Page 82 of Corrupting Camille
My fist crushes into his jaw, splitting skin and bone. Blood sprays, teeth clattering across the floor.
“You touched my men.” My voice is steel, ice.
He wheezes, choking blood. “Wasn’t personal…”
I grip his throat, squeeze, watching veins bulge, his eyes widen in terror.
“Wrong.” I press the gun against his cheekbone, metal biting flesh. “You made it personal.”
His eyes plead, beg silently, broken by realization.
I pull the trigger once. Twice. Painful, not fatal.
His screams tear through the warehouse, echoing my message loud and clear. I lean close, voice gentle, a lover’s caress.
“You disfigured my boy. I’ll erase your entire existence.”
Blood pools beneath him, his body twitching. His breath rattles, gasping.
I turn away slowly, leaving him writhing. “Finish it,” I tell Javi, voice cold, empty.
Behind me, the single gunshot echoes like a final heartbeat.
Mateo’s death demanded blood.
Torres’ was only the beginning.
***
Blood is a language. And I speak it fluently.
Every scar across my body is a sentence. Every corpse I leave behind is punctuation, final, absolute, irrefutable. Power isn’t spoken in this world. It’s carved. It’s buried. It’s earned through bodies that no longer breathe and names that no one dares say aloud.
And tonight?
Torres is just another period in a paragraph that ends with my fucking name.
The silence that follows his execution doesn’t feel like peace. It feels like pressure. Tight. Searing. My blood hums, teeth grit, fists twitching at my sides, because I’m still not satisfied.
His death didn’t fix it.
Didn’t fix Mateo.
Didn’t fix her.
I stare down at the ruin we’ve made. Torres and his crew laid out like animals in a slaughterhouse. Bullet holes clean. Controlled. Each shot placed exactly where I wanted it, between the eyes, beneath the chin, straight through the throat. A lesson written in lead.
Javi wipes down his Glock without looking at me.
“Next?” he asks.
That’s the thing about him. He doesn’t need context. Doesn’t need motive. He just knows when the beast inside me still hasn’t fed enough.
“Ramos,” I say, voice low, the name heavy in my mouth. “He gave Torres the drop.”
Javi doesn’t blink. Just nods, already reaching for his phone.
Outside, dawn starts to crawl over the city. Pathetic light. Weak. Like it knows it doesn’t belong here. Miami’s not for sunrises, it’s for shadows. Heat. Blood thickening in alleys before the world wakes up.
