Page 83 of Corrupting Camille
I light a cigarette I won’t finish, the smoke dragging through my lungs like penance. Mateo’s face flashes behind my eyes. Too young. Too cocky. Too loyal. And now?
Ash and bone.
Because of Ramos.
And because I was too distracted.
Because while Mateo bled out on the pavement, I was in New York watching Camille unravel at the seams, eyes glassy, voice shaking, speaking truth she didn’t know I could hear.
She said he touched her.
And now I’m here. Hunting ghosts in heat and concrete. Trying to make things right when nothing ever will be.
***
Ramos is already waiting when I walk in.
They always are.
Wrist-bound, duct tape around the ankles, eyes wide and wet. He’s sweating like a man who knows what’s coming but is praying for a different ending.
Bad news, pendejo.
You don’t get prayers. You get me.
“Kane,” he rasps, jerking desperately against the restraints.
“Shut up.” My voice is soft, casual. It makes him freeze, every muscle locked with dread.
I circle him slowly, feeling his pulse spike with every deliberate step. This part, the anticipation, is always sweetest.
“You sold me out,” I say quietly. “Gave Torres everything…my shipments, Mateo.”
“No…” Ramos shakes his head frantically, pleading. “I swear, it wasn’t personal…”
I lean in, my face inches from his, my voice barely above a whisper. “Betrayal’s always personal.”
He starts babbling, bullshit spilling from his lips. “Please, Kane…”
I hit him once, sharp and precise. His teeth slice open my knuckles, blood splatters across the floor. The crack of his skull against concrete makes a satisfying sound.
He screams. Beautiful, agonized.
Javi calmly lifts Ramos’s chair upright again, positioning him for more. The traitor’s breathing comes ragged, panicked. Blood runs thick from his broken mouth, mixing with his tears.
“You killed Mateo,” I say flatly. “Nineteen. You carved a message into him. A message for me.”
“Torres…Torres forced me,” he sobs desperately, pleading eyes locked on mine. “I swear, please…”
“Torres is dead,” I cut him off calmly. “But don’t worry. You’ll see him soon enough.”
Ramos shakes his head violently. “Please, just end it…”
I smile slowly, coldly. “Death is mercy. You’re not getting mercy tonight.”
Javi pulls out his blade, steel catching dim light, sharp edge gleaming. Ramos sees it, chokes on a scream. The first cut comes smoothly, perfectly calculated.
Ramos’s agony echoes off the concrete walls, a high-pitched wail filling the space. Exactly the sound I need.
