Julian

I t's been about a week since I've had any news about Sierra, she simply took her things and fucking left without a trace. Ry hasn't had any luck in tracing her, and she hasn't turned her phone on since I saw the small blue dot flashing as she traveled back to her bar. I never thought she would actually run, and it's been frustrating yet part of me is excited to finally get my hands on her. I've imagined every single punishment I'll be inflicting on her delicate body for having left me the way that she has.

If she thought I wouldn't follow her then she has another thing coming.

"Any luck?" I ask Ry the moment he answers his phone. I'm currently in my office, after reviewing every file Ry has uploaded onto the app she uses to use her kills. Each of them is alive and well so she hasn't gone on some murderous killing spree. It's not like she could use her app with her phone off, but it's the only thing I can think of.

"None. I'll keep looking." He sighs, the frustration on both our ends has increased as days have gone by without her.

Removing my T-shirt, I start to take out the tattoo equipment Ry ordered for me, and I caress the tattoo gun as if I could imagine Sierra watching me. The ink and needles are all individually wrapped as I put each piece on the flat surface of my desk. I stand and push play on my speaker, "Monster" from Chandler Leighton plays in the background as I look at the equipment. Picking up the gun, I place it over the only part of my chest that isn't covered in tattoos. One that I had been saving for a special occasion, one that was meant to symbolize the death of my father until things changed. It's been a long time since I've actually tattooed myself, the last piece I had done was years back.

Father is standing at the front of the warehouse. His eyes glaring at me as I torture the poor soul tied to the chair. I don't know who he is or what he's done. I'm just a soldier in my father's war. One that doesn't think and doesn't speak unless spoken to. It's sad how I can let this man dictate my life when I can normally kill a man for just looking at me in a manner that I don't like. But I handle it, I push down the hatred I feel for the man who at one point was a loving father for her.

For my sister, the only person who accepts me for who I am. My brothers can't understand why I have this need for blood and torture, but it's the only way I feel something, anything. It's like there's a void, an empty black hole where my heart should be. My chest heaves with how brutally I both beat the man and sliced my blade into him.

My father watches me, but doesn't really see me. His eyes have dimmed over the years from a vibrant brown to the color of a dying tree. His eyes give off no emotion, no disappointment, no regret and it concerns me to think that I may look like that, that the apple doesn't really fall far from the tree. But I am who I am.

"Get rid of the body," he commands, and like the good soldier I am, I obey. When I return, I watch as Father removes his belt and whips Marcelo for not obeying. He was the one who was supposed to torture the man and refused. He needed a reason, Marcelo needed to know he deserved the pain before he was able to inflict it. He's a silent killer, one you don't want to piss off, one that you don't want to wrong. You need to be evil for him to inflict pain, he has a heart one that he hides behind his silence. Which has gotten him in serious issues with our father.

Marcelo stands when our father is done, his hardened gaze meets mine as we both walk into our office. He tends to his wounds while I pull out my tattoo gun, and position myself in front of the mirror.

I tilt my head waiting for Marcelo to grab a marker and draw, he's the creative one who has designed countless images that I've tattooed on myself. Every time he's beaten, every time our father visits, I add a new piece on my body reminding me of the pain my brother has gone through. He walks up to me and draws four crosses on my neck. The intricate design almost looks like it was painted on or like it could be blood dripping from the crosses if I had any red ink to add to it.

Getting the gun ready, I dip the tip into the ink and slowly glide it on my skin, allowing the tiny needles to mark me once again. The pain as I draw over the lines is nothing compared to what Marcelo had gone through, but it's a feeling I welcome.

I wipe the remnants of the ink from the new tattoo on my chest. I haven't freehanded a piece in an even longer time, but the way this came out may be my favorite piece yet. Putting down the dirty napkin, I grab the ointment and squeeze some from the tube onto my finger. I slide my digit over my fresh wound, admiring the lines. I carefully place a plastic wrap over it, and put my shirt back over my head.

Walking back over to my desk, I put away my equipment and carefully go through all the paperwork once more, making sure that every pedophile on the list is accounted for. Without my cleaners, she is bound to get caught and there is no way I'll allow anyone to catch her but me. When I finish rereviewing every single asshole for the hundredth time, the anger and fury I feel has increased to the point that I'm not sure how to fucking hold it in. I'm overflowing with emotions that I'm practically drowning.

Fuck .

I dial Marcelo's number, hoping that he can distract me with something different before I destroy every inch of my house from the anger that keeps scorching through me.

"How are things with Eduardo?" I ask, tapping my fingers along the piles of paperwork piling my dark Mahogany desk.

"Well, his heart is still beating." His cold demeanor tells me that he's making his life more painful than just simply killing him. He fucked with the wrong family.

"You were so hell bent on finding the man. I would have thought you wanted to be the one to torture and ultimately kill him. Why give me the job?"

I groan, not wanting to answer for the sole purpose of not speaking about the she-devil that continues to pull me towards her with her spells. The only woman I refuse to live without.

"Hermano, a veces hay algo más importante que vengarse," I whisper, and bring my forehead to the desk. "No se que hacer."

", I don't understand what's going on. But you've been different since we rescued the girls. Talk to Catalina, if that's what you need to do to get out of this funk. I need you to be on your A game."

I nod mostly to myself, because he's right. I need to get my shit together and learn to deal with these new feelings.

"Yeah. No te preocupes. I'll be fine."

No, I won't be fine. But I don't argue.

"Oye. Call up Lina, I know she'd love to hear from you."

"Yeah, okay," I say quietly, maybe later.