. A grin grows as he wraps the long chain around Drew’s throat and yanks hard.

Drew’s hands claw into the air that won’t quite enter his lungs. “I really want to fucking kill you,” Matteo adds. “Aida’s the only reason I won’t. But the next time you call her a name, you’ll die for it.”

Matteo lets him go, sitting down as though nothing happened, while my heartbeats explode in my chest. Having never seen this side of him before, I should probably fear him, this boy who somehow became a terrifying man, but I’m not at all afraid. If anything, I feel just a little bit safer.

Drew tries to stand, but wobbles for a few seconds before finally managing to right himself.

“Agnelo…” He coughs, holding on to his neck as he chokes out the rest. “Agnelo will hear about this, you fucking little punk.”

“He has this room bugged.” Matteo winks. “So he probably already knows.”

Drew huffs out a breath, his teeth gritted, then he rushes up the stairs, the door slamming behind him.

Once he’s finally gone, I instantly run into Matteo’s arms, straddling him chest to chest. My hands slink into his thick, chestnut-colored hair as I peer down at the chiseled face of the man I’m madly, insanely in love with. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“For what?” He jerks his head, tucking my face into his palms.

“For standing up for me. No one has ever defended me that way.”

The familiar throb behind my eyes is back from this immense sense of adoration for him, too great to even comprehend.

“I’ll always defend you, Aida.” His thumbs brush the tops of my cheeks. “My only regret is that I didn’t do more. I let what happened to you go unpunished.”

---