“We were . . .” My speech trails off. Moments of Carlotta and I spin before my gaze. Yet, as I recall them, Alejandra is implanted into the scene instead. How can this be happening? I loved Carlotta, too. Where are our memories together—the ones where she surpassed being just my nurse?
As I contemplate, Carlotta yanks the handle of my knife. This time, she frees it. I bludgeon her temple with my gun, and the knife slips from her fingers. The beauty and doppelgänger of the woman who snatched my heart out years ago slumps onto the bed
Outside, Carlotta is draped in the sheet. I wrapped her in it as it was the only thing with fibers on it. Leaning her unconscious body to my side, I pop the trunk.
Glossy, brown eyes stare up at me. “Move over, gordita.”
Angelica whimpers, ankles bound, and arms zip-tied behind her back.
“Puta, move!”
She wiggles backward. The tape on her mouth muffles her silent cries.
I slide Carlotta inside next to her. My old nurse rouses, while I prepare a dose of propofol. Angelica is obedient enough not to need it. Moreover, my gordita has earned a treat. She will witness greatness tonight.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
El Santo
As if wearing an imaginary crown on her head, Angelica sits with her chin held high. We’re in a room of the building I own—on a different level than where I once held her captive. With a sliver of a smile on her face, she watches Carlotta suspended in the air. The tips of her toes attempt to gather purchase on the cement flooring. Carlotta shuffles about, arms stretching against her restraints.
I press a button, and the nurse ascends higher. More tears gloss over the duct tape covering Carlotta’s lips, wetting her chin. Drops cling to her chest, sliding over the tips of her taut nipples.
“Damn, what a beautiful sight.” The tip of my knife cruises over the sea of salted tears along the side of her breast. Carlotta sucks in air, heaving more tears. “What’s lovelier than a chula wet with tears? That very same puta devoid of the sickness inside her soul.”
I stalk over to Angelica and drape my arm across her back. My square jaw stops next to her cheek. Together, we glower at the enemy.
“Carlotta said she knows me.”
Bright shiny eyes beam at me with pride. “Then she should respect and revere you, El Santo.”
The nurse shakes as more tears collect across her luscious skin. With a few strides, I stand before Carlotta. In dreadful anticipation, her belly button hitches inward. My fingertips grip the edge of the tape at her lips, and I yank hard.
“Ouuuuh!” She sucks in air. “What are you calling him? His name is Dario Alvarez! Miss, please. You have to help me.”
Angelica’s face jiggles as she screams, “El Santo is helping you!”
“What’s wrong with you, bitch? You’re as crazy as him!”
I await Angelica’s answer. She has exceeded my expectations. Staring at her in awe, I notice my gordita has continued to slim down. I run my gloved hand along Angelica’s face. Then remove my glove to touch her warm skin. Unlike the others, her skin isn’t clammy to the touch, nor is she trembling.
Smiling, Angelica careens her cheek, the flesh of her fitting my palm. Feeling disloyalty to LeAnna, I step away from her, rubbing my hands over my jeans.
“Ge-get away!” Carlotta sways with the violent shout.
“Gordita wants to know how an ángel is created. I’m willing to disregard your disloyal heart, Carlotta. I’ll purify you.”
“Sick mother—”
“El Santo.” I clear my throat. “Now, for the process.”
“El what?”
“El Santo, mami. That’s my nombre.”
“No, no, no . . .” Carlotta sways, crying into her shoulder.
“Sí, puta.” Angelica laughs. “You are the scum of the earth. Using men. Torturing them with your beauty, ruining them for real women. Then when you have them in your snare, you’re running after the next. I know El Santo. Appreciate his offer to fix you.”
“Cleanse, gordita. Not only fix. Recreate.”
“You’re crazy, both so, so crazy.” Fury smolders across Carlotta’s skin, then blots out. I lift my index finger and gesture, at the very second, when she changes her tune.
She grovels. “Dario, I apologize if you ever believed I led you on. I can’t fathom how we were getting engaged. You’re extremely handsome, just like Dominic. You thought I had something for him the day I quit. I didn’t. The two of you were just easy on the eyes, Dario. You’re being delusional again.”
“Don’t,” I sneer, “call me delusional.”
“Aye Dios! I’ve only ever dated older—”
A blood-curdling scream breaks free. Carlotta’s teeth clench in agony.
“That’s not the way I remember it, Carlotta. You loved me, then you took your love away,” I mutter. My knife slides into the sweet, soft area between the apex of her sex and inner thigh. An arch of fresh, hot blood sprays across my gloves, paints, and washes the mop bucket beneath her pretty toes. Humming, I create another incision along her inner elbows, severing her brachial arteries.
Placing the knife at my side, I turn around to my amiga. “Angelica, when it comes to my ángeles, I leave them suspended overnight. Their blood drains slowly.”
Her eyes rip away from Carlotta’s, and she nods slowly. “What’s next, El Santo?”
Reaching behind me, I cleave the knife into Carlotta’s chest. With narrowed eyes, I continue, “More serenity, less crying. Usually, I inject drain cleaner into their larynx, the first step, to silence them. They drain out overnight, as I said. Once they’re . . .”
“Asleep.”
I gape at Angelica. She distinctively said asleep, not presumed dead. Detective Carrington and the media at large have mistaken my ángeles need for a siesta in this world as death. Smiling, I offer her a nod.
“Sí, gordita. Once they’re asleep, Oxyclean purifies them—a very relaxing process.”
“Sounds soothing. She doesn’t deserve it.”
“Not at all. Why are you crying?”
Angelica’s lips shiver upwards at the edges. “I’m loyal to you, El Santo. Such a beautiful ritual. I’d love to know what else happens—if anything.”
The knife sinks into the bucket. I gage her interest, walking over to her. Then place my thumb along her inner wrist. She doesn’t respond to my touch as I seek her heartbeat.
“Next, I position their slumbering bodies like an ángel and leave a token butterfly at the center of their chest.”
“What does the butterfly signify?”
At Angelica’s question, my mouth furrows upward from fond memories. “The detective on the case made so many inferences.”
“How do you know?”
Ignoring her inquiry, I continue. “Miami PD first shared some intel to the media—just a tidbit meant to be a message to me. Of course, that was after the detective felt confident the women were an offering. He made inferences based on La Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre.”
“Our Lady Charity? Why?”
Again, I find myself studying my gordita to determine her interest. The puta who attempted to manipulate me about LeAnna has evolved. “In Barajagua, Cuba, there are legends of Our Lady Charity. Over the years, the statue has vanished from the alter to reappear again. During one such instance, a niña was playing outside picking flowers. Carefree, you know? Chasing . . .”