Page 7

It wasn’t until I followed the burly ropes up and over the metal base of decrepit traffic lights and back down again to where Grimm and Cobra each held an end with gloved hands that I saw Jinx.

I couldn’t say I was relieved to see she was alive because I had no idea what the hell was going on. She was staring at the ground, and her dark hair was curtaining her face.

Romero was speaking, but I wasn’t close enough to hear him. I shifted slightly and strained my ears.

He lifted his right arm, and the setting sun glinted off a metal blade.

I caught the words “punishable” and “death” right before he reached down and grabbed the man in front of him by the hair, pulling his head back before lowering his knife to the man’s forehead.

The crowd seemed to ripple the second he began screaming. You could feel their antsy excitement in the air. Their murmuring grew loud enough for me to hear, but I couldn’t make out the phrase they kept repeating.

“Cali,” Tito whispered, nervously taking a step back, tightening his hold on my hand.

I ignored him and kept my eyes on Romero, watching him work. He was dressed just as he usually was: dark jeans, black boots, dark shirt. He looked just as gorgeous, too; better, actually. My stomach twisted into a gnarled knot.

His inked hand moved left and right, up and down, carving something into the man’s flesh.

His unfortunate canvas could do nothing to stop it; his hands were bound behind his back, and even if he tried to stand up and fight, he knew his death was inevitable.

Blood rolled down his forehead, dripping onto the white robe I belatedly realized he was wearing. He was one of David’s. The other man was Romero’s, and the woman looked like a run of the mill outlier.

I tried to piece together what the fuck he could be doing, but I couldn’t determine what his end goal was. It was becoming increasingly obvious Romero had never truly let me in.

Because he doesn’t trust you, an inner voice chided. I couldn’t even be pissed about it because I didn’t exactly trust him, either.

Breaking my hand free of Tito’s, I cautiously moved down the embankment so I could get a little closer.

“Cali,” he hissed in warning, following me anyway.

Romero stepped fully behind the man and gestured down to the bleeding leviathan cross he had just carved. From the infinity symbol that made up the bottom of the uneven bars that sat above it, he’d engraved the design perfectly.

I stopped walking, shooting Tito an annoyed glare when he grabbed my hand again.

As people began to cheer, I looked back to see the man and woman with the ropes around their necks being stripped of their clothing by a few robed volunteers.

As soon as they were fully nude, Cobra and Grimm, both began lifting them into the air. Romero forced the man in front of him to look down, and started speaking again.

“Disloyalty will not be tolerated.” He placed the edge of his blade on the back of the man’s neck, and then looked up when the bodies now fully lifted, beginning to sway.

The pair struggled for air as the nooses compressed around their tracheas, squeezing their carotid arteries and blocking the oxygen from their brains. They fought hard, writhing and kicking out against the weight of their own bodies being entirely supported by the neck and jaw.

Two robed men stepped forward on either side to help Grimm and Cobra keep them suspended; everyone else continued to chant.

Romero watched with an inexpressive look on his face, keeping one hand on the back of the man’s neck still kneeling at his feet. I knew he was impressed by the hangings because I was impressed my damn self.

Their deaths were anything but quick. They both suffered through a painfully slow process of strangulation.

The pressure from the blocked oxygen continuously mounting with nowhere to go caused both of their capillaries to burst, making them break out with red and purple splotches as the skin bled from underneath.

It took approximately ten minutes for their hearts, brains, or lungs to decide enough was enough and give up. They became nothing but limp scarecrows with fixed, bulging eyes.

Romero’s voice ensnared my attention again, and this time I heard him crystal clear.

“You’re either with me, or against me.” He shoved his knife clean through the back of the man’s neck with one fluid motion, severing his spine. His coal black eyes flashed to mine, and I swore he knew I’d been watching all along, making me wonder if his last words were solely meant for my ears because he’d said them to me before.

His followers began to chant their earlier words louder now, Ava Satanas, over and over again, growing higher in volume with each repetitive cycle until it seemed to echo through the ruined city.

Tito was seconds away from having a meltdown, and I was frozen in place.