Venomous King (Venom #2)

2. Diego

Chapter two

Diego

“It gives me strength to have somebody to fight for;I can never fight for myself, but, for others, I can kill.”

Emilie Autumn (The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls)

Four and a half years later

T he sound of pain-filled screaming becomes background noise to my ears as I lean against the wall and watch my men, Santiago and Vega, work on the battered and bleeding guy strapped to the chair with their fists. The sound of their fists making contact with his hard flesh is a soothing balm to my abused soul. His screams will lull me to sleep later, or at least I hope they will. The poor stupid fucker thought that he could steal from us. He was fucking wrong. No one steals from the Cabanos. No one survives our wrath. No one survives me.

The tales told about our cartel’s brutality aren’t fairytales or make-believe. They carry a warning to all those brave or dull-witted enough to try to come for us. We have no mercy or souls. As the number one most powerful cartel in the western hemisphere, there are always cockroaches trying to rise and usurp power, like the one currently having the shit beaten out of him. The ground surrounding him is already stained with his blood, and so much more will spill before my men are done, and extract the information I need. And they will get it, they have yet to fail me.

My father, Manuel, watches comfortably from his oversized black, leather throne chair, like the unmerciful King Emeritus that he is. He’s come out of retirement just to watch this man receive his punishment. His olive green eyes are alight with pleasure, even as his face remains neutral in a mask that doesn’t allow you to read his thoughts. I know him, however, and witnessing the bloodshed and demise of his enemies is akin to watching his favorite soccer team play on national television. It’s a pleasure and pastime that I never wish to deny him.

He built this organization from the ground up alone until I was of an age to help him. In the last four years, I’ve doubled its reach, profits, and ruthlessness. Now, people utter the name Cabano with fear, as if the mere mention could summon the devil, and they are not wrong; I may as well be the devil. ‘La serpiente’, the snake, that’s what they call me behind my back. A snake has no mercy for anything or anyone, and always strikes to kill.

I’ve heard the whispers about me losing my humanity, compassion, and sanity. I’m not genuinely certain I ever had any of those to begin with, but now, nothing moves me, not bloodshed, nor violence, and certainly not death. I’m completely hollow inside, carved out and empty, and have been for a while. Since she’s been gone.

“Who else helped you transport the weapons, cabrón (bastard) ?“ Santiago lands a heavy punch to the man’s jaw. He’s one of my most loyal men, and has become my right-hand man and confidant over the last few years. A change took over him when I lost her a few years back. He holds himself responsible, even though I don’t blame him. No, the blame solely lies on my shoulders alone.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts, before they can overtake me and drag me down to my daily routine of wallowing in self-pity. The rage that lives inside of me, every moment of the day, is a volcano constantly threatening to erupt, and cover the world in hot lava and ash. The pain that slices through my chest with every breath, knowing that she’s gone and I have been unable to find her, haunts me. Destroying what is left of me, bit by bit, and turning me into the merciless leader I have become. She’s never coming back.

I swipe harshly at my face, warm blood splatter trailing down my cheek. I stare down at my fingers, painted crimson, and wish it was the blood of the person who took my most prized possession from me. My crown jewel, my Princesa , my Issy. When I find that person, I will bleed them until not a drop of blood remains in their traitorous body.

“Ple… ase, I… beg you.” The man coughs up blood, as he wheezes with every breath. I tilt my head, my eyes boring holes into his skull. He seeks mercy, but I no longer know the word’s meaning. Like his blood is being ripped from his body by force, my mercy was ripped from my own. Soon, we will both be empty shells.

I walk over to the large, long metal table, layered with various knives, scalpels, and tools, along one side of the room. The man watches me with horror in his swollen eyes, as my hand reaches out and grabs one of the construction impact drills, and a handful of metal screws. I turn back, making my way to my captive, my steps unhurried and sure. He begins to struggle again in his tight bindings, but it’s no use. He’s not going anywhere. At least not before he takes his last breath on this Godforsaken earth.

Some days, I wish I could escape, and leave this earth and this life, which have already taken so much from me. Peace. Quiet. Death. I crave them, like an addict craves a hit of their favorite substance. The only thing that keeps me going is knowing she’s out there somewhere, hidden in the shadows from me. My Princesa . I will get her back if it’s the last thing I do.

I stop before him, and crouch down until I’m at eye level with him. What does he see when he stares at me in horror? Does he see his death, a demon in the flesh, someone capable of atrocities without remorse, or worse, does he see only emptiness?

His brown eyes are bloodshot and filled with terror, the skin along his face bruised, swollen, and bleeding, and the rest of his naked body not looking much better. Yet, he’s holding out. He knows he will never leave here alive, but is still refusing to name his accomplices, and guarantee himself a quick death. The question is, why? Who could instill this type of loyalty against me? Who could be more frightening than I am?

“Keep his feet from moving,” I instruct Vega. He bends down, holding the man firmly in place by the ankles. His breath leaves him in heavy pants, as he struggles to comply with my order.

I place a long, metal concrete screw on the end of the bit, and jam it into the top of the man’s bare foot, just above where his toes are joined, and use the drill to fasten his foot down to the concrete floor, as his hoarse screams fill the air, and sound like music to my ears. Beautiful. I duplicate my results on his other foot, ensuring that if he tries to yank them, he will tear his flesh apart with the attempt. More, we need more blood, more violence, more destruction, my mind calls out for the darkness that takes the edge off, and holds the madness at bay.

“Who helped you?” My voice is calm, even, and firm, without any inflection of emotion, or the anger that’s simmering just below the surface. The man whimpers, but refuses to utter the words that I crave. When I don’t get an immediate response, I drive another screw through his foot, and another, until there’s so much blood sprouting from the offending appendage, that it’s hard to see the flesh below. More blood, more pain, it’s not enough.

“Mercy… I… can’t… they have… my son!” He screams over and over now, but the time for mercy is long past, and as for someone having his child, that won’t move me either. We all make choices, and his was to betray me.

“Who helped you betray me?” I stand up, and use my heavily booted foot to apply pressure on all the screws protruding from his foot, while wrapping my hand around his throat, and tightening it. “I will keep you alive indefinitely, and continue to use you as a means to assuage my anger. The choice is yours. Your child is dead either way, and you’re never leaving here alive.”

Still, the fucker resists providing me with the information I need. FUCK! “Cut off all of his fingers and make him swallow them.” I nod towards Santiago, and he reaches for the blade he religiously has tucked into the sheath on his upper leg. He gets to work cutting the man’s fingers off one by one, and feeding them to him, as I grab a cloth and wipe his blood off my hands.

His refusal to give me my answers, and his blood tainting the color of my skin, offends me. I would like to call him a coward, but the reality is; he’s not. He has loyalty, it’s just not to me, and for that, he must suffer. The weight on my already burdened shoulders feels heavier still. When will this end? Someone always keeps coming for me. Will I never know a measure of peace? She’s gone; there is no peace without her.

My phone beeps, indicating a text message, and I pull it out of the pocket of my black jeans with agitation. Who the fuck could be messaging me? Very few people have my number, and even fewer are the ones who are currently outside of this room. Who would contact me directly, and not Santiago? I curiously open the messaging app and see it’s a text from an unknown number. What I read below has my eyebrows shooting into my hairline, my mouth going dry, and my breath quickening with depraved excitement.

Annabell Delburne? Who the fuck is Annabell Delburne? I quickly reread the message from that cunt, Carter. Could it be that my missing Princesa has finally come out of hiding? I haven’t heard from Carter Pemberton in almost four years. Not since I threatened his precious, psychotic, Mia’s life, as a way to gain information on the whereabouts of her sister, Issy.

“Tell me where your sister is, and I won’t put a bullet in your pretty brain, little reina (queen).” I hold the gun steady against her temple. Her large ocean-blue eyes watch me without surprise or fear, her face a mask of no emotions and indifference. Defiant until the very end, some things never change with these Stratford women.

“Pull the trigger, cunt, I have nothing to tell you. My sister is dead, and you’re the fucking reason.” Her voice is steady, her eyes narrowed now on mine, a blazing fire within their depths as a scowl burns across her face. She’s beautiful, but in a deadly way, the way lionesses are stunning to admire, but will rip your throat out without the slightest hesitation, and feast on you with no regrets. A quality it seems all the Stratford women share.

“She’s not dead. She escaped. You know where she is, Mia, and I’m done playing games with you, and your Stratford witch of a grandmother. I want what is mine returned to me.” Movement behind me has me wrapping one of my hands around one of her biceps tightly, and cocking the gun, ready to shoot and end her life.

“If you don’t get away from my girl, there won’t be enough of you left to scrape off the fucking floor, Diego!” Carter’s wrath-filled voice echoes through the space, and the movement of the other three cunts, who are never far from her, make themselves known. I roll my eyes at his enraged threat, I don’t fucking fear any of them. We both know that if I decide to press the trigger, there is nothing he can do to stop me. She’ll be dead within seconds.

“I’m going to rip your fucking head from your shoulders, for putting your filthy hands on her!” Theo’s loud voice booms through the space, as he comes charging across the room, and stops a mere foot or two away from us. The large vein in his forehead is throbbing, and he’s practically foaming at the mouth like a rabies-infected cur. A part of me wants to see him completely lose it. There’s no love lost between me and this piece of shit, spoiled brat. Do I believe for one second I will walk out of here, once I murder the love of his life? Not even a chance, and that’s what stays my hand.

“Try it, bitch. I’ll pull this trigger, and your precious Mia will be dead. Give me a reason to take from you, what has been taken from me.” Fury fills me at his righteous anger. I know how he’s feeling right now. What the fear and rage are doing to him, as the possibility of losing the only woman he has ever loved enters his mind. Someone took my girl from me, and I want her fucking back. I can’t function or survive without her.

“I can’t give you back what no longer exists, Diego. Isabella Stratford is dead. She died in that jungle, because you kidnapped her and placed her in danger. If you’re angry with your choices in life, you have no one else to fucking blame but yourself.” Mia’s voice is filled with aggravation, as if she’s dealing with a small naughty child, instead of a dangerous armed gangster.

She lifts her leg, and donkey kicks me in the knee, making it buckle, and my grip on her arm falters, before she elbows me hard in the solar plexus. Fucking bitch! I can’t get a proper breath inside my chest, and as I struggle, she knocks the gun haphazardly from my grip. It flies across the floor closest to her boyfriend, Finn, who immediately picks it up and points it at me. Jesus fuck!

“She’s gone, Diego. None of us can ever have her back. All of us have lost her, and your actions have caused it. Get the fuck out of here and never show your face to me again, or I will help my grandmother utterly destroy you.” She turns and walks away from me, giving me her back without a single fuck or look back. That woman has massive balls made of fucking diamond, larger than any man I know, including myself.

“Not cool, cunt. You’re lucky my girl doesn’t want you dead. She would rather you suffer for eternity, knowing you caused the death of the love of your life. If you ever come near her again, Diego, I’m gonna forget we’re bros, and put a fucking bullet between your eyes.” Carter shoves me hard, and I stumble back a few steps, as he moves to follow his queen out the door. The other two; Finn, and my cousin Mateo, follow suit without a look back, and I’m left facing off against her last remaining boyfriend, Theo the cunt Saint-Lambert.

“How does it feel to lose the most important part of yourself, Diego? To know you played the game and fucking lost, huh? I could kill you right now, but death would be a mercy you don’t deserve. No, I would rather you keep breathing, and know, with every painful breath you take, that you are the reason she’s dead. You. Not anyone else, your obsession destroyed both of you.” He shoulder-checks me hard, and walks after his mates and girl, and I’m left there, feeling every single one of his words, like barbed wire is strangling my heart. She can’t be gone. I would know, my heart would fucking feel the loss of her, if she had left this planet for good, wouldn’t it?

I spent over a year mourning her death, and combing through every inch of the Amazon jungle with my men, searching for her remains, or her whereabouts, I found nothing. Not one single trace of what happened to my Issy. I waged war on her grandmother for sending those mercenaries who attacked us, and caused her to flee the compound. She had help, no doubt, but I haven’t been able to piece together who and where it came from, even to this day.

It’s as if Isabella Stratford disappeared off the face of the planet. Her family even had a memorial service for her, without her body, a year after she went missing. Her grandmother and I are still at war with each other four years later. Just a week ago, the witch had one of my warehouses in California burnt to the ground, and yesterday, I set fire to her compound in Columbia. Tit for tat, that’s what our dangerous war has become, and everyone is caught in the crossfire. We will see the world burn at our feet before either of us backs down.

Now this message comes through from Carter Pemberton, and finally, I have a sliver of hope. The fucker could be leading me into a trap, of course, but somehow deep down, I know that’s not what is happening here.

In two days, I will have my fucking answer on whether my Princesa is still alive or not. If she thinks she can permanently escape me, and marry any man other than me because we have been parted, she’s got a bomb coming her way. She will never be free of me, she belonged to me then, and she belongs to me now, and I will kill anyone that gets in my way of getting her back.

“Where are you going, hijo (son) ?“ My father questions, as I strut across the room with determination towards the door, excitement building in my blood, and the first deep breath I have taken in four years leaving my lungs.

“To buy a wedding gift, a leash, and a collar.” If he thinks my comment is questionable, he doesn’t say anything, or stop me from leaving, and I don’t bother explaining myself.

Issy, if you’re out there, baby, be ready. I’m coming for you.