Page 31 of El Diablo (The Devil 1)

  She was saying goodbye to me.

  I hung my head, my heart and mind raging war on each other. I wanted to storm up on that stage and grab her. Take her back home with me and cherish her, show her how fucking sorry I was, and never let her go again. The song faded, I looked at her one last time. Memorizing every last thing about her. Everything I loved.

  Nodding to Leo, I turned and left.

  “Martinez!” Leo yelled, grabbing my arm. Stopping me when we were outside of the building. “What the fuck are you doing, man? Go get her.”

  “No,” I simply stated, facing him. She was no longer mine to get.

  “What do you mean? She's in danger, that's why we're here. You still haven’t—” I peered back toward the theatre, my solemn expression causing Leo to abruptly stop talking.

  Never taking my eyes off the building, I asked, “What do you know about me, Leo? No one fucks with me. I’ve spent my whole life making sure of it,” pausing to let my words sink in.

  I revealed, “She was never in any fucking danger. I took care of it the next day.”

  And left…

  During the holidays, The Royale Ballet theatre in England performed Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker Suite. It was our final show of the season, and I couldn’t wait for the break. My partner, Matthew, and I were performing the Pas de Deux. The music soon became my favorite, so romantic, so powerful, so all-consuming. Dancing to it was the most intense feeling I had ever felt in my career. Matthew’s strong hands wrapped around my waist, lifting me into a grande pas de chat.

  Floating through the air as if I weighed nothing. The music became more intense the closer we got to the finish. I turned and faced him for our last lift of the night. Développé, passé, pirouette, plié. Using every last bit of energy, he picked me up, placing me on his shoulder. The music faded, and the applause rang out. Setting me down, he presented his arm to me as I curtsied. Rapidly following and bowing his head.

  “Great performance tonight, Lexi!” Sabrina, the Head Master praised in my dressing room after the show.

  “Thank you.” I smiled, kissing both of her cheeks and pulling her into a tight hug.

  “My beautiful girl,” she lovingly stated, cupping my face in the palms of her hands. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years of you performing here with us. A decade of lovely memories made of dancing. I couldn’t be more proud of you if you were my very own.”

  Sabrina was like the mother I never had. From the moment I stepped off the plane, she was waiting for me at the luggage claim, welcoming me with open arms. Puzzled when I didn’t grab a suitcase, not knowing that everything I took with me was already in my dance bag, hanging over my shoulder. She whisked me off to the theatre to meet my new dance family and begin to practice. It was a hardcore schedule, which left little time to think about who and what I ran from. The first few days... hell, the first few months, were exactly that.

  Hell.

  The days and nights blended together, the word sleep was no longer a part of my vocabulary. All I was trying to do was survive this new life. My fresh start. I hadn’t seen or heard from Martinez since I left him that night.

  Trying to mend the pieces of my broken heart.

  Failing miserably to do so.

  Sabrina had been nothing but good to me. I had my own place to live, fully furnished with everything I could possibly need when I arrived. I hated it. I didn’t want to be alone anymore. She noticed it immediately, I didn’t have to tell her. Taking me into her home instead, giving me a bed to sleep on and food to eat. Housing a complete stranger out of the goodness of her heart. Making me feel like I was wanted for the first time in my life. She loved me instantly, and the feeling was very mutual. For the first few years, I drowned myself in work again, dancing all hours of the day and night. It was the only life I’d ever lived where I was happy and content, except something had changed inside of me. Something I didn’t ever get back.

  To this day, I couldn’t tell you what it was, but I changed into someone I didn’t recognize anymore. My outside emotions started matching how I felt on the inside. Like a piece of my soul was taken. The darkness and reality of my life started to take me under. Even after everything he had done to me, put me through, made me see… I still loved him.

  For years I loved him very fucking much. I still do.

  I never shook off the feeling that I was being watched. Sometimes I felt as though if I looked close enough, I would see him. Possibly even find him staring back at me.

  I couldn’t do it anymore.

  It hurt too fucking much.

  A year became three and three became six, and before I knew it, I was a few months away from being in England for seven years. That’s when I met him. His name was Will. He was charming and handsome in a boyish way. An American, like myself, from Colorado working there on a visa. He had the sweetest smile, and the most contagious laugh. It was so good to laugh again, to smile, to feel like I wasn’t dead inside. I met him at a café, drinking espresso, reading an American newspaper. He was a relentless flirt, asking me out only after a few hours of us talking over nothing.

  We casually started dating not too long after meeting. Life was so simple with him, so positive and pure. He was patient, caring, and attentive, every girl’s living dream. It took me a while to let him get close, especially in an intimate way. He didn’t have the effect Martinez had on me, and, in the back of my mind, I knew no one ever would. Sabrina was the only person I ever told about my life, about him. She told me if I ever truly wanted to be happy, I needed to try. Let go of my past and walk—not run—into my future.

  So I did.

  One night we were drinking heavily. Laughing turned into kissing, kissing turned into touching, and touching turned into being intimate with someone who didn’t consume my body, mind, or soul.

  I cried, I cried so fucking hard after we were done. He didn’t ask any questions, he just held me in his arms. The way I yearned for Martinez to do, for God knows how long, even at that moment in another man’s arms, I thought of him. Still craving his presence, his scent, his love.

  Will and I never talked about what happened, we just went on. Little by little, things got easier, I started to live life again. Letting myself find the girl that I left in Martinez’s bed.

  With him.

  It had been three years of us being together. We were out at a fancy restaurant celebrating our anniversary, when Will confessed his undying love and devotion to me.

  “Lexi, I love you. I want you to be my wife,” he simply stated, like he was telling me how his day was.

  I looked at him wide-eyed, never in a million years thinking that I would be someone’s wife. “I…I don’t…” I stuttered.

  “You don’t have to answer right now. I plan to take you ring shopping, and formally propose. I just wanted you to know where I stand.” bringing his wine glass up to his lips.

  Something caught my eye in the glass window behind him. Martinez. I swear I thought I saw his dark, cold, soulless eyes staring at me from outside. I blinked and he was gone, the moment ruined by the man I shouldn’t be thinking about.

  I walked outside the theatre after my performance, smiling as soon as I saw Will on his motorcycle, parked out by the curb. He hardly ever attended any of my performances, he said I had amazing talent but the ballet bored him to no end. I couldn’t complain too much, he always picked me up when my shows were over, trying to make up for not being seated in the crowds.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he greeted, taking off his helmet. Reaching it out, wanting to hand it to me.

  “Will, what have I told you about picking me up on that thing? And not bringing a helmet for yourself.”

  “You live right around the corner, baby. As much as I wish you lived with me, you refuse. For reasons I don’t understand, you still live with Sabrina.”

  “Choose your battles wisely tonight, Will,” I brushed him off, securing my bag on my back.

  It was true. I was thirty-four years old, living

with my mother type figure. After ten years of living in England, I never found a reason to leave Sabrina’s after she took me in. Or maybe I just never wanted to plant roots in a city that never felt like home to me. It was easier that way, hiding behind my rigid dance schedule as an excuse to not have time to look for a place. I was getting older, and my dancing years would soon be behind me, which scared me more than anything. I couldn’t imagine a life without the one thing that had been constant throughout it.

  “I stay with you more often than I stay with her,” I replied, smirking, not wanting to cause another fight. I was exhausted and just wanted to get home, crawl into my bed and pass out.

  “Come, prima ballerina, your chariot awaits.”

  I grabbed the helmet out of his hands, kissing his lips before placing it over my head. Straddling the bike behind him, hugging him close. We merged onto the highway, heavy traffic coming in all directions, he hit the throttle, jerking me back. I must have startled him because he turned around, eyeing me to see if I was okay.

  The second I realized it, I was too late.

  “Will!” I screamed.

  He sharply turned back around, the truck in front of us stopped out of nowhere. Will immediately reacted, down shifting the bike, brakes squealing, swerving, skidding across the road. My arms tightened around his waist like a vice, hiding my face, bracing for the impact as his bike plowed into the back of the truck, head on. Metal crunching, arms suddenly empty, glass and my body flying through the air, screams echoing in my ears.

  Darkness.

  They say right before you die, you see your whole life flash before your eyes.

  All I saw were bright green tantalizing eyes.

  By the man who still haunted my dreams.

  I sat in the hospital chair by her bed, just like I did ten years ago in the armchair in her room. Leaning over with my hands out in front of me in prayer gesture, waiting. I hadn’t fucking moved for the last five days. Fighting with the goddamn hospital to get the best doctors money could buy. No matter what they fucking cost, I’d pay for it in cash, right fucking then, if it would bring her back to me. They said it was only a matter of time until she woke up.

  Day after day I heard the same thing, to be patient, to talk to her, to hold her hand. They kept her in a medically induced coma to stop the swelling in her brain. Two days ago, they started to pull her out of it since all her vitals, blood work, and scans were coming back normal. But here I sat, still fucking waiting. She had yet to open her eyes. My patience was being stretched to the limit, my prayers going unheard, no matter how many times a day I pleaded. I even removed the cross from around my neck and placed it on hers, having faith it would bring her back to me.

  It was late into the night when I thought I heard her stirring. The steady beeps of the machines had lulled me to sleep. I was so fucking exhausted, I couldn’t see straight. Fluttering my eyes open, I found her staring at me wide-eyed as if she was seeing a ghost. She blinked a few times, trying to focus. Narrowing her brows, thinking her mind was playing tricks on her.

  “I’m here, cariño,” I whispered in a soft tone, reaching for her hand.

  She winced at my term of endearment, closing her eyes tight. Moving her hand away from me. I abruptly stood, causing her to jerk back. I wanted to go to her, I wanted to caress her cheeks and show her it was me.

  Her Alejandro.

  “Fuck…” I breathed out, walking out of her hospital room, leaving to get the doctors. They needed to know she was awake.

  I stood back in the corner while they checked her for what seemed like hours, making sure she was okay. Shining lights in her eyes, taking vitals, asking her question, after question. What she remembered? What she didn’t? How she felt? It was fucking endless.

  By the time all the specialists were done, she had fallen back asleep, tired. I sat back in the chair, waiting for her to wake up again. Refusing to leave her side, even for a minute.

  The next time she woke up, I was wide awake. Her eyes hazily found me sitting in the same exact same spot she had before. Even with all the bruises and cuts on her face, she was still fucking beautiful. I wanted to reach up and place a strand of hair behind her ear, kiss each and every imperfection that marred her flawless skin. But I couldn’t. I had to sit back and admire her from afar. She looked older, her eyes no longer full of life. Staring at me like she didn’t know who I was, when she was the only one who ever knew.

  It was me that didn’t.

  Her hand instinctively went to the cross hanging from my necklace, bringing it up to her face to see what it was. Peering back and forth between the cross and me, silently asking me if it’s what she thought it was.

  “It was my mother’s. Her protection,” I divulged, breaking the silence between us. “She never took it off. At least, not until I took it off of her. The day she was murdered, taking her last breath in my arms.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me, taking in what I had never shared with anyone. Another piece to my puzzle.

  “I’ve never taken it off until a few days ago. You needed it more than I did, Lexi.”

  She started to pull it off.

  “It’s yours now, cariño.”

  She reluctantly stopped, placing it back down on her chest. Her blank gaze roamed the private room, avoiding me. Taking in her surroundings, the vases of flowers on her bedside table from the Royale Ballet, including the daisies I had delivered every day to brighten her stay.

  “Will,” she simply stated, just above a whisper.

  Hearing her speak another man’s name was like taking a bullet to the fucking heart, but what could I expect. I deserved that and much more.

  “I’m so sorry, Lexi,” I sympathized. Bowing my head, not wanting to see her despair. I knew firsthand what it felt like to lose someone you loved several times in my life.

  She instantly shut her eyes again, understanding my subtle response. The pain wreaked havoc on her mind. Tears slid down her face, and her small, frail frame shook uncontrollably. I resisted the urge to wipe them all away. Instead, I leaned forward in the chair, my elbows placed on my legs with my hands clasped out in front of me.

  Waiting.

  “How did you know I was here?” she asked, wiping away her tears that wouldn’t cease. The question had been plaguing her since she woke up the first time, finding me unexpectedly sitting beside her.

  I took a deep breath, stating, “Cariño—”

  “Stop, fucking calling me that,” she said through a clenched jaw. Her eyes still shut.

  I surrendered my hands even though she couldn’t see me. “Lexi, stop pretending like you don’t know who I am. You know the answer to that question. But if you need me to say the words, then I’ll tell you. I’ve always kept tabs on you. It’s who I am. I needed to make sure you were safe at all times.”

  “Why are you here, Martinez? You’re not needed nor wanted,” she responded, ignoring my reply.

  “Look me in the eyes, Lexi.”

  She instantly opened hers, rage quickly taking over. Bringing back memories of the time in her life she wanted to forget. “Leave. Now!”

  “No.”

  She scoffed, shaking her head. “You have some brass balls, buddy. You think you can come in here, say some sweet bullshit, and I’m just supposed to forget everything you did to me. Everything you put me through. Well, I’ll make this visit really short for you, since you’re such a busy man and all. It will be a cold day in Hell, before I’d forget. I won’t.”

  “I don’t expect you to forget, Lexi. But I’m praying you can forgive.”

  “I never took you for a religious man, Martinez. How has praying worked out for you in the past?” she viciously spewed, catching me off guard. “Is that what it will take for you to leave? Okay. I forgive you. Your conscience, or whatever the hell you have, is clear. You can go now.”

  “I’m not leaving without you. You’re hurt.”

  “No shit,” she gritted.

  “No, cariño. The doctors…??

? I sighed, dreading to break the news I knew would only cause her more pain. Killing her a little more inside. She already hated me, I might as well be the one that broke it to her. “You can’t dance professionally anymore. The doctors did everything they could do, Lexi. I sent for the best surgeon. You have multiple fractures and breaks to your left tibia. The impact from your landing shattered that ankle. Along with several torn tendons in that knee.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, I want to speak to a fucking doctor. You’re wrong! Get out! Just go, I don’t need you! You’re wrong!” she repeated, in hysterics. Furiously shaking her head. Fists clenched at her sides. “Why are you trying to hurt me? You’re wrong,” she continued to whisper over and over again.

  “You flew through the air, Lexi! Your body was in the back of the guy’s truck. If you hadn’t been wearing a helmet you would have died, too. Half your ribs are broken, your arm fractured. Your hip dislocated. You’re lucky to even be alive with the injuries you sustained to your spine. Even luckier that you’ll be able to walk again. You have a long road to recovery that you can’t make on your own. You will need more surgeries in the months ahead, not to mention the physical therapy.”

  I didn’t falter. I stood up and whipped the blankets off her broken body, making her see the truth in my words. All she did was stare down at her leg like it was the only thing that was important to her. Reaching for the cast that ran the length of her entire leg. The high dosage of pain medication didn’t allow her to feel any of the agony she would be in, if she weren’t on it.

  “What the fuck?” she bellowed, sucking in air. Her chest heaving as she brought her hands up to her mouth. “My dominant leg. This happens to my dominant leg?!”

  “Cariño—”

  “Stop fucking calling me that!” she seethed, pounding her fists into the bed. “I’m not your anything! My name is fucking Lexi!”