Page 109 of Made in Vengeance

DAMIEN

We came backto New Mexico to grab our shit and for me to do one last thing.

Right now, Mikhail and Nikolay kept Catalina occupied while I made my way down to the basement.

The scent of death permeated the room.

I took in the darkness of it all, held it close to me in comfort.

This was easy.

Taking a life, torturing, extracting answers by any means necessary was easy.

It was everything else that was hard.

I took a deep breath, trying to get myself under control.

Everything seemed to be on the quiet side lately, and it was usually during this period that I felt the most restless.

If we weren’t doing something, then we were waiting around for something to happen, and in my experience, that was never a good thing.

I went down to the last cell.

A man, only a shadow of his former self, looked up at me with dead eyes.

He knew why I was here.

He let out a small prayer. I remained silent as I took him in.

Did he really think his God would save his soul?

I went to the weapon table by the wall, my hand coming in contact with a small blade.

My weapon of choice.

He wept louder.

“Do you really think this will help?” I asked.

He didn’t answer me. I didn’t even think he heard me at this point.

I turned around and watched him.

People who prayed always fascinated me.

I was not a religious man. Never had been, and I doubt I would ever be. The Bratva owned a little church in upper Manhattan, but it uses wasn’t pious in the least.

What was it about turning to an unknown, unseen deity during a time of need that brought people comfort?

Especially for men like him?

If there truly was a God in this world, would he unconditionally love someone like Henry Ramos?

Would he love someone like me?

I didn’t understand it.

So much suffering, so much misery. Would such a merciful God allow people like me to have so much power? Or people like Ramos, who’d sold me when I had been nothing more than a defenseless child?

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