Page 1 of Beneath the Dirt

Prologue

Blood for blood.Eye for an eye,I hum to myself as I stare at the loaded dump trailer parked in front of me. The control buttons, with their bold crimson hue, the same shade as the blood staining my fingertips, call to me, beckoning me to press them.

My hand lifts, hovering over the up-arrow control. The skeletal design permanently etched on the top of my palm that spreads its black and gray trail along each of my fingers, is just one of many reminders of how far I’ve fallen from the person I used to be. The old me would never muddy my skin with ink. Hell, the old me wouldn’t have had the fucking balls to do a fraction of the things I’ve done this evening alone.

But the fact remains, I’m here…finally.I’m so close.So damn close that I can feel the finish line nearing.Fuck. I can practically taste it. The adrenaline rush is all-consuming, and as my inked hand glides to the control, eagerness embeds itself in my fingers, causing them to buzz in anticipation.

Though, as I stand here, with rows of tombstones cluttering my periphery, a part of me wonders if I’ve taken this too far. Even with the plummet my conscience has taken, the consequences of what I’m about to do isn’t lost on me. Not even I can deny what will happen once I press that button. The aftermath that awaits usboth is as permanent as the scars she left me with. Which should frighten me, but I’d be lying if I said that kind of destruction isn’t what I’ve been a fiend for since she corrupted my heart, my body, and my fucking mind with the poison that is her existence in my life.

“Harlan, please!” Araceli whines. The desperation in her voice is impossible to ignore, but it doesn’t deter me like it should. All her pathetic cry does is solidify my decision.

Ignoring the onslaught of her cries, I slam my finger on the red button with the up arrow. “Sorry,” I grunt loud enough that she can hear me as the machine roars to life. Rocks and loose debris buried within the dirt-filled dump box click and clack against the metal basin as it makes its slow but steady ascent upward. “You asked for this.”

What did she think would happen?

Did she seriously think after all this time I’d simply forget the promise she made?

That I’d let her escape me?

Escape the truth?

All without consequence?

Absolutely not.

Never.

“You can’t do this!” Araceli screams.

Wrong. Yes, I can, and look at that… I’m doing it.

“Shut up,” I quip, now standing over the pronounced ditch made special just for her.

This is all her fault, and now, in no time at all, the dirt will begin to pour directly into the six-foot-deep hole in the ground where she lay, giving her no-where to go without any option but to submit to me because I make the rules now… not her.

“You’re sick, Harlan. Fucking sick!”

Her eyes meet mine, and her facial expression betrays the exasperation of her words. She looks scared… she should be. All her plans are now in disarray. Her destiny, something she foolishly believed she had control over, now hangs in the balance. All those hopes and dreams are now a pile of loose strands waiting for a puppeteer to pick them up and manipulate her fate. I am her destiny. I am the sailboat granting her passage. She’s just a pawn, a measly passenger whose time has run out.

“Want some company?” I tease her, lifting my boot off the ground, moving it side to side, her gaze following it like a pendulum as I hover the open pit.

The usually bright cognac shade of her irises now reduced to a tormented and harrowing plea.

“Fuck you!” she spews. Adorably so, with a scrunch of her nose that’s practically begging me to take my foot and pull it back, and to add to the spillage since the trailer is pouring it out too slowly for my liking.

“Soon,” I bellow, stifling the imagery of how good she will feel, one last time.

“This isn’t you.” Her argument is mooted the second my boot drags back and forth on the ground, adding to the assortment of dirt piling into where she lay. An inescapable grin curls my lips, watching the broken fragments of earth shoot out from the sole of my boot. Anger dances on her face as dust wisps her way, forming debris-filled clouds around her. She can pretend this isn’t what she wants, but no amount of huffing and puffing can distract from the secret thrill that I know this is giving her. This is everything she wants. Her perfect ending. Gifted to her in a dirty, brown, deep gaping hole in the fucking ground.

Stubborn as ever, even as her face is being pummeled, her gaze is unwavering. Searing into mine with the same dark stare that has tempted me as many times as it’s deceived me.

“Please.” Another whimpered plea, this time breathless with a hint of surrender that she and I both know is a farce. This is what she does. She manipulates anything and anyone in an attempt to get her way. But giving her what she wants has never benefited me, and sure as hell won’t do either of us any favors, not now at least—it’s too late.She made sure of that.

Ignoring her piss-poor acting skills and the pain she has soconveniently forgotten she caused me—yet again—I take hold of the bloody knife and jump into the open grave plot. Becoming one with the earth and grime, I land right on top of her. Araceli squeals from the impact of my bones crashing onto her, and the whimper that follows, leaking from those pouty lips of hers, is like music to my ears.

“Hurry,” she pants. Strength suddenly finds her limbs as her hand taps at my waist. Her trembling fingers find my belt.

“You want it don’t you?”

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