Julian

" W here is Eduardo?" I seethe, bringing my masked face way too close to the bloodied man dangling in front of me like a piece of fresh meat at a butcher's. I've already skinned him and cut off most of his precious fingers.

Ry called a few days ago, giving me the news that Eduardo is back in the states, and most likely coming for us. I'm not sure if he would be stupid enough to attempt anything against my sister, but he has nothing to lose. A man with nothing to lose is dangerous. I would know.

I made sure to stay locked up in my warehouse with my little friend for the past couple days, practically six days of agonizing torture and the slobbering pleads that go unheard. I needed this to release the built-up aggression I felt at the time, that I still feel whenever I think about my little bruja.

"Please, I don't know," he mumbles, followed by a few curse words that I can barely understand. His cries grow into distressing screams as I dig my knife into his stomach.

"What good are you then?!" I chuckle, walking behind him and grabbing his hair by the root, pulling him back towards me to give me enough access to his neck.

He cries quietly as I bury my knife in his neck and pull to the other side of his throat, his head separating just enough to allow the blood to overflow like a waterfall. The floor underneath him turns into a puddle of red. Finally, I remove my skull ski mask full of sweat and blood, and place it on the torture table by the door. I always keep my weapons on display to show my victims just how much torture they have waiting for them. The fear that surrounds them is bittersweet, like adding fuel to an already lit flame.

Grabbing the clean towel off the table I wipe off the blood dripping down my arms and decide it would be time to check my phone. I completely went off grid for six days, six days since I've seen my little bruja.

Walking out of the torture room, I walk towards the office and sit on the leather couch inside. It's been an exhausting two days. Pulling out my phone from my pocket, I turn it back on and wait as message after message comes blasting through.

Ry : Tracker is set.

Ry : Camera is set.

Ry : Only you have access. Don't fuck it up.

Ry : Are you still mad that I know more about your newest obsession than you?

I grit my teeth at his accusation, because he is fucking right. I hate knowing that he already knew she was the Slasher. I don't understand why I fucking care, or why jealousy rushes through me the same way the lust I feel when I'm around her does.

Ry : She's chosen a new assignment.

Ry : Craig Pastor. 56 years old. 32 Creek Ave, Lancaster, CA.

Ry : Help her, or stay out of her way.

I dial his number without looking at any other messages and place him on speaker. She is not his to protect. She will never be his .

"Why do you care," I question, my tone's annoyed at the way he protects her.

"Hello . How are you? Great, thanks for asking, asshole." He laughs. He's lucky he's family or he would have already been dead. Cracking my neck and knuckles, making sure to do it right where the phone lies just so he can hear every crack. He quiets, until the line is completely void of any sound.

"She reminds me of Clara," he says softly. I can hear the sadness in his tone and I shut my mouth from saying anything more. Clara was Ry's older sister; we were in elementary school when she had disappeared. No one ever knew what happened to her. I think that's one of the main reasons that he got into hacking and developing systems was that it would allow him to keep tabs on finding her. However, years passed and she was nowhere closer to being found. She simply vanished.

I nod in understanding, but it doesn't stop the feelings that swirl through me like the blood flowing through my system.

"Why do you care?" he presses, and I roll my eyes. It's not a simple question with a simple answer because I don't know. She makes me feel. She brings out a part of me that I've never experienced, a mix of feral and human. She cast her spell on me the way a bruja would to bring someone back from the dead. And yet, she's hiding a part of herself, one that I want so desperately to experience, to see more freely.

"I don't," I say, because I can't possibly admit the fascination I have with my little sister's best friend. I can't. So, I simply hang up the phone before he says any more.

Ry : There's more to it and you know it.

I roll my eyes at the messages that arrive seconds later. Curiosity wins me over, so I open the tracking app that Ry had installed remotely, the man is a genius. She's home, as I suspected since it is about 3 a.m. I pull up the camera he installed to watch Sierra. Her blonde hair flips from one side to the other as her legs and arms flail. She stirs for what feels like a half hour before the piercing screams of horror fill the space, a small gasp follows as I watch her push herself up to her bed frame, wrapping her arms around her long legs.

It's just a dream. He's gone. He's dead. It's just a dream.

She repeats the words like a mantra, like she was trying to remind herself of the strength she was forced to have from the beasts that plague her. All I know is that I want to help her forget. I want to claim her for the world to see that there is no fucking with her. She's going to realize that she's a fucking queen ruling over this hell.

"Honey, I'm home!" I yell the moment I walk through the doors of the Dominguez estate. The house appears to be a little more silent than normal, that I can practically hear the grasshoppers chirping this early in the morning. Walking over to the large kitchen area I grab the closest clean mug from the cabinet and fumble with the coffee machine until I can manage getting it to work. Most of the time we have a chef that comes and makes really incredible 5-star meals for us.

"Where have you been?" Rafa yawns, as he reaches the kitchen island. He pulls himself up and sits on the counter watching as I take a sip of my coffee.

"Does it matter? Where is everyone?" Lifting my eyebrows in question as I watch him grab the joint from behind his ear and a lighter from his pocket. He silently places it between his lips and covers the flame with one hand as he uses the lighter with the other. He proceeds to inhale rapidly until the distinct smell of weed fills the room.

"They are getting things ready for the bachelor/bachelorette party later. Enzo moved it to the Butterfly. Did you forget?" he says, in between coughs as he continues inhaling and exhaling through the lit joint.

"Rafa, you're killing yourself, you know that? With the amount of partying, you're doing. Don't you think it's time that you stop?" I say absentmindedly. It's as if he doesn't see himself and the future he could have, or the future he'll end up having if he continues on this path. I'm not sure how he became this numb version of himself, how he became so broken that nothing else matters.

He glares at me, inhaling a few more times and exhaling the smoke in my direction. It's not like I haven't indulged before, but I prefer to be in the correct state of mind just in case someone needs to be killed.

"They want our help, so get ready so we can head to the Butterfly before noon. Sierra is closing up the place today so we can get things established for the catering service to arrive, Enzo is with Lina getting ready, and Marcelo is handling some business before he meets us," he declares, while he lifts himself off the island and heads out the patio doors.