Page 119 of Damián

Iclose my eyes, take a deep breath, and then I let it out slowly… I do it once, then twice, and keep going until I reach eleven. Of all the things I do to make up for what my family has done, this is my least favorite.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the result, but the execution?

Damn…

This is the 45th time I’m doing this, and the nerves still make me want to puke.

“We’re five minutes out,” Castor says. He’s one of my father’s favorite men, and the one responsible for disposing of bodies and handling any other ‘inconveniences’ that could… arise.

I open my eyes, see the docks getting closer through the window, and my palms begin to sweat.

Damn it…

I pass my hands over my thighs, drying them against the fabric of my pants.

Calm down, Ollie. You knew this would happen, so calm down…

And yes, I knew this would happen because this is always the part of the plan when my nerves hit the hardest.

And why, you may ask?

Probably because there’s a man, his wife, and their kids locked in the trunk of our van, likely scared out of their minds, and I will have to get them into a yacht without anything going wrong…

I guess this is like that moment right before impact. You know, when something painful is about to happen, your body tenses up, and your mind races through the worst possible outcomes, and it isn’t until you’re actually in the thick of it that you realize you can control the situation, or that it isn’t as bad as you thought.

Well… kinda like that. I say “kinda” because if I fail here, I’ll be putting an entire family’s lives at risk.

No, no. Positive thoughts. Positive thoughts.

Positive like… what would Damián do in this situation?

Uff, what wouldn’t he do?

Unlike me, whose power comes from lies and control, Damián’s power comes from himself. He is so strong, agile, and powerful.

I don’t know why I imagine him getting rid of all the bad guys and saving this family with his bare hands… while shirtless.

Yes… Preferably shirtless.

I look over at Zara, who is the only other person sitting in the back with me, and she smiles knowing I’m probably having a mental freak-out. She reaches out, takes my hand, and squeezes it.

It’s a small gesture, but it is incredibly reassuring.

I squeeze back, before moving my hand to my pants to dry them again.

Okay, Ollie, you can do this… Let’s get these kids and their parents a happy new life.

The driver finally pulls to a stop near the dock, right where the yacht is waiting for us, and flashes the car’s headlights three times. He then steps out and pulls my door open.

As soon as I get out of the car, Castor is right beside me.

“Is the dock empty?” I ask.

“Yes, the staff was paid in advance.”

“Good job,” I nod toward Zara, who is happily taking selfies with the yacht in the back. “You know what to do.”

Castor limps closer to me and passes me a large, black duffel bag… which is, literally, a serial killer kit.