Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven 

Eileen stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair. Lately, she’d been thinking a lot about Henry and Steve. She wished she could just pick up the phone and call, but that would be a dangerous risk to take.

The door creaked open—José walked into the room. It had been five days since he last spent the night at the house. Eileen knew something was wrong the moment she saw him. Blood was splattered on his face, and his grey suit was stained deep red. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a gun, and dropped it carelessly into the drawer.

Eileen sat still, watching him. These were the days she feared him most. When he was angry, he became something inhuman—like a vampire. He could kill with his bare hands, with his teeth. She watched as he stripped, piece by piece, until he was naked. Blood still streaked parts of his body, and a stab wound glared red on his side.

Had he finally killed the detective—the one she wanted to partner with? The one who had the guts to go against the Santiagos?

She knew whoever his victim was tonight, they didn’t make it out alive.

“What are you staring at?” José asked. “You scared of a little blood? I guess you wanna run back to Canada, bake cookies and play housewife.” He smirked and stepped into the bathroom. She could still see him through the foggy glass door. “Well, even if you could go back, there’s no husband waiting for you... remember... boom.”

Eileen felt a tear slide down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away. She couldn’t let him know how much she cared—that would only become another weapon in his hands.

She glanced at the drawer where he had placed the gun.

What if I just take it out and shoot this motherfucker in the head? What if I just end it right now?

But she couldn’t. His men would be in here within seconds. And if Josh ever found out, he’d never forgive her.

“I was just using them,” she whispered.

José turned off the shower. “Come again?” he asked.

“I said... I was just using them.” Her voice was louder now.

She had to say something—anything—that would erase them from his mind. If he thought they meant nothing to her, maybe he’d stop using them against her.

“You think I was getting married because I cared?” she continued. “I didn’t. I changed my name, my look, dyed my hair—I did all of that because I was running from you. I needed his last name to cover mine. I don’t care about any of them. At all.”

He paused, watching her, and she prayed silently that he believed the lie.

He stepped out of the bathroom, still dripping wet, and walked straight to her. Naked. He grabbed her chin and looked her dead in the eyes. Her heart beat like thunder in her chest.

“You're just like me,” he said. “If you’d only believe in yourself. We could rule this world together.”

He tilted her chin up and kissed her hard. Water still ran down his skin as he lifted her and sat her on the drawer. He kissed her neck, then moved to her breast.

His phone rang.

“Stay right there,” he told her as he answered.

“I’ll be right there,” he said to the person on the other end.

Without another word, he threw on a pair of black shorts and a sleeveless shirt. She still sat on the drawer, her nightrobe bunched at her hips, her left breast still exposed from where his mouth had just been.

He sprayed cologne, then left.

She let out a heavy sigh.

That phone call had saved her.

Sex with José was always terrifying. She could handle it on most days, but not tonight—not when she knew his hands were still wet with someone’s blood. She picked up the bloody clothes he’d tossed aside and headed to the laundry room, trying not to think about the detective. She hoped he was okay.

____________

Morning came, but sleep never did. Eileen’s mind kept circling back to the same thought: who had José killed?

She had checked the news for shootouts or missing persons reports. Nothing. She sat on the sofa, the TV on, when José walked in. He headed straight to the bar, poured a drink, and slumped onto the couch behind her.

Then came the breaking news.

A body was found this morning in Grand Lake. It’s been identified as Dimitri Petrov, also known as The Bull—a Russian Mafia figure.

Eileen watched José smirk as he downed his drink.

Sources say Dimitri’s 19-year-old son was also found dead, stabbed multiple times and his throat slit, at his school campus. Police suspects it as a murder for revenge.

“They get it wrong every single time,” José said with a smile as he stood and climbed the stairs.

Eileen’s heart sank.

She was living with a monster. A man who had no problem slaughtering a 19-year-old boy.

She knew it now—without a doubt. It was Dimitri’s blood on him last night. And when he got that call and left her sitting half-naked on the drawer, it was that boy he went to kill.

She hated herself for it, but a small part of her wished he had stayed and fucked her instead. Maybe then the boy would still be alive.

She thought of Dimitri’s wife—how it would feel to lose your husband and your son in one day.

Somewhere in her heart, she was relieved that the detective was still alive. But that didn’t make it easier to live with what had happened.

When she walked back into the room, José was already fast asleep.

She wondered how he could rest so peacefully after committing such atrocities.

They say there’s no peace for the wicked.

But that rule didn’t apply to José Santiago.

He could burn down a house full of children... and still sleep like a baby.