El Diablo (The Devil 1)

Just her goddamn bodyguard.

I wasn’t a fucking idiot. I knew Daisy had a crush on him, but I couldn’t control that. What I could control was what Esteban did about it. My niece was gorgeous. She had long brown hair and bright green eyes, exactly like her mother. Looking, and acting, more and more like Amari as the years went on. There were times where I couldn’t even tell the difference, she had the snarky little mouth too. I found myself almost calling her by her mother’s name on several occasions, but catching myself before it left my mouth. Esteban was young, but he was still older than Daisy. I knew if he touched her or gave her a thread of hope, the crush would have turned into love somewhere along the way.

Then I would have no choice but to cut off his cock and put a fucking bullet in his head.

Not thinking twice about it.

Daisy had been with me for almost nine years. I knew she had a hard time at school, and with life in general. Everyone knew who I was, what I did. Kids treated her like shit because their parents feared me and hated what I stood for, leaving me no choice but to have her move schools several times.

I owned New York City.

Everyone loathed her because of it, reminding me of my childhood. She hated it as much as I did. I saw a lot of my youth in her, it was hard not to. Except, she didn’t have any friends. Parents told their kids to stay away from the Mitchell girl. I, on the other hand, had more than I ever cared for, but not for the right reasons.

Leo was the only true friend I had growing up. To this day, he is the only person I could trust.

My confidant.

So, I gave him a job as my financial manager. Responsible for making sure I stayed rich as fuck. Daisy’s so called friends consisted of the characters in the books she was constantly reading. Always had her damn nose in a book, while most kids would be out playing and having fun together. I always made sure she had the books she wanted. Who was I to complain, it kept her out of my hair at least for a little while.

I may not have been involved in her life directly, but there was never anything that Briggs ever wanted, that I didn’t get her.

Including revenge.

She admitted to Esteban how she felt responsible for her parent’s death, but not going into much detail on why she felt that way to begin with.

He sighed. “This won’t change—”

“Dime, Esteban,” I demanded. “Tell me.” Cocking my head to the side, narrowing my eyes at him. “You are aware she’s a child, right? Esto puede cambiar todo,” I added, “This can change everything.”

“With violence?” he questioned, having the balls to step toward me.

“With justice,” I countered, shoving him away. “Now are you going to fucking get her? Or do I have to make you?”

He reluctantly nodded, making his way over to the elevator and hitting the button.

“Esteban,” I called out, causing him to look over his shoulder at me. “She’s fifteen. Keep your dick in your pants, unless you want me to shoot it off.”

He spun, facing me, surrendering his hands. “Señor, eso—”

“That wasn’t a question.” The elevator doors opened and I nodded toward them, dismissing him.

He finally fucking left, but it took longer than I expected for him to return with Daisy. As soon as the doors opened again, she came into view. Esteban retreated to the corner of the basement, wanting to hide from the scene before him. Her eyes were closed tight, she knew that tonight her life would change once again, shaking any sense of comfort.

Struck with the coppery scent of blood that lingered in the damp space, she stood there, unmoving. She slowly, cautiously opened her eyes, holding onto the courage for as long as she could. I could smell her fear from a distance, there was no mistaking it.

“Por fin,” I stated, breaking the silence, “Finally.”

Her eyes widened as she took in the scene in front of her, it was then she checked out.

She was there, but she wasn’t. I was fine with that, the end result would grant her peace, and it was all I wanted for her.

“Venga,” I ordered, “Come.”

She looked back at Esteban who was standing in the corner of the room, the shame and remorse eating him alive.

Her.

“I bring you a gift, and this is how you react?” I voiced, bringing her attention back to me.

I leaned up against the wall behind the motherfucker in the chair. My arms folded over my chest, one leg draped over the other. The sleeves of my shirt were rolled up, the ends covered in blood.

“A gift?” she whispered loud enough for me to hear.

“Briggs, I won’t tell you again. Come here.”

She stepped off the elevator, the doors closed behind her, causing her to jump. She shuddered, wrapping her arms around her chest in a comforting gesture. Suddenly cold.

I grinned. “Are you scared?”

She didn’t know how to reply, so she didn’t say anything at all. Not realizing I noticed as she dug her nails into the palms of her hands, to keep from passing out.

I noticed everything, especially how much she reminded me of myself, that night in my father’s office.

I spoke with conviction, “You’re my niece. You’re the daughter of my only sister, who I loved very fucking much. I would never physically hurt you. Don’t you ever fucking offend me like that again, by letting that thought cross your mind. Do you understand me?”

She peered down at the fucker in the chair, taking in all the blood, ignoring my question. I let her have it just this one time. I couldn’t fucking blame her, I wouldn’t trust me, the devil, either.

I followed her stare. “It was a hit and run,” I answered the question, which had been reeling in her mind from the minute she opened her eyes.

Her head snapped, and our gazes locked.

“And this,” I nodded toward the chair, “is the man who ran,” I declared, needing her to understand the point of tonight.

The peace I was giving her.

The both of us…

Her eyes scanned his body, confused and overwhelmed by the turn of events. She couldn't look away from the motherfucker’s gruesome appearance. Especially the name “Amari” I’d carved into his chest.

She sucked in a breath.

I jerked my neck toward Esteban, who understood my silent command. He made his way to the fucker, his eyes pleading with Daisy to forgive him for what was about to happen.

It was time she saw him for what he truly was. Anyone who worked for me did the Devil’s dirty work.

He roughly ripped off the tape from his eyes, followed by his mouth, before throwing a bucket of freezing cold water on his face, causing him to stir into consciousness. Gasping for air that wasn’t available for the taking.

Esteban quickly retreated back to the corner of the basement, proving to me he was in love with my fucking niece.

The motherfucker strapped to the chair, immediately started screaming and thrashing around like the pussy he was. I didn’t pay him any mind. He deserved everything he was about to get. Actually, he should have considered himself lucky it wasn’t much worse. Trust me, it would have been, had Daisy not been in the room, witnessing.

This wasn’t about me, and it took everything in me to remember that. It was for her. For the first time in her life, I could see her internal struggle between right and wrong. Wanting retribution for the lives of her parents. For the purgatory she was forced to live in daily.

With me.

“You didn’t kill your parents, Briggs. He did,” I reminded, fueling her battle of good versus evil.

“LIAR!” he yelled out, and I resisted the urge to knock him the fuck out again. He was scaring her. I craved to place my hands over her ears, her eyes.

To hide.

From him.

From me.

From herself.

Evil always won. I made goddamn sure of it.

“YOU’RE A FUCKING LIAR!” he screamed bloody murder, whipping around even harder

, faster, almost making the chair fall over. Used to the theatrics.

No one paid him any mind as she visibly struggled with her conflicting emotions. One right after the other.

“It’s midnight,” I stated, ready to get this fucking show over with. I raised my gun, pointing it directly at the back of his head. He suddenly stopped moving, seizing all movement, even his breathing. He knew.

They always knew.

She screamed, shaking. “No! No! No! You don’t have to do this!”

“Happy fifteenth birthday, Daisy.”

And with that…

I pulled the trigger, blowing his fucking head off.

Tonight was my ballet recital. I was thirteen and one of the top girls in my ballet class. The velvet curtain opened and the spotlight beamed on me, ready to follow my every move around the stage. It was a full house that night, but I wasn’t nervous. I was performing a solo to George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue.” A very intense, bluesy piece I’d worked months on perfecting. The music came through the speakers, and I was immediately transported to my happy place.

The instrumental jazzy rhythm assaulted my senses, taking over my body, manipulating it like a master puppeteer. Carrying me from step to step. The tempo went from fast to slow and vice versa. Sauté arabesque stage right, Piqué attitude, ballet run to center stage. Taking a deep breath for the hardest part of the performance, rond de jambe to fourth position, plié preparing for ten Fouetté turns which I was yet to nail without a stumble.

Turning and turning, the lights blurring in the distance as my leg whipped me around. Landing the combination of turns without faltering even a little bit. I smiled big as I leaped through the air, finishing my routine with a pirouette and a bow. The spotlight faded and the stage turned dark. The audience exploded in applause. This was my second favorite part of dancing, the admiration and the love, even if only for a few seconds I mattered to someone.

When I took my bow at the end of my performance, my eyes wandered over the crowd, trying to find him. The blinding lights obscured my vision though and a sense of relief washed over me. Not seeing his smug face among the patrons was a blessing. He never missed a performance, no matter what, he was always sitting somewhere usually lurking in the shadows, hiding in plain sight.

I hated him.

The mere thought of him made me sick to my stomach, and my skin crawl. I immediately hoped something bad happened to him, causing him not to be here tonight. Then I loathed him even more for making me wish bad things. I never wanted him to know he changed me in any shape or form. Thinking that he’d won, or that I was broken.

He may have owned my body, but I preserved my soul. The second I turned eighteen I would be gone and out of his grasp. He would never be able to crawl in my bed and touch me with his filthy hands. He’d never see me again. He would be dead in my eyes, along with my past, and all the shit I’ve been through.

I would win.

My life would be mine.

Only mine.

I stayed behind after the recital to help Susan clean up. It was late by the time we left the auditorium. I silently hoped he was passed out drunk when I walked inside. But I knew I wasn’t that lucky. Even hammered as shit, he’d manage to find me.

I said goodnight to Susan, waving to her before I stepped foot inside. The entire house was pitch black, a rare occurrence. He always kept a light on, making sure he could see through the haze of his drunken stupor. I shook off the eerie feeling, going straight for the shower. Dreading the rest of the night that hadn’t even started yet.

Most kids loved going to bed, ending their day. Hating that tomorrow was another school day. Me, I looked forward to it. I stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, like I always did. Rubbing all of my sore muscles, washing my hair a few times, letting my conditioner stay on longer than needed.

Prolonging the inevitable any way I could.

I threw on a hoodie and some pajama pants, even though it was hotter than Hell outside. I was still always cold, at least that’s what I told myself. Sometimes if I layered my clothes, he would be too drunk to find his way in. Not being able to get under all the armor I shielded my body with. I’d thought that through the years he would start doing more than just molesting me, expecting me to do things back to him. Or worse, rape me.

He didn’t.

Thank God for small miracles, except now I hated being touched, even when dancing, I couldn’t stand the feel of people’s hands on me. Stemming from my mom dying with her arms wrapped around me, to my piece of shit stepdad touching me, pretending I was her.

It didn’t matter. I didn’t need anyone. All I needed was ballet and myself.

I took one last look in the mirror, trying to see what he talked about. Looking for my mother through the reflection, staring back at me. I never saw her. The image of her dead body was engrained in my mind, too engaged in my soul, too attached in my heart.

I shook off the thoughts, turning off the light before I walked into my bedroom. It was then that I saw it. A torn out piece of paper from my notebook, placed on my pillow.

I sat down on the edge of my bed, running my fingers over my stepdads handwriting. Hesitating to read what he had to say.

Lexi,

I want you to know I’m sorry. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am for everything I have ever done to you. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to cause you any pain or distress. I’m sick, Lexi. I’m a very sick, fucked up man, and I can’t stop hurting you. No matter how many times I tell my mind it’s wrong, it doesn’t listen. It’s like an addiction. And because I can’t stop, I have decided that I’m leaving. I can feel myself about to cross a line that even someone like me knows is sick. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I don’t expect it either. I left some money on the kitchen counter that should get you by for a little while. Please have peace of mind that you won’t ever see me again.

I promise.

I read the letter until I had it memorized word for word. Staring at it for, I don’t know how long, thinking it was a joke. Waiting for him to walk through the front door. He would come home. He would keep hurting me. This wasn’t truly over.

For some reason I started crying. Tears streamed down my face onto the paper that held his final goodbye. For the first time since my mother left me with this monster.

I could finally breathe again.

I was relieved.

Even though…

I was alone.

She ran. She ran as if her life depended on it, not being able to get away fast enough. Reacting exactly how I expected her to. I let her go, giving her the space I’m sure she needed to wrap her head around what she just saw. At least now, I felt that she’d have peace in her soul. Knowing she wasn’t responsible for the death of her parents. I wanted to be her savior, not the monster that haunted her dreams every night since she was six.

“Clean up this fucking mess,” I ordered, leaving my men to it. My bodyguard followed close behind. “Stay,” I ordered him as I stepped into the elevator.

“Boss—” I hit the button to the rooftop, letting the doors close in his face.

As soon as they were shut, I let out a long breath from deep within my soul. Leaning my head against the wall, ascending toward heaven.

The irony was not lost on me.

I made my way toward the edge of the roof, looking out over Manhattan. My hands placed in the pockets of my slacks, not giving a fuck that they were still blood covered. Enjoying how it felt to be by myself, no protection around me. Standing at the top of the building.

Vulnerable.

Exposed.

Alone.

Taking in the high-rise buildings, the night air, the dark sky, the lights illuminating the streets, and the cars driving in the distance. I took in every last detail, trying to come down from the high from killing someone always gave me. Trying to ignore my plaguing conscious, which was trying to reprimand me for what I just did in front of my niece.

Amari’s

daughter.

I knew she was probably rolling over in her grave right now, so disappointed in me, and my actions.

My decisions.

My choices.

My indiscretions.

I couldn’t help but think how many times my sister had been disheartened since I gained custody of Daisy.

Did she regret leaving her in my care?

I could see Amari standing in front of me, shaking her head with tears streaming down her face. Staring at the monster, the spitting image of our father glaring back at her.

I didn’t know the difference between good versus evil anymore. It all blended together, forming a clusterfuck of God knows what. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I struggled with my decision. Not knowing if I had done the right thing in this situation. Or if I just condemned Daisy even more. Regret started creeping in slowly.

Why didn’t I just let her sleep?

Let her keep the small piece of innocence I just crudely ripped away from her. Sat her down like a normal human being, and told her the truth, giving her peace of mind that way. The questions were endless and unforgiving. There was a fine line between right and wrong. I had done so much wrong I was now excusing it for making it seem like I was doing something right for Daisy. When all I really did was contaminate the poor girl.

Making her more like me.

“I’m sorry, Amari,” I whispered into the dark. I hadn’t apologized to anyone since the day I was in Daisy’s hospital room years ago. Nine fucking years those two words had not left my lips. “Fuck…” I breathed out, running my hands through my hair, too much bullshit weighing on my mind. “I’ve lost my way, sister. I don’t know who I am anymore. There are days where I can’t even look at myself in the mirror. Disgusted with what is staring back at me… our father. I wish you were here. I wish you were here every fucking day,” I confessed. “I know I’m fucking this up. Daisy, your daughter. My niece. Is the only thing that’s keeping me alive. I’m tired, Amari… I’m so fucking tired.” Rubbing my hands down my face.