Page 45 of Cuervo's Carnival
Suddenly, I feel something come behind me, knocking my weapon down.
Caught in a chaotic whirlwind, I see Paxton lunge toward me, mouthing something my adrenaline does not allow me to hear.
Black, cool leather grazes my prickled arms as a familiar hand slithers its way to my mouth before blocking it with curled fingers.
Heated breath works its way to my ear, contradicting the frigid orb that begins to form around my body. My heart breaks because, upon the first syllable, I realize the voice is not coming from me this time, making the realization of its owner even more devastating.
“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, bruja. Too bad you are rotten, just like she was, just like he told me you would be. See you in—”
The betrayal is interrupted by a cold, dreary shadow that washes over my senses as warm steel touches my skin.
As the icy chill traps my body in its vicious embrace, something within me becomes ignited within the darkness now seeping into my every pore. I close my eyes, feeling the truth, the horrid, sick, and twisted truth, come rushing to me like a blazing bullet to the heart.
I now know that being here was not a coincidence.
I was meant to be here.
And it is now, as my consciousness succumbs to the cold grip of death, that I am uncertain if my soul will precede my body or if I will leave here alive, with my soul still intact.
22
Lola
“You are not goingto control me any longer. You hear me, coward?” a woman shouts, as the band plays a roaring rendition of Entry of the Gladiators. The blaring instrumentals being played across the pathway beneath the big, pitched tents of The Night’s Plutonian add to the anguish in her tone.
The man she called a coward stands in front of her, his well over six-foot frame towering over her petite one. Although it is clear his physical height may exceed hers, from the fervent disgust that comprises her expression, he is undoubtedly beneath her.
The man takes a step closer to the woman, who has her hands crossed, resting across her abdomen.
He parts his lips not to speak but to release a maniacal cackle that immediately morphs the woman’s anguish into pure rage.
“What’s so funny, Donato?” the woman asks, unimpressed with the humor the man is finding in their current situation.
The man does not answer, reveling in whatever comedic relief he finds in the woman’s questioning of him.
Closing the gap between them, the woman steps directly in front of the smug man, who stands there, deviously mocking her. Her headpiece, a raven’s skull adorned with fresh floral, pokes the man’s brow line, causing him to step back.
“You are worse than a coward, you are absolutely deplorable,” she spits. Arms still crossed, she leans her torso forward, expelling saliva onto the man’s gleaming black boots.
Finally, his cackle tapers into a long-winded sigh. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he grumbles. As he goes to shake the saliva from his shoe, he slams his booted foot into the woman’s shin, causing her to lose her balance as she falls to the ground.
Her eyes frantically scan the corn maze behind the man, hoping that someone, anyone, will see them. But no one is there. She debates screaming, but the instrumentals are so loud, it’s useless. She knows what is going to happen to her. She knew the day that she opened her legs for Donato Grimmrose, a part of her soul would be captured by the Reaper, as her slow death on this side of the clouds would commence.
She goes to stand up, but he crashes his weight onto her, pinning her down. He brings his mouth to the shell of her ear, as he whips a knife out of his back pocket.
“You crazy fucking bitch,” he spits, coating her ear and side of her face with his vile spit. “How could you think I would let you leave unscathed? That I would allow you to take my children away from me and let you live to raise them on your own?” he spews, now grabbing her hair.
Although her heart is beating ferociously inside of her chest, so much so that it feels like it could burst at any second, she does not give him the satisfaction of her fear because she knows he gets off on it. The ability to place fear into people is what weak men who scramble for power do, and she refuses… Not this time.
“I’m not the crazy one,” she huffs. “You are nothing but a cowardly man. No, not even. A child who has never grown up, never cared about anything or anyone but yourself. I took my children away from the monstrous beast who took part in creating them. Children you never wanted or cared about. I did you a favor, prick.”
The man clicks his tongue before placing a kiss on the woman’s cheek. She winces at the feel of his lips on her skin, and internally, she knows that her time is near. The literal kiss of death has touched her flesh, and now, everything she fought for is coming to an end…or so he thinks.
“Lenore,” he begins. “Mi amor, I’m going to tell you what is going to happen, so listen closely. I am going to tell my children I married a junkie. A woman so worthless that she decided to abandon her family and run off with her dealer. The children you fought so hard to protect from me, the supposed monster, are going to see me as a victim, and you, well, you will be the coward in my story,” he says in a tone that is as condescending as it is sinister.
Now, the woman laughs, throwing the man off guard.
Anger splashes on his face. “What the fuck is so funny, Lenore?”
