Del Muerta: Sanctum of Hell | Part 11 – Te Amo

I could scarcely breathe. Weight pressed down onto my chest, constricting my breathing. The smell of smoke overtook my senses as did the heat, disorienting me.

With a pang, I realized that I’d been a fool. I’d attempted to open a box with a bomb in it. Not my finest moment. Having been so preoccupied, I’d missed the obvious and was lucky to be alive.

The Forge must’ve planted it to attack the club. The blast had gone off just as Kit had thrown us down. The question was what’d happened to him. Trying to move my arms to see if I could locate him, I quickly realized with alarm what was pressing me down.

My eyes flashed open as I found his body covering mine, chest to chest and his head tucked in next to my ear. He grunted as I moved, his breath ragged. “Kit?”

“Don’t move,” he muttered, sounding pained. “We’re trapped under the rubble and it could still crash down on us. Got lucky and the desk shielded us from the blast. Are you all right?”

“There’s something wet leaking, so a pipe must’ve been hit next to us,” I muttered, going still. Other than my right leg being strangely numb, everything else seemed fine. I couldn’t see whatever was on top of us. With no light, I could only assume the club had been destroyed.

“That’s not water, chica,” he choked out, voice strained.

Fear flooded through me, realizing that the liquid beneath my fingers had a sticky quality. And it was seeping down from above, over my legs. “Blood,” I whispered, realizing that he’d taken the worst of the blast to protect me. “How bad are you hurt?”

“Not mortally, but it’s no flesh wound either,” he replied, voice tightening. “Just do me a favor and keep talking. Distract me. I get claustrophobic and being boxed in is doing me no favors.”

Anything for him since he’d sacrificed himself. My hand found his near mine and I intertwined my fingers with his, unable to comfort him otherwise. “You saved me again.”

His fingers twitched in my grip. “We’re just lucky you heard the beeping or we’d be…”

I swallowed hard, though soothed by his presence. His heart was beating wildly through his chest, the rhythm quickening against my skin. “Where are you hurt?”

“Shrapnel in my back and legs. Blood loss is the danger.” As I went to call out for help, he muttered, “Don’t bother. I tried for twenty minutes while you were out. No one heard. If you’re claustrophobic, too-“

“No. Just need to get you help,” I said, slowly turning my head slightly to the side to see him. I could barely see the side of his face in the gloom. “Could the Lynx have planted the bomb? He was here.“

“No. He would never… That much I know,” he huffed out with hesitation, shuddering against me. “If he’d known, he’d have alerted security, despite having to hand himself over to do so. So you’re engaged to Yaron?”

It was my turn to stifle a shudder as he changed the subject. If he knew the news, it must’ve been circulating around the club for all to hear. “Bastard ordered I strip down so he could ‘inspect me’ before the marriage.”

A curse, one so ugly that I shivered, sounded in my ear, Kit continuing to sputter off profanities in Spanish at the mere idea. Not wanting to discuss it further, I changed the subject for a second time. “How did you get your name, Kit?”

Despite the dire state of our situation, he still giggled faintly. “When I was little, my ears and feet were too big for me, so a bully teased I looked like a caracal kit. So I took ownership of the nickname on my terms.” His head turned ever so slightly toward me as if to monitor my reaction. “And you? What was your childhood like?”

“I was always so skinny that Auntie Lola would joke I was like a skeleton,” I confessed, smiling at the memory. “When El Dia de Los Muertos would roll around every year, she’d paint my face to celebrate even though we weren’t allowed to join directly in the celebrations.”

As a child I’d watch everyone heading to the cemetery, wondering what it’d be like. Families would gather by the hundreds to honor their ancestors. The memories were like a beacon to me, leading back to a happier time. A time when I’d been happily ignorant to the suffering around me. The only time I felt loved.

I sighed heavily. “Sometimes I wonder if she was right about me, though. Maybe I am a skeleton. With the way I live my life, I certainly feel dead sometimes. Muerta.”

Dead. A skeleton of what I’d been before her death. All the joy in my life vanished along with her spirit the day of her murder. Ever since I’d felt like I had no identity or purpose. I longed to feel like I made a difference again; even just for one person. For someone to feel like I made a difference for them.

“But despite it all, you make me feel alive, too, Kit,” I admitted, echoing what he’d said the night previous. Especially with the revelation the Lynx had brought me, though I didn’t dare tell Kit that yet. “More alive than I’ve felt in years.” Silence fell as I waited for his reply. No response came. “Kit?”

With a jolt, I realized that his breathing was growing shallower. While I’d been reminiscing, he’d slipped into unconsciousness. Giving in to my panic, I screamed out, “Help! Somebody get us out of here!”

For the next few minutes, I kept screaming until my voice was hoarse. With every second, Kit slipped toward the very precipice I had been talking about: death. The sticky wetness under me was growing. And I couldn’t handle the idea of anyone else dying for me. Especially not him. I couldn’t lose him.  

If I hadn’t been pinned flat and our survival hinging on my screaming, I’d have been clinging to him and begging him to come back to me. The only sanity left to me was the fact I could feel him breathing against me. If he stopped, there was nothing I could do to resuscitate him. With me immobilized, there was no way to do CPR.

As I hit a particularly shrill pitch, I paused as I heard muffled movement from our left. The sound of voices reached my ears, telling me that help was close by.

 “Aiyla?!” Teagan’s voice roared back, the rubble shifting slightly. “Keep yelling! We’re trying to get to you. Don’t stop!”

“Kit’s here – he’s bleeding and –“

I cringed as the rubble started to move over us, expecting it to crash down further. Instead, warm light blinded me as the ruins of the metal desk toppled away, revealing Teagan. Bloodied with his clothes torn but otherwise okay, he stooped down to us.

“I’ve got her,” he yelled back to whomever else was searching.

“Kit’s-“

“We’ll get him help,” Teagan assured me, two other men in search and rescue gear coming into my view. As they carefully lifted Kit from the wreckage, my breath caught in my throat.

Kit had lied; hiding just how grievous his wounds were to keep me calm. Burns covered his whole back and glass was embedded everywhere from his neck down. Shards stuck up at odd angles; blood coagulated around the edges like mottled, burgundy stained glass.

All just to shield me.

I sat up to follow him and looked down as I felt a resistance. Once freed, I discovered why my right leg was so oddly numb. A heavy metal pole sat atop my thigh, likely having cut off circulation while I’d been unconscious. And that’d been a mercy unto itself. The ankle was swollen and bleeding, glass embedded in my calf above it.

Once Kit was in the hands of the other rescuers, Teagan stooped down to me and pried the metal pole away from my leg. As he did, the feeling flooded back into it. Gritting my teeth as the pain came to me, I reached out to him.

Ignoring my hand, he scooped me up in his arms to lift me free. “I’ve got you,” he murmured to me, carrying me with ease over the smoking and, in many cases, still burning piles of wreckage. Despite the urgency of the situation, he surprised me entirely by pressing a kiss to my forehead. There were tears in his eyes as he added, “Thank God you’re alive…”

Unable to bear the sight of the rubble and the many bodies I saw as he carried me, I kept my eyes firmly on Kit as he was transported out ahead of us. Still, my breath was robbed from my lungs as I realized that the entire club had been wrecked.

It was a miracle that I’d survived at all. Kit and I’d been insanely lucky to have been where we were. The rest of the building had collapsed, rubble exploding out and tearing into several surrounding buildings around it. We’d been under a section of the building where there was only one story. Others had been four stories high and all of it’d been brought down on those who’d been inside.

The carnage was inescapable, especially as I realized that there must’ve been multiple bombs in the building. Several of the bodies had been decimated entirely, burned beyond recognition. Others had been torn apart by the blast and others crushed.

A tremor wracked my body as I saw flashing lights and police vehicles on all sides, a news helicopter hovering overhead.

“How many?” I croaked, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Unknown yet, but no small number. Elena got out already,” Teagan said to me, keeping his eyes on the unsteady pieces of concrete he walked over to get us clear. “As did Yaron.”

As soon as we were over the last piece and on the ground, he jogged over to the nearest ambulance. As Kit was placed on a stretcher inside, Teagan gently placed me on the adjacent bench seat in the ambulance. Space must’ve been scarce, seeing that all the other ambulances were full.

“Anna?!”

Looking up, I saw Haynesworth running toward us after getting out of a police cruiser. He was donned in riot gear, his command of officers pulling up behind him with sirens blaring. An armored SWAT team truck roared down the street behind it, coming to a halt.

He hurried to the back of the ambulance. “Get her to the hospital,” he ordered the EMTs, anger coloring his tone and he looked between me and the scene he’d just pulled up to. “We-“

Screams erupted on all sides as machine gunfire sounded, peppering the police cars with bullets. Haynesworth dove for the pavement as Teagan slammed the ambulance door shut, keeping the deadly hail out.

“Drive!” he bellowed, drawing his own weapon as the EMTs scrambled to do their jobs, the driver trying unsuccessfully to get out of the line of fire.

As a bullet pierced one of the side windows, I made the smart decision and dove for the floor. A wave of pain shrieked through my ankle, but I didn’t care as I searched for the holster I kept hidden under my dress. Before I could get to it, the ambulance screeched out of the space and zoomed for the end of the block.

“Turning into a fucking war zone out here,” one of the EMTs muttered, trying to tend to Kit as the vehicle bounced along.

“What the hell is going on?!” Teagan bellowed back, hovering over me and looking out the windows.

“This wasn’t the only location hit,” the driver called back, swerving around obstacles. “Attacks are progressing all around the city, some in the center of protest zones. People are rioting and panicking amidst it all, blocking the streets. Seems that the Forge was among the demonstrations and infiltrated them to plant bombs. Dozens of improvised weapons have gone off-”

“Shit!” Teagan roared, refusing my gun as I offered it to him. “Damn it to hell! I told them we shouldn’t leave the mansion!“

I just shook as I looked out the window, seeing bullet-riddled windows and police cars heading back the way we’d come. Water mains were blown and water was skiting toward the sky. Street by street was in shambles, people rushing about and trying to take cover.

Plain as day, I knew without asking what was going on. All I could do was hold Kit’s hand from below, trying not to give in to my fear.

The Forge had coordinated a citywide attack to begin an assault on the strongholds of the Hacienda. And they’d left the citizens of the city square in the middle, not caring who was harmed in the crossfire. From here on out, the day was only going to get worse. If they’d gotten this far, this wouldn’t be the first strike.

The city of Dejado Atras was under siege.

We were now at war.

And there was no definitive side for me to stand on.


Stay tuned ’till next week. Things are only going to get hotter from here…

God bless you and may peace reign over your heart. Dejado Atras is closer than you may think…

Maggie Lynn Heron-Heidel (Copyright 2020 Del Muerta: Sanctum of Hell)

Del Muerta: Sanctum of Hell Part 6 – Poison

Hello dear reader! Here’s to hoping that your weekend finds you healthy and safe. We’re all in this together and I will keep praying for you all.

Without further ado, here’s the much anticipated chapter six of Del Muerta: Sanctum of Hell. If you haven’t been reading along every week, here’s a directory of the previous chapters.

Otherwise enjoy!

The tone of the story takes a disastrous turn this week, so make sure to read to the end…

Reader discretion is advised

PART I (PROLOGUE) PART IIPART III PART IV PART V

Part Five: Poison

The afterglow of Kit’s midnight visit was soon gone as I lay on my couch the next afternoon. As usual for every Saturday, my overly coiffed shrink droned on and on from my armchair.

I only tuned in every two minutes. Every three days he was here invading my suite, insisting I have a session whether I needed it or not. And today, like most visits, I tended toward not.

“How did it make you feel?” he asked me finally, having ended his dirge about how stress could lower my ability to cope with life. He twirled a pencil between his fingers; not overly interested in my responses.

“Watching the contestants die?” I asked incredulously. He nodded with all seriousness, so I said with open venom, “Like any compassionate human being: horrible. Appalled.“

“Sad? Defeated?”

“I don’t need anti-depressants,” I drawled, knowing where he was heading with the question.

His eyebrows went up over his glasses, his glazed blue eyes completely blank. “Never said you did. However, you rarely speak of things that bring joy to your life. I’ve noted your hostility toward me. It indicates you’re still angry over my appointment as your personal emotional coach.”

Aggravated that Elena hired someone to ‘coach’ my emotions? Hell yes. I rolled my eyes. “You’re paid to listen to me whine. As for my disdain, you represent my biggest problem,” I said, sorely missing my punching bag and thinking that Dr. Breezeman would make a mighty fine replacement for it. “There’s only one damn emotional issue that I have and it’s lack of control! And you know damn well you can’t fix that, yet you charge six hundred an hour to sate my mother’s whims!“

“Yes. Let it all out,” he crooned with apparent boredom, only adding gasoline to the already brewing fire. “Bottling up your anger-“

“My punching bag gets better results than you do!” I bellowed. “You know what I want?! To have a piece of cheesecake whenever I damn well please, despite my mother’s vicarious anorexia!”

“Good, Anna. Keep going.“

“And to… to…” I puttered out as I saw him watching his phone, not paying the slightest attention to me as he played a game. Deflating, I turned to the open balcony. “Want to run away.”

As my voice faded, my shoulders drooped forward. It was true. I longed to run, to head back to the small village of Cataluacan on the edge of the city where I attended the private boarding school. It was so quiet there. So peaceful. Every part of me belonged there, even down to my bronzy skin.

The times I had spent with my aunt there were lost to me, but the memories were enough to remind me that there had been a time when life had been pleasant. All that changed with her death.

The wonder doc didn’t notice my change in tone, instead adding, “Well, judging by your newfound frustration, I’m going to suggest you take up meditation and remove sugar from your diet.“

I didn’t have sugar in my diet. I’d complained about that to him fifteen minutes ago.

“And add two more sessions a week,” he added, scribbling on his notepad as if it’d verify his obvious attempt to squeeze extra change out of my parents. “You need to get out more. Your mother worries since you never go out with your friends.“

“They’re not friends. They want to be on TV,” I said hollowly, feeling worse with his every word. I had no friends.

“And you never date,” he continued, oblivious to my true suffering. I didn’t even bother to turn to him as he droned, “Sex is important for a healthy constitution. I think you need a boyfriend.”

“No doubt my mother has a chosen candidate,” I muttered.

“A vibrator can only do so much-“

Whoa Nelly. I looked over my shoulder, beyond flabbergasted with that declaration. “I don’t have one, though I’m sure Elena can attest to their benefits considering how overly ‘fond’ she is of my father.“

“We worry that you’ll develop unwarranted attachments,” he said, clasping his hands together and missing my sarcasm completely. “Depression can play tricks with the mind.”

“Oh, I get it. Mother was embarrassed by my saving Kit, so she’s interpreted it as I must be desperate for male attention,” I snapped, crossing my arms. “So she’s sent you to parrot her ‘concerns’ to me.”

 He stopped, not sure what to say since I’d hit the issue straight on the head. Breezeman pursed his lips, his spine straightening. Then he smiled. “Perhaps you should consider setting more realistic, attainable goals. You’d be happier.”

Oh, this son of a gun was something else. My eyes narrowed into slits. “Attainable?”

“If you live by the standards you are given instead of the ones you set for yourself, I am sure complacency will come to you,” he said with the warmth of a robot. His smile was pure plastic. “Then joy as you discover that your limitations aren’t restrictions at all, but mere constraints you’ve placed upon yourself. You could try to enjoy time with the men who are compatible with your political status.”

I sat on the couch, crossing my legs to him. “You mean give up the idea of finding a man who loves me and settle with being the perfect wife… no matter how I’m treated.”

“Precisely,” he said in a tone as if I was a toddler, putting his hands up. “If you set your sights on what you can have, then you won’t resent what you can’t.”

“So to give in and give up hope is to find ‘happiness’?”

“You speak as if it’s a bad thing,” he chirped reproachfully. “You know so little of this world, Anna. Who taught you such foolish notions? Such falsities? Life is balance. Think of the people in jails or on the streets. They set their sights on the unattainable as well. If they hadn’t, they’d still be happy.“

“Yes. Happily ignorant of all the drug lords, crime and poverty,” I said in an acquiescing, mindlessly sweet tone as if to agree with him. One that didn’t at all match the oozing sarcasm in my words.

“Precisely,” he agreed. Then I watched as his brain backtracked, realizing what he’d acceded to. “Oh, no. I meant-“

“Yes, what did you mean?” I hissed with contempt.

His mouth set in a hard line. “Our session is done for today. Again, meditation, no sugar, and-“

“Sex?” I said flatly, already dismissing him. My brainwashing session had ended yet again without success. As he got up and headed for the door, all huffy over my easily outwitting him for the umpteenth time, I decided to dig it in even more. I called liltingly after him, “And, doc? Whatever medication it is you’re personally on, might wanna lower the dose. You’re losing your edge…”

The door slammed in response. Point one for me. Probably temporarily since he’d tattle on my belligerence, but I didn’t care. But as a voice floated in from the direction of the balcony, I jumped.

“See, senorita? My attention is now doctor prescribed,” Kit called down from above, apparently having been eavesdropping. But as a pillowcase dropped down to my balcony, I sat up. “Catch you later, querida. Gotta go to some ridiculous luncheon…“

Despite my internal curiosity about what was in the bag, I refused to move. “I don’t take kindly to spying,” I projected forbiddingly.

He snickered in response. “Sure you do. Hasta leugo, chica.”

A white wildflower dropped from above, landing on the pillowcase. His footsteps and the sound of a door shutting overhead proved to me that he’d gone. Unable to quell my curiosity anymore, I headed over. Inside the pillowcase I was astounded to discover a care package: foot soak, gel shoe pads, some candies, bandages and a clove of garlic.

Garlic? Then I spotted the note at the bottom of the bag, scrawled in barely legible handwriting.    

Couldn’t get the cheesecake, but I’ll try for later when I get our dinner. Adios, Aiyla. P.S., I’m all up for the doctor’s orders. A healthy constitution is very important…

Kit.’

Sitting back with a smile, I stopped myself as I realized he was getting to me. And I couldn’t let myself get attached. Any day now, he would be dead. Either way, the question was how he’d gotten these items. He must’ve gotten out of the manor somehow. The question was how he was sneaking past the security teams. Lucky bastard. Maybe I could get him to teach me how he’d escaped.

All the same, I couldn’t stop myself from taking the wildflower with me after stuffing the items in my night table. Its scent was comforting; simple and soothing unlike my usual surroundings.

Replaying the words of the shrink, I shuddered at the idea of settling with a man of my parents’ choosing. All the men they’d set me up with so far were greedy and one dimensional. Either they’d wanted my body or the status that came with it.

The dates with them had left me empty and dead, especially after a few spent the night with me. Whether I wanted to sleep with them or not wasn’t in question. It was just expected.

In some small way, I envied Kit. For whatever reason, he had chosen to come here. It was his choice, odd as it was. Stupid, but a choice all the same. It left me wondering what his life was like and why he’d come. Was probable death and a slim chance of survival really more preferable? What were his motives?

As Tiny came tromping in to announce that father wanted to see me, I had no further time to consider it. Within two minutes, I was in his office. As I stepped into the mahogany-trimmed room, he looked up from his desk. “Anna, don’t you look radiant! I take it the treatments are working?”

Color me weirded out. His greying hair was disheveled; his reading glasses askew as if he’d been roughed up. And perhaps he had been. I never was kept abreast of how the elite hierarchy felt over the things he did. All I knew was sometimes they were pleased; other times violently unimpressed.

As he stared, expecting an answer, I just stared at the floor before sitting. “I think you’ve got me mixed up with Elena since she gets Botox.”

He nodded, not altogether interested in my response as he removed his glasses and sighed. “You know, darling, I don’t think you know how appreciated you are. I know how tiring it is for you to go through the Tourney, but it does such good for the city. They adore you.”

Yes. Right. I cleared my throat. “Be that as it may I don’t understand why my proposal of reading at the library was rejected.”

He clasped his hands together as if the answer were obvious. “Literacy is something we really don’t want to flaunt in citizens’ faces. It’s not socially economical. In the trade schools the curriculums are focused on how to make a living; not skills unnecessary to good citizenship. Reading is a luxury, not that you’d know.”

“The general populace is illiterate?” I snapped, knowing that was a blatant lie. “Then why are there libraries?”

“For the older generations who are able to read. But for the newer generations, the need for them will decline and they’ll be phased out. Social gathering places will take over the former library space, lessening the need for new construction.”

Holy hell. They were getting rid of libraries?

“So you can see how reading to the children would be a bad idea,” he said, absentmindedly checking his phone. “It would unfairly set their hopes on the unattainable.”

“Unattainable?”

He lit up, pleased with the question. “Yes. Part of my new published manifesto called Attainable Sustainability: Guidelines for Good Citizenship. You weren’t given a copy?”

I smiled without humor. “I believe my psychiatrist must’ve been given an advance copy.”

The sniveling rat bastard shrink. Now he was trying to quote ‘manifestos’ to me?

Father nodded, eyes filled with nothing but pride at his own work, even though it sounded like something straight out of Communist China. With every passing moment, I couldn’t believe how deluded he was. He believed his every word. “Yes, I’d heard you were seeing one. Your mother told me you’ve been so stressed that you were overeating.”

I let out an indignant sniff. “Overeating constitutes consuming a cheese cube in her eyes.”

As his phone rang and he answered jovially, I peered over at what I could only guess was the manifesto. Just reading the table of contents, I was less than impressed that the scientists were now insisting it was good for the city to eat less. Less waste, less greenhouse gas. And morbidly, in my own brain, I added that if everyone starved to death, there’d be less ‘global warming’ as well.

As he hung up, I just rolled my eyes as I read through it. “Where do you get the scientists to back this crap up?” As his expression soured, I muttered, “I’m not ignorant. If you wanted me to be, you should have sent me to one of the ‘good citizen’ schools. And even then, we both know the students enrolled there won’t believe it either.”  

Father sighed, brushing back his hair. Opaque, hazel eyes met mine. “It’s good for them, dear. It helps their mental state and provides incentive. If they strive to be a good enough citizen, they can be like you.”

No wonder they all hated me. I’d been made into Dejado Atrás’ own personal Marie Antoinette. “That’s what they’re fed?”

He nodded. “With hard work they can attain rewards as part of the new point system. Doing things like picking up refuse can earn them points towards experiences such as designer shopping, concerts –“

“Don’t points count toward food?” I interrupted with open incredulousness. The city had no food stamp programs as it was.

“Of course. They can be redeemed at five-star restaurants once they reach certain point values,” he said as if offended by the question.

“And how many pieces of trash would that take?!”

His brow furrowed. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to ask my advisors. I came up with the idea of sustainability; they came up with the details. Either way, the Tourney will be over soon so the stress will be gone. I was surprised how into it your mother was this time. She even came up with one of the challenges.”

That got my immediate attention. “Did she really?”

“Yes! Brilliant actually – testing the contestants’ etiquette,” he mused, scratching his chin. “To see who knows the difference between the course cutlery. You know, all the different utensils. That even sometimes confuses me as well…”

Alarms were going off in my head. Somehow I very much doubted that Kit would know the difference between a shrimp and a salad fork. “And if they don’t know?”

He shrugged, unbothered by the idea. “Poison, I think. I’m not sure. I mean, if you’re that curious turn on the TV –“

I leapt to my feet with such force that my chair fell backward. “The challenge is now?!”

“Yes. More contestants survived the initial round than anticipated, so I obliged her and added another event,” he said, going back to his paperwork. “Elena was delighted her idea was included –“

I didn’t listen to any more of his prattling as I practically flew out of the room. All I could do was pray that the event hadn’t yet started. Kit had said he was headed to a luncheon, so I doubted he had a clue what lay ahead.

As I came across Tiny in the next hall down, I demanded, “Where is the next challenge taking place?”

“The guest dining room,” she replied dismissively while staring at her planner, most likely preparing to go into a dirge about the rest of my day. “You have an appointment with – where are you going?!”

Not waiting for her to follow, I took off up the stairs. The dread settling into my gut was noxious, knowing in my soul that Elena’s stroke of genius was directly aimed at Kit.

The other competitors were wealthy enough to have dined in more upscale establishments. Elena knew that in a challenge like this, Kit would be at a severe disadvantage. And with the irreverent way he stuffed himself with Chinese food last night, I very much doubted that propriety was something he ever thought about.

He was as good as dead.

Skidding around the corner in my slippers, I came upon the scene. TV crew members were watching monitors; the screens displaying the room beyond us where all the competitors were seated and filmed by hidden cameras. Double doors separated me from getting in to where they were gathered around a dining room table.

As I tried to dash through, one of the directors stepped in my way. “Sorry, the challenge is already underway. No one is allowed in.”

“You don’t understand,” I begged, putting my hands up to him. “I’m supposed to be –“

All I could do was watch the monitors as he shunted me aside, knowing I’d been too late. Two burly security men stood in my way. There was no way I was getting in, even if I fought them.

The contestants were seated at a table in the room beyond us, penguin-like servers placing steaming bowls of soup in front of them. As the waiters politely bowed and took their leave, the contestants looked at the cutlery and then at each other. It was damn obvious that none of them knew it was a challenge. No rules had been explained. None of them knew of the silent danger.

Bewilderment ran up and down the table.

Kit stared at his place setting dubiously, making my heart sink further. Six spoons rested in front of him, much like the other contestants’ place settings. My guess was that the poison lay on all the spoons except the soup spoon. The only difference between his place setting and the other contestants’ was a paper coffee cup that he must’ve brought with him into the luncheon.

He picked up one of the spoons and raised an eyebrow. “Just how many courses do you people eat with spoons?”

The reality star wannabe blew over her bowl, trying to cool the contents. “They’re for the pallet cleansers, salad, coffee and desserts.”

Kit just rolled his eyes, loosening his tie. “Like they actually eat that much. Anna sure as hell doesn’t.”

Getting no response as the others proceeded to eat, Kit just sat back and watched as they each picked up their choice of spoons. Only one of the others picked the wrong utensil: the deceptively similar salad spoon.

I inhaled sharply, knowing that the blonde-haired fellow had just signed his death certificate. “Oh, no…”

But as Kit likewise picked up the wrong one, I abandoned decorum. I rushed to get to the door, but the nearest of the two security men stopped me. “Sorry, miss. You’re not allowed in.”

Unlike most on the security team, there was only sympathy in this man’s eyes. He knew what was happening beyond the doors. But while he felt sorry over my panic, he wouldn’t jeopardize his job.

I turned away, looking back to the screen.

Kit was still watching the others… and strangely his own bowl as well. Then he shrugged. “Eh, to hell with it.”

There were no words for the relief I felt as he proceeded to pick up his paper coffee cup and emptied it into the houseplant behind him. To the mounting incredulity of his fellow competitors, he picked up his bowl of tomato soup and carefully poured it into the cup.

“What on earth are you doing?!” the one with the wrong spoon demanded, completely scandalized.

Kit merely snickered, cheekily toasting the cup at him. “I’m one of those people who can’t seem to eat without spilling it down their front. Better to appear impolite than an outright slob. This isn’t my dress shirt, so don’t wanna ruin it.”

“Yes. It’s not like you could afford one of your own,” the reality star wannabe scoffed hatefully, sipping at her spoonful of soup and dabbing at her lips with a napkin.

Kit just stared at her, nose wrinkled with distaste. “You know, you may not have one, but I think you still suffer from ‘little dick’ syndrome. All you do is bitch and complain. And there ain’t no amount of money that makes a man interested in that kind of an attitude, even though you’ve bought yourself a bigger set of…”

As he took a sip from the cup and gestured at her ample chest as it bulged out of her low-cut shirt, the rest of the competitors cackled. The ‘set’ in question swelled with indignance. “I’m a lesbian!”

“Didn’t seem that way when you came on to me yesterday,” Kit said with complete irreverence, taking another taste of his soup before putting it down. He rolled it around in his mouth for a few seconds before muttering. “Needs some spice. Everything served here is so bland.“

The blonde-haired man snapped as if personally insulted, “You’re out of your depth here, Joe.”

Apparently used to getting lip from the other contestants, Kit merely replied with snark, “So says the only one in the room eating with a different spoon. Either you’re out of your own depth or your snot has gotten bigger than your nose.”

Interrupting what I was sure was going to be an epic argument, a loud ping sounded as one of the others accidently dropped their spoon on the floor. Rather than stop eating, he simply picked up another spoon from his settings. I groaned as I realized the body count was up to a solid two and this time because of a mere accident on the man’s part.

From the camera angle, it looked as if Kit’d completely confused the reality star by the mention of snot. She stared at him without comprehension. “What?”

Kit smiled all the wider. The grin quickly faded as he looked at the blonde fellow across from him with concern, having noticed his state. “You okay, man? You’ve gone awfully pale.“

I put a hand to my mouth as the fellow started choking, dropping the spoonful that’d been poised at his lips. The dance with death had begun, the toxin finally hitting him. Spittle foamed at his mouth, letting everyone know that he wasn’t just choking on his food. Expressions of alarm ran down the table, realizing something was very wrong.

Despite the pervading panic, Kit jumped up and ran around the table to help. He prepared to thump the dying fellow on the back to clear his airways, but was already too late.

Before he could, the man fell forward and faceplanted in his bowl. Red liquid sloshed and splashed on the table, almost like blood on the white tablecloth.

All parties froze, however, as a second man down the table started sputtering as well; the one who’d dropped his spoon. I just shook my head, knowing that his demise was likewise sealed.  

“Poison,” the reality star wannabe whispered, dropping her spoon; never having moved to help either of them.

Kit took one wary look around the table and then at his cup before promptly sticking his finger far into his mouth. Doing the smart thing to save himself by provoking his gag reflex, he bent over and vomited into the potted plant behind him. He retched a few times, ignoring the others as they freaked out.

I just shook my head as the second man died, this time with a less dramatic death. His eyes just went vacant and he stopped breathing, going limp in his chair.

Kit stood up straight and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyeing the two of them with revulsion. He flinched as the announcer hosting the games came through the opposite set of double doors, having been waiting for his cue. Two cameramen followed him.

Done up much like the day previous in a suit and tie, he grinned as he held his microphone up to his mouth. “Congratulations! You have all advanced to the third round-“

“Not all of us,” Kit muttered in an undertone, still eyeing the nearest dead contestant. He looked around wildly, running a hand through his hair. “Son of a bitch-“

“This was a challenge?!” the wannabe roared at the announcer, throwing her napkin at him with ill temper.

He nodded solemnly, though with the slightest touch of glee at her outrage. Messy, emotional performances always equaled good ratings with television viewers. “Indeed. You know your table etiquette to a tee and chose the correct spoons!” Not bothering to listen to her response, he turned to the camera. “Thanks to our sponsors –“

“My God. Not even eating is safe anymore!” Kit projected loudly over him, staring around with horror. “Ay dios mio!”

“Have a great rest of the day, citizens,” the announcer unsuccessfully tried to continue.

Mi auntie can’t say being a slob is such a bad thing anymore,” Kit said to himself as he stared around, seeming unaware that he was drowning out the attempts of the host. “Geez! Saved my life –“

“Make sure to tune in to the next challenge. Ciao for now and see you soon!” the host proclaimed over him, winking at the camera as it cut. As soon as the feed was off, the announcer shot Kit a dirty look and stomped out.

No longer under any obligation, the security men did nothing to stop me as I barged past and threw open the double doors of the room. Seeing Kit checking the pulse of the expired man, I asked weakly, “Is he-?”

He nodded somberly, gently pushing the fellow’s eyelids down and murmuring a prayer over him. “Oh, yeah. He’s a goner.”

As I bowed my head, I was startled as I was poked hard in the chest. Discovering that the reality star wannabe had gotten up in my face, I skittered back.

“Did you know about this?!” she screeched at me, following after me with fury as I backed up. Her crazy eyes warned me that something in her had just snapped and that I was about to be her scapegoat. “You could have warned me!”

“The event was arranged this morning without anyone telling me-“

A screech so shrill came out of her that I jumped and nearly slid on the hardwood floor in my slippers. Her hands formed into claw-like fists. “I could have died, you miserable –“

As I opened my mouth to defend myself, I was more than shocked as she went to wallop me. Before the two security men could get to her, however, Kit ever so helpfully snagged her by the back of her shirt.

As she tried to whirl around and hit him, he held her in place without effort. “Knock it off. She didn’t know.”

“Of course you’d believe that!” she screeched, trying to elbow him.

“Look at her. If they wanted her here, she would’ve been done up with makeup and all that,” Kit said, unbothered by her fury and releasing her as she waved a fist in his face.

Altogether unbothered as she and the others as the filed out, their reactions varying between anger and unease at the deaths, Kit stood in front of me. I just crossed my arms, biting my lip. “They wouldn’t let me in.”

He nodded, scratching his head before looking back at the other two victims. “I can believe it. You must have had ditched your-“

“There you are!”

Tiny stomped in, floor shaking under her weight, apparently having finally located me. Kit shot Tiny a sardonic a look, deliberately edging away from her. “Speaking of…”

“You missed your social call with the senator’s daughter!” she thundered at me, seething with aggravation and her hair on end from running around. Waving the planner in my face, she snarled, “It screwed up my whole schedule!”

I squared my chin, not in the mood to deal with her typical tantrum. “Be that as it may, I need a few minutes to collect my thoughts.”

“Give her a minute; eh, chica? She’s just upset,” Kit agreed with diplomacy, shooting Tiny a winning smile and turning on the charm to back me up.

That charm faded as Tiny snapped back viciously, “You shut up, wetback! You’ve caused enough trouble!”

That was it. I saw red.

Between her obliviousness to the bodies being carted out of the room and the ill-timed slur, I was ready to explode. While Kit’s expression veered into resentment, there was also a hint of resignation. He was used to taunts and degradation.

I nabbed Tiny by the collar of her shirt, shocking her completely. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll apologize, cancel the rest of my afternoon and get the hell out of my face!” I snarled, snatching her planner and throwing it. Papers fluttered down around us like snow, scattering across the floor.

Her eyes bulged out with defiance. “You have no authority –“

“Unless you want a well-deserved fist in the mouth,” I hissed, towering over as she puffed up, “you’ll apologize to him! I’m at the end of my rope, my patience and Lord knows my tolerance!”

Tiny just stared at me silently, her dark eyes narrowing into ferociously dangerous slits before nodding to concede.

Releasing her, it seemed my victory was too soon and too easy.

To my dismay, instead of doing as ordered, she pulled a small bottle out of her pocket. Snatching my hand, she poured out two white pills on my palm. “Swallow them,” she ordered, thrusting my hand toward my face.

“What are these?” I asked warily, not knowing where this tactic had come from. Kit likewise eyed them, not expecting this move. He looked between the two of us, not sure whether to intervene or not.  

“Sedatives. Your psychologist prescribed them as an emergency after yesterday’s behavior. Swallow them or your mother will be notified,” she said with a cat-like quality, believing she had neatly defeated my attempt at dominance.

If I took on her dare and refused, Elena would likely decide I needed full-time monitoring and medication. Either that or a stint at ‘rehab’, the place where celebrities were sent to be remodeled into whatever their handlers wanted.

My outburst had just potentially cost me a great deal. Looking at the pills, a plan formed in my mind. Bowing my head, I popped them in my mouth and pretended to swallow.

Kit protested, trying to stop me but he was too late.

With her request met, Tiny smiled with vile satisfaction. “Good,” she praised, almost like I was a dog she was trying to train. “Now go to your room and take a rest.”

Not bothering to give her a reply, I trudged out. Kit followed, eyeing me worriedly. “What the ‘ell-?”

Rounding the next corner and out of Tiny’s view, I spat the pills in the nearest vase. I spat a second time to get rid of the foul taste that’d worked into my throat. As I straightened, Kit stood in front of me. His eyebrows formed into an angry ‘V’ shape as he demanded, “They drug you?”

“Not like this,” I admitted, gesturing for him to follow as I headed toward my area of the house. He followed close by my side as I muttered, “My attempt to help you has cost me more than you realize. Usually they try to get me to drink. Are you hungry?”

“Er, yes and no,” he said, watching me worriedly and shrugged. “I’m not particularly eager to eat ‘inhouse’ again, so to speak and for obvious reasons…”

“I can get you something. They won’t spike it if it’s ordered in my name,” I said, trying not to gag at the horrible metallic aftertaste from the pills.  

“Yeah, but won’t your mother get mad if you order two meals?”

“I won’t be ordering a second meal,” I admitted, heading down the stairs.

Kit’s lips parted to protest at the idea of my giving up a meal for him and he tried to follow me, but I put hand up. “You’re not allowed down in this area. Wait until I bring it to you. Room above mine, right?”

His expression turned inscrutable as I headed down, though he kept muttering mutinously after me. I ignored him until I was inside my suite and then sagged against the door.

The oddest feeling was seeping into my veins, almost like they were turning to ice. A chill that only made me grow more anxious came over me. Never having had sedatives before, I shrugged the feeling off. Perhaps it was a normal side effect since I was sure a slight bit of the pills had made it into my body.

Speaking into the AI command system to send an order to the kitchen,  I muttered faintly, “Send a sandwich plus a coffee.”

Hanging up, I was apprehensive as to why my world was starting to spin. Putting my hand on my desk to steady myself, the walls were moving as if they were live snakes. I blinked, trying to clear my vision as my knees weakened. Unable to fight it, I started to sink to the floor.

Forestalling me, however, hands caught me.

“Whoa, chica. Easy,” Kit’s voice murmured in my ear, his likely having come down via the balcony again. My attempt to reply was less than easy as I started to feel as though my chest was being compressed. “Do you need some juice? Hypoglycemic?”

As he helped me over to the nearby chair, I shook my head; trying not to lose myself in my growing panic. “I think … some of the medication got in my system. They were powdery…”

Kit’s worried expression swam in front of my eyes as he squatted in front of me. “If that’s the case, I think she gave you too high a dose. Your eyes are all dilated…”

My vision was the least of my problems as the pressure in my chest increased, leaving me to pant for air.  “Something wrong. Hard to breathe – need to call – “

His expression turned to dismay as he stood, looking toward the entrance of my suite and unwilling to leave me to get help. “Somebody get in here! We need help!”

My vision blurred out as I snatched the cell phone in my pocket, dialing for Mortimer. My hands shook as I waited for it to connect. As I heard the line click, I whispered through my constricting throat, “Mortimer… need help. I think… I think…”

As my hand went numb, my arm dropped to my side and the phone slipped through my fingers.

Everything was moving in slow motion; whites, reds and blacks moving more brightly in my eyes. It was like a kaleidoscope of color; grotesque chaos spinning in my mind.

Kit caught me before I could fall, steadying me and trying to get me to look at him. He shook me gently as I failed to respond. “Chica, you still with me? Aiyla? Aiyla?!”

As my eyes began to drift closed, my heart felt as if it’d stop it was beating so fast. Being dragged away from my own body, all I could try to do was breathe. And even at that, I was failing, the motion growing harder by the second.

“Come on, stay with me,” Kit’s frightened voice pleaded as the sound of many footsteps crashed in my ears. All at once, the sound of shouting converged on us as security arrived. Questions were being asked, the men radioing for backup as they discovered the scene.

“Kit?” I wheezed, sensation fading from my limbs.

“Just keep breathing,” he begged me, the feeling of a hand on my cheek trying to rouse me. “Keep holding on!”

But I couldn’t assure him. I slipped away like the ebb of a dwindling tide, far away from the world I knew.

In an instant I was gone, dragged under the crimson surge.

Copyright 2020 Maggie Lynn Heron-Heidel


And that’s it for this weeks chapter! Left you on a bit of a cliffhanger here, so make sure to comment your predictions. Yes, I’m a very mean author making you wait until next week to see what happens to our protagonist miss Aiyla, but maybe if you comment your support, I’ll release snippets early!

Thanks for keeping up so far with the story! You’re awesome!

And make sure to pick up your copy of DIVIDE before you go this week! Instead of my usual gift offering of Still Death, I thought I’d mix it up for you guys!

This week the short story received a bit of a makeover since I redid the cover, so I thought you’d like to celebrate with me. This gift is in limited to the first fifty people, so make sure to claim it before the deal is gone!

Del Muerta: Sanctum of Hell | Part 2

If you missed the prologue last week, make sure to read it HERE to catch up before reading chapter one! Otherwise, enjoy this week’s chapter:

Copyright Maggie Lynn Heron-Heidel 2019


Chapter One: Anna

Imagine living your life inside a body bag, breathing through a minuscule hole poked in the side to get oxygen. You’re desperate to escape but the zipper is on the outside, out of reach, and the plastic refuses to rip.

That’s how I live my life.

That is my existence.

It’s a wonder I don’t suffocate.

Currently every ounce of my aggravation was being taken out on the aging punching bag in the corner of my suite. Left strike. Right strike. Someone’s head was getting bashed in my mind, namely my mother’s… and I didn’t feel guilty considering what she’d pulled this morning. Obsessing over my diet was one thing. Deciding to starve me was another.

But as my sneaker got stuck on the Velcro edge of the bag, leaving me to wobble unsteadily on my feet, I cursed. “Crappy piece of-“

“Your father would throw a fit if he heard that.”

Unable to turn to Mortimer as he came in and still stuck by one shoe, all I could do was laugh sarcastically as I loosened the shoelaces that’d gotten caught. “He can kiss my ass. There aren’t any TV cameras around; are there?”

There would never be one in this room. Daddy dearest wanted to broadcast to the public that I was a dainty, perfectly primped and competently obedient woman. Showing the fact that I was a fighter and one that could kick most of his security teams’ collective asses wasn’t his idea of a good daughter.

As the presidente of Dejado Atrás, or so the public thought, he was the subject of a federally funded reality television show. Every part of his life was televised to the public on Friday nights. To my condescension, I was also expected to appear weekly. Lucky me.

Finally managing to get unstuck, I smirked. Looking back at Mortimer, his eyebrows were definitely up; his greying buzzcut wet with rain. I smirked, gesturing at the bag. “What? No comments on my error?”

Usually he would. Mortimer had been by my side since I was ten, teaching me how to fight. Considering my father’s position of power, he’d done his best to turn me into an absolute beast in case I ever was captured. His lip quirked. “You already know the critique. I merely came with news…”

I groaned in a manner that I didn’t dare do on camera. “Don’t tell me. I have to meet with another ambassador.” I wiped off the sweat that was dripping down from my brow. “Tell them how honored I am to meet their worthless ass?”

He chuckled, going to sit by the door.  “You’re in a fine fettle.”

I leaned on the punching bag with a weary chuckle. “Heard Dad on the phone with the loser from Espocha City. Wonder if he’ll have the balls to approach me with that moron.”

Mortimer sniggered as I rolled my eyes, pitching my voice down to imitate my father. “Pumpkin, I’ve found you a very special man, one even more corrupt than I am. You’ll make a perfect couple, providing you don’t tell him how morally repugnant you find his business practices…“

He shook his head at my ranting. I could tell he agreed, though he didn’t dare say so for fear it’d get back to his boss. “Aiyla, you’re his daughter. Get over it. Can’t change it. Gotta get used to the bullshit like I did if you want to survive.”

I nodded, glumly tightening my gloves. As the former head of my father’s security and before that an army beret, he knew everything. “I know. Just another day in the life of chica numero uno, the most useless-“

“You’re not useless.”

“Sitting pretty is useless,” I grumbled, looking at him. I knew damn well just what everyone outside of these walls thought of me. I was collectively despised.

“Ah,” he said theatrically, his murky grey eyes solemn as he leaned forward. “I take it your proposal to become spokesperson for the children’s literacy grant was blackballed?”

Bingo. I punched the bag again, this time with renewed vigor. “Of course. I have too much on my plate already.“ I kicked the bag and then sucker punched it, gritting my teeth. “Especially since there’s only so many times I can straighten my lipstick in a day!”

“For once, your father is correct,” Mortimer harrumphed.

That declaration certainly got my attention. I turned to look at him, seeing his amusement gone as he rubbed his hands together. Whatever it was, he was dreading telling me. “Aiyla, they’ve decided to broadcast the Tourney again.”

No. God, no.

I sat down on the floor with a dull plunk, my knees without feeling. They were holding it again. The Tourney was a series of deathly televised games where men would compete, supposedly to win a chance at ten million dollars. Oh, plus my hand in marriage to cement themselves as an elite.

What all the entrants didn’t know was that it was rigged; not to test the contestants but to kill them all right there on the silver screen. Pure entertainment to cater to the bloodlust of masses; the height of reality television. Blood sold just as well as sex and the TV networks knew it.

It was my father’s sick idea of boosting public ‘morale’ with the idea the winner, too, could become one of us if he survived.

But my father didn’t know what the less fortunate public called the Tourney behind his back: Espectáculo de Asesinato. The Murder Show. A real morale booster for sure. And we were considered the murderers.

“He’ll announce it at the press conference tomorrow along with the names of the competitors,” he continued, looking troubled.

Estan loco!” I said, referring both to the show itself and the willing competitors. Father had already managed to dig up contestants; more morons who would die for a worthless competition. I slammed my fist on the floor. “How many lunatics did he get this time?!”

“Ten.” I groaned and flopped back on the mat, letting a few more four-letter words slip past my lips. Mortimer grunted, always a sure sign that he was on the edge of admitting what he really thought but decided against it. “Don’t upset yourself. They’re grown men. It’s their choice.”

“All this is a con,” I groaned, running a hand through my hair and looking at the ceiling. “A trick to make people think there’s a one in a zillion shot that they could win. How can they not see that?!”

My last sentence ended with me shouting. Thirty men had died already, and all in my name. Their deaths were televised across the country, this being the third year in a row.

“Power is a tempting lure; as are you,” Mortimer said simply, lugging himself up to come over to me with arms crossed.

I snorted humorlessly, ready for another round with the punching bag despite having done so for the last hour. “Yeah, because a piece of ass and a wad of cash is really worth dying over.”

Getting up, I met Mortimer’s stare evenly. He was only a bit taller than me, a stocky but strong man. And he knew exactly what I was going to ask. “Your father isn’t here. Don’t waste your breath-“

“I said nothing the last time,” I declared, raring to go confront him. “I know damn well how much money there is to be made off of this! All the elites involved do! They know no one will survive and reel in the advertising money all the same! Now he has ten new victims.”

Mortimer put his hand out to stop me, placing it on my shoulder. He shook his head, still somber. “Nor does he care.”

“I have to try!”

This time he physically stopped me, stepping in front of me. He took my shoulders in his hands, making me stop and face him. “Aiyla,” he said softly, dropping his normally brusque tone. “You can’t stop it. The system is designed so that-“

“No one can fight it,” I whispered, knowing that if he was saying it was futile, it really was. I lowered my eyes to the floor. “Even me.”

Much like the citizens, I was trapped. Father was only a figurehead, controlled by the more powerful shadow state behind the scenes. He was a puppet for them to manipulate, a face for the public to equate as the leader and falsely blame for their troubles.

As his daughter I was held to the same standards. If I displeased those in true control, I’d be killed. I was an unwilling marionette, one that was manipulated every day of my life. A lamb for the slaughter before the golden calf of society. At twenty four years old, there was absolutely nothing in this life that was mine; not even my face.

He tipped my chin up. There was no hint of a smile in his eyes as he muttered, “These men are all volunteers. They’re not your problem.”

I smiled sadly, putting my hand on top of his. “Dangle a diamond in front of a beggar long enough and they’ll do anything for it. But I’m no diamond. I’m a crystal. Looks like a diamond only because it’s been polished for so long.” I shook my head. “Rub off the shine and it’ll crack.”

“Your beauty isn’t a curse.”

“I don’t care what I look like,” I grumbled as he gave me a teensy hug and then stepped back.

No matter how much he obviously wanted to comfort me, Mortimer knew better than to get too chummy with me in this place. Cameras were everywhere and we both knew if Father started to feel threatened as my ‘paternal figure’, he’d fire Mortimer in a heartbeat. I forced myself to smile, keeping my usual sarcasm as a defense. “Everything in my life is superficial except you.”

He cracked a rare smile, the expression fleeting from his features. “You are a diamond, hun. You’re as hard as one, as well as the strongest person I know. Someday you’ll see.”

For the millionth time ever, I wished that Mortimer was my true family. In my heart, he already was. He’d been by my side since forever, teaching me everything he knew. I even stayed at his house a few times when boarding school had holidays and my parents were away. He and Aunty Lola would do their best to care for me.

He went to say something else, but we were interrupted as my personal assistant came trouncing in. For all intents and purposes, I despised the woman but knew better than to tell her that. Tiny thrived on making me miserable and I knew she could turn up her efforts to an even higher notch.  

Her name didn’t fit all two hundred pounds of her as she charged toward me, her black hair pulled into an insanely tight bun. But my stomach bottomed out as I saw that she had another garment bag.

“Aiyla, you have a dinner with the police chief’s son,” she proclaimed, acting more like I was her servant than her boss. Then again, she answered to my mother Elena so any control I had over her was a farce. She tapped her tablet, barely even looking at me and clearly already put out. “You’re supposed to have been ready-“

“Gorgen can handle me like this,” I grunted, unbothered while taking another chug of water. “I used to kick his butt every week in boxing class before Dad decided I was ‘above’ taking public classes.”

She sniffed with impatience. ”You’re so predictable, Anna.“

“My name is Aiyla,” I snapped, officially losing patience. “If you want me to listen to you at all, use my friggin’ name.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know that the statistics of the poll showed that the public prefers a European name. We need to make the citizens more comfortable.“

Comfortable was another word for pliable. “Yes, because giving me a bland, European name in a Latin American dominated culture is really going to make me popular,” I growled, my eyes narrowing and hers mirroring the movement. “Need to keep them passive, right?”

Mortimer choked on a laugh, cackling as he strode off. He hated Tiny just about as much as I did. She knew it, too, thrusting the garment bag at me. ”Get changed.”

“If you don’t like it, then quit,” I challenged, snatching it from her.

She tutted, absolutely scandalized. “When I took the job I was assured you were socially pliable.“

Socially pliable equated with being dragged along like a yap yap dog in her wake. I.e., I’d be her bitch.

“If ya wanna keep your job, give me a little more sugar and drop the spice, sweetheart,” I drawled, bearing down on her. Tiny squared her jaw, looking like she wanted to scream at me. I smiled, letting her know that despite my general tolerance for her orders, I wasn’t going to give in. “Bring the car around…”

She quickly disappeared from my suite, loathing radiating out of her every pore. Looking over at Mortimer, I shrugged as I saw his open amusement. “What little power I’ve got isn’t going to be wasted.”

He just chuckled as I headed for the bathroom to change. “Enjoy your ‘date’. Tell Gorgen that I hope his left hook has improved since the last time you beat the crap out of him.”

All I did was wink, draping the garment bag over my shoulder as I went.

***

Two hours later and I was beyond bored.

Sitting in the upscale, five-star restaurant on an obscenely hard plastic bar chair, I was wishing it’d cone complete with a punching bag like the one I’d left behind with Mortimer. Gorgen had yet to show, leaving me alone, looking like an idiot and trussed up like a Barbie doll.

Done up in a pastel pink suit with a pencil skirt, silk blouse, diamonds on my neck and pointy shoes, I oozed high fashion. What it didn’t scream was ‘me’. I hated everything about it, even down to the body that was currently in it.

Oh no. I liked me right fine. I just hated my bleached, blonde hair and the pale tinge my skin had taken on since mother insisted I needed skin treatments to lighten my ‘commoner’ colored tan skin. Between that and feeling grouchy because of the diet they’d stuck me on, my heels were killing me.

Sipping on sparkling water with lemon, I stared at the bottle of Jack that was behind the bar. Could’ve done with a shot of that right about now but I knew better. The glasses on the table were glinting with the flashes of the paparazzi’s cameras. They were all outside watching me, snapping photos from the outside of the restaurant. The entire wall of this place was glass. Bulletproof glass, but glass all the same.

My pink-dyed fur stole fell on the floor again and this time I just left it there. I hated the damn thing with the fox’s head still attached. It should’ve been alive; not slaughtered for the sake of high fashion.

As a waiter came up, I turned toward him. I noted that he appeared too young to be working here, but he had a kind smile. He even had the same light, cognac-colored skin and dark hair that I once had. His hazel eyes rested shrewdly on me, taking in my continued vigil in front of the window.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked for the fifth time, looking me over. “You look like you could use-“

“Cyanide with a side of arsenic,” I said out of the corner of my mouth, not bothering to hide my aggravation.

He smirked with a wink, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Best I can do is a suicide. Our bartender is a magic maker. Had a sip once and that was enough to knock me for a loop.”

At least he had a sense of humor. “I’ll pass.”

The last thing I needed was to get smashed in front of the cameras. Then again, screw it. I knew another form of preferable suicide. I smiled at him. “You know what? Bring me a hot fudge sundae. Better: two.” I gestured at the empty seat next to me. “It’ll kill my mother when she sees it in the headlines tomorrow. ‘Presidente’s daughter commits diet suicide’.” I sneered. “An absolute tragedy. Put it on Gorgen’s tab.”

He smirked, enjoying my behavior. “Hardly a tragedy, miss. If your date can’t appreciate you, then he’s not worthy of you.” I stirred my drink with my straw, eyebrows up as he added flirtatiously, “I wasn’t kidding when I offered you anything you like.”

I took a sip, drinking him in a little with my eyes. By the looks of him, he was certainly a looker but a little young for me.

“You’re very cute,” I said slowly, enjoying myself but also withdrawing from him. “But take my advice. You may want to bite into an apple, but sometimes even the shiniest red sheen can turn out to be rotten to the core.”

He stared at me for a second, clearly unnerved with my candor before moving off to do as I ordered. I lost my patience and slipped my shoes off, turning my back to the window entirely. I snapped my fingers and the AI drapes lowered over it, shrouding me inside.

I closed my eyes, feeling the tightness of my skin from the makeup and wondering just what it’d take to get it all off. I felt like a wall with peeling paint, my lips dry from the matte lipstick that’d been painted on.

But as I heard footsteps and then something being placed on the bar next to me, I opened my eyes. There were three sundaes in front of me: one with candy, another with cookie crumbs, and the last with sprinkles. And next to them stood someone I knew all too well.

“I didn’t know what toppings you’d like, so I had all three made differently,” Ryan Haynesworth said with some amusement, noting my shoes on the floor along with the stole. His flashing blue eyes were filled with laughter. That and a great deal of lust.

He held out a whipped cream container. “I brought the whipped cream since you drew the curtains. You can eat straight out of the can without fear.” He lowered his voice, sitting next to me with a saucy wink. “Or off of me. Say the word and I’ll have the restaurant cleared for us. You’re worth it.”

I took a spoon and pulled the sundae with the cookie crumbs toward me. “Ah, Ryan. You’re always so… sweetly inappropriate.”

He laughed, taking his jacket uniform off and sitting next to me. Since he and Gorgen were brothers, he had the same striking blonde hair and light features. Despite being of an elite status, he was on the police force as a captain.

I extended a spoon to him. “Take your pick.”

He pulled the candy sundae toward himself, still eyeing me with amusement. “I don’t mind double dipping so help yourself. You can dip into my ice cream anytime.” He wasn’t talking about the sweets either as he took a bite. “You’re trying to spite your mother with calories, eh?”

He licked his spoon suggestively and I rolled my eyes. “Now you’re just trying to get my goat.”

“Now why would I go for your goat when I can have you?” he said with some humor and dug further into his ice cream. “My brother sends his apologies. He was… waylaid. Emphasis on laid.”

“Send my regards to his hookers because that man needs a sure thing,” I retorted, making him chuckle. “So you came instead? My hero…”

“Hero? Well, I could be,” he said, making me snicker again. “Just say the word.”

Oh, dear Lord. I turned to him, sensing he was doing his best to be outrageous. His eyes were glinting with ulterior motives as always. I crossed my legs, leaning back in my chair. “Why are you here?”

“I’m your personal escort until the games are officially over,” he said with no further humor, dropping his teasing. Seeing my revulsion with that announcement his eyes hardened and he chuckled. He took my hand and squeezed it, saying in a teasing tone, “I’ll be as sexually obnoxious as possible to keep you distracted. I promise.”

That I could believe. “Why, thank you,” I said dryly, taking another spoon of vanilla ice cream. As I felt something go up the inside of my calf, I looked down.

Ryan smirked at me. “Complimentary footsie is included in the ‘obnoxious’ package.” I rolled my eyes as he leaned forward deviously. “And believe me, the ‘package’ is fabulous. You should really consider inspecting the goods…”

As he sat back with cat-like smugness, I looked at him and all he entailed. While he was undoubtedly attractive, he knew it and that immediately turned me off. His arrogance was legendary. As his eyebrows went up, I said, “We do this every time we cross paths, Ryan. We both know you don’t want me.”

It was a game just to see how far he could get me to go. There was absolutely no chemistry between us, other than the innuendo banter to see who could outsmart the other party. He rolled his eyes, knowing I was dismissing him. “Oh, I want you; just minus the hideous pink fur stole.”

This time I laughed and he chuckled. That was a load of bunk, the quip made purely to get a reaction out of me. I stood in a fluid motion, bending to pick up the stole and then draping it over his shoulders. I kissed his cheek as I slipped my shoes back on. “See you tomorrow.”

He chuckled, wrinkling his nose at the pink fur around his neck. “I’ll be there cocked, loaded and ready to go.”

“I’m sure,” I said dryly, heading for the exit. His low laughter followed me, his focus probably shifting to bedding one of the waitresses who had been flitting around the restaurant. He was a notorious womanizer, one with immense success at landing himself willing prey.

Eyes followed me as I headed for the back entrance, all from people who were dining in the obscenely expensive restaurant. The waitstaff stayed out of my way, keeping a reverent distance.

The limo was supposed to wait in the back for me, away from the crowds out front. I texted the driver to make sure he was waiting and got an immediate response. Passing the kitchen, I headed out but, to my displeasure, once outside there was no limo. I looked both ways, seeing no cars whatsoever. Adding to my unease, the door snapped shut behind me almost like it’d been closed from within.

Immediately my hand went for my clutch, thinking of the handgun I kept inside it. Now on red alert I drew it, taking the safety off. I slipped my heels off, knowing they’d be nothing more than a hinderance in a fight.

The damp alley was dimly lit so I wasn’t able to see beyond another ten feet from me. Only an orange, overhead light shone, giving it a stark, creepy look. A dumpster was on one side, blocking the view beyond it.

Whirling as I heard a noise from behind it, I aimed and stepped out to keep the area in view. I hastily lowered my gun as I saw my previous waiter yelp and then put his hands up. He’d been behind the dumpster, apparently sneaking in a drink. His glass bottle fell from his hand and smashed on the pavement.

“Whoa!” he sputtered out, hands still up as I studied him with suspicion. “Please don’t shoot me. My family won’t be able to afford the loss of income if I die!“

Clearly he wasn’t the fighting kind. He looked even younger out here than he did inside – maybe on the edge of seventeen – and remained absolutely terrified. I lowered the weapon. He heaved a sigh of relief as I stepped forward. “You seen a town car?”

“No,” he said, looking around bewilderedly. “Usually VIPs go out the front, so I thought you were my boss coming to yell at me.”

I nodded, wondering where my driver had gone to. I studied the alley and rooftops beyond, wondering if I was in for an ambush. It wasn’t the first time nor especially the last. And since Father wanted people to believe we lived in utopia here and didn’t need protection, I had no bodyguards to fall back on either.

Leaving the alley and going on the main street would be dangerous. I was so ill-liked that I’d probably be attacked.

The young waiter ambled up, mournfully looking at his smashed bottle. “And no, I haven’t been drinking. I don’t handle liquor well, so I put root beer in the bottle to stop my co-workers from making fun of me. I’m Alvin-“

Alvin was clearly a friendly talker. I grunted, paying him little attention besides monitoring his movement. He frowned. “Shouldn’t you be out of here by now? VIPs never linger.“

“Driver’s bailed and the door locked before I could get back in,” I grumbled, having stuck my hand in my pocket and pressing the panic button on my alarm system. It’d alert the police and I had a very bad feeling I’d be needing them. The question was where Ryan had gone to.

Alvin’s eyes widened in alarm. “Locked? That shouldn’t be.”

He went to the door, testing it himself. It didn’t budge, confirming to me that we were in for a rough time of it. But as he looked back to say something, his eyes darted past me to widen with dread.

Following his gaze, I spotted men coming from the mouth of the alley. There were seven, all in black with their faces covered with black bandanas. I aimed the gun squarely at the closest’s chest, not taking any chances. Lord knew they were probably looking to abduct not kill, but I wasn’t taking any risks.

Surprising me, however, Alvin put himself in front of me. He squared his shoulders, saying with authority, “This is private property!”

Somehow I doubted very much that the men would be dissuaded by that. They were toting heavy automatic weapons.

My eyes darted around, spotting a fire escape about fifty feet away, but I wasn’t going to make that. They’d likely shoot before I could get to it. Not to mention one side of it was held up by a rusty bolt half hanging out of the brick wall. Any weight on it could bring it crashing down.

“Alvin, run,” I muttered, seeing he wasn’t going to back down. Preparing to defend me, his fists were clenched but he was in no way a threat. He hadn’t grown into his body yet, still more scrawny than muscular.

He stepped forward before I could stop him and was instantly struck down, the man closest punching him out. I edged away from them toward the back of the alley, keeping the gun aimed at the biggest’s head as they stepped around Alvin’s limp form.

“Whatever it is you want, it’s not worth dying over,” I snarled, edging back as they prowled forward. A trigger-happy woman was something nobody ever wanted to deal with, so they would probably try to sway me into giving up.

None of them stopped and, if anything, a few hands were twitching toward their own guns. One snickered at me, clearly not bothered by my threat. “You sure about that, Anna?”

They all laughed together, making my stomach sink. There’d be no ending this peacefully. Their leader gestured at my gun. “Put that down before you hurt yourself.”

“It won’t sting a bit if I shred your brain,” I threatened, still creeping toward the other end of the alley. At worst, I could wedge myself in the narrow to try to avoid them grabbing me. If I kept them talking long enough, I could keep them at bay until the police answered the summons from my panic button.

As one lunged for me, another used the distraction to his advantage, coming at me from the side. Before he could subdue me, I officially decided to stop playing nice.

Firing on the one going to grab me, it hit him square in the chest. But to my disgruntlement, other than staggering back a little, it didn’t stop him. He must’ve been wearing a concealed, bulletproof vest, most likely meaning the rest were, too.

I kept my aim true, hissing out, “Next one goes in the head. Tell me what you want and you might live.”

The back of the alley was getting closer as I paced backward. I refused to be cornered. They didn’t know what I was planning, matching my every step just like I wanted. They would be right under my target ambush zone in a minute.

They moved into a tight, half semi-circle around me, blocking any attempts to run past them. They’d obviously taken me to be an untrained fool. The lead one sneered from behind his mask, “Come quietly. There’s only five bullets left in that pistol now, and seven of us…”

I snickered, making them pause. “Only need one.”

Looking up, I shot the faulty bolt holding up the end of the fire escape. As I broke the bolt, it groaned and crashed down on top of all seven; the men crying out as it landed on them. Darting around it as they struggled to get free, I headed straight for back door of the restaurant.

I shot out the lock on it and attempted to kick it in. I reeled back as it failed to move, somehow barred shut from the inside. Deciding to abandon the idea as I heard movement behind me, I whirled for the open end of the alley. Better to risk running into the street than to remain within firing range. Before I could make it two steps, I was grabbed from behind.

Now down to three bullets, I pitched forward, trying to throw my assailant over my back. He anticipated my move, jerking back and dragging me with him.

Taking my next shot and managing to get one arm out of his grip, I fired at his foot. He screeched and then fell as I pistol whipped him, taking him down.

Whirling to see only two more of the men coming at me, the rest trapped under the fire escape, I decided to make sure they wouldn’t stop me from escaping. I popped one of them in the neck and then aimed directly at the second one’s forehead.

He paused mid-run, skidding to a halt with fear. His eyes widened and then abruptly changed course, booking it for the open end of the alley. I snorted humorlessly. “Yeah, you’d better run, you lousy, mother f-“

Hearing a noise from behind me, I whipped around to aim at a male figure in the shadow of the dumpster. While I couldn’t see him well, I could make out that he put his hands up as my finger twitched on the trigger.

“Whoa,” a heavily vocoded voice said to me, leaving me to see a set of shining eyes widen in the gloom. “I come in peace. Don’t shoot.”

Not altogether assured, I bellowed, “I warn you-“

“You took out all these guys before I could, chica, so chill,” the man said, cutting me off and stepping out further into the light.

Thoroughly bewildered as I saw black attire with what looked like some kind of a mask-helmet with two huge, horn-like things on top, it took me a second to realize they resembled some kind of animal ears. Between them and his black, flapping cape, I was absolutely astounded. What the hell was this supposed to be?

Apparently he could see my incredulity. He grinned, the lower half of his face discernable; only his eyes visible otherwise. “I’ll take credit for scaring the last guy off, but the rest was all you.” He looked over at the fire escape that was still pinning down several of the struggling men. “I came when I heard the scuffle but I was too late. Not to mention unnecessary.” He looked back to me, grin widening. “I’m impressed, chica.”

He was clearly from somewhere in the lower end of the city. While he had a voice changer, he carried the accent of one of the less wealthy ends of town. And one so thick that if it’d been any of my father’s men here, they likely wouldn’t have understood him.

Still unsure what his game was and deciding to cut the crap, I asked in Spanish, “You a cop?”

He laughed, flat out annoying me as he replied in what I was sure was his usual Spanish dialect. “Nah. If I were with the fuzz, you think I’d be talking with you? You look awfully guilty with that pile of bodies behind you.”

He was yanking me around now. I could hear humor in his voice, despite the voice changer in the side of his mask. He leaned against the wall, completely unbothered by the gun I kept aimed at him.

Your driver won’t be coming,” he added further, clearly waiting for me to lower my weapon. I did so slowly, realizing he wasn’t out to harm me. “Those men got to him before they could you.”

So that was where my ride went. As I studied the newcomer further, I couldn’t help but ask in English, “Who are you?”

If anything, he reminded me of a Zorro-wannabe. He only smiled wider, as if he’d been waiting for the question. He reverted back to English as well. “I am the Lynx.”

That didn’t sound right. Had I misheard? “The link?”

His smile faded a little, using his foot to nudge the fellow who I’d pistol whipped. “Uh, no. The Lynx.”

Completely stymied, I gave in and asked, “The link to what?”

He rolled his eyes, starting to look frustrated. “Ai! No, señorita. The Lynx. You know. See the ears? El lince? Meow?”

As he pointed at the enormous ears on the top of his mask, suddenly I understood. “Oh, a ‘lynx’?”

He nodded, satisfied with my recognition. Now remembering what my father had been bitching about a few days previous, the word ‘vigilante’ had been mentioned, as had a mysterious Lynx that’d been interfering with police territories. And here he stood in front of me now.

Knowing that the police absolutely hated him, as did all of the elites, I inclined my head. “Well, ‘Lynxy’, while I thank you for the assistance, you’d better scram. My entourage doesn’t like civilian interference.“

  Hearing my tone change, he cocked his head. “Eh. Watch it. Do I know you? Swear I’ve heard your snotty tone before. Few gatos speak with such authority.”

Now he was just sassing me right back, calling me a ‘cat’ in his disparaging manner. I rolled my eyes and suddenly his eyes zeroed in on me. He pointed at me with one fingerless-gloved hand. “Si! That’s it! Señorita Anna Gobacheva. The Presidente’s daughter.”

    Didn’t sound like he was altogether that fond of me. I inclined my head before turning, deciding that humoring my vigilante tagalong would be bad on a number of levels and mostly for him.

“Wait. Now that I know who you are, we should talk,” he insisted, getting a belligerent tone and following behind me, refusing to give up.

I sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the time-”

“For anyone,” he finished incorrectly for me, cutting me off and thinking I was dismissing him. A gaze of steel met mine. “What I want to know is how it is all you silver spoonfed aristocrats can brush off the people’s suffering! They die by the thousands while you pad tu billeteras-“

Recognizing the word for wallet, I rounded on him. This one talked big, but didn’t know who the hell he was attacking. “You think I like it?! You think I don’t get angry over the same thing?!”

He got up in my face, not altogether much taller than me. It put us on the same level, nose-to-nose while he snarled, “That diamond necklace on your chest could feed an entire slum for a month! That tells me where your intentions lie! If you gave a damn-“

“If I gave a damn I’d be dead,” I growled back, not backing off in the slightest and jabbing him in the chest. “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about! Don’t waste your breath. I’ve wasted mine too many times-“

“All you care about is yourself,” he spat in my face, starting to get riled up. “I can see that now-“

“Oh, can you? Then congratulations on seeing through all their bullshit,” I snapped, making him pause. I shrugged, mocking him. “You’ve obviously figured out that my father’s ‘social preservation’ campaign is a farce. Or is it you’re too short for the armed forces?”

The Lynx turned mottled red below his mask, my jab hitting its mark. If I was five-four, he was barely five-five. The tension between us was fierce, neither of us backing down.

I sighed and shook my head. “Look, we would agree on every point you make. But I can’t help you. I can’t help anybody. It’s not that I won’t. It’s that I can’t.”

“I don’t believe that,” he said with just as much ferocity as before, not softening one bit.

I looked down, unhappy with the way that things had turned out between us. “Believe what you want. Now I’d suggest you go. My security team will be here soon. Then you’d get to see just how much control I’ve got. They’ll shoot you even if I order them not to.”

He just glared at me, completely unmoved by my statement. I looked at the gun in my hands, wishing he’d leave. “Do yourself a favor. If you want justice, keep this up. But don’t expect any help because you won’t get it.“

“Then don’t expect me to help you the next time you’re in trouble,” he snapped, looking me over with hatred. “Because-“

Hearing sirens coming, I turned to the opening of the alley. Realizing I should warn the Lynx, I turned back. But no one was there.

All that was left was the downed fire escape and the bodies of the men who’d been knocked out. Where the hell did he go? It was like he’d evaporated.

Hearing a groan, I stepped back to Alvin. He stirred with a pained grimace, looking up at me groggily with widening eyes as he came to. “Oh, God! Where did-?”

He sat up, seeing the remainders of the men who’d tried to take me. His eyes came back to me with astonishment. “Did you – you’ve must’ve – are they dead?!“

I extended a hand to him as a few cop cars pulled up at the opening of the alley, flooding it with blue and red light. Their doors opened as Alvin took my hand, rubbing his head where he’d been hit.

I sighed as he stood, all the security getting out and thinking he’d been an attacker because of his ethnic features. Alvin let out a frightened squawk and threw his hands up as I shook my head. This was not going to end well; that was for sure.

 “Just let me do the talking…”


And that’s it for chapter one! Sparks certainly flew between Aiyla and the illustrious Lynx. Any predictions for next week’s edition? I’m all ears and so is the Lynx – wink, wink! I know. A bad joke but still.

If you’re enjoying this story, make sure to mark it as ‘currently reading’ on Goodreads HERE and share this blog post with your friends. The more people reading, the more likely I am to release extra chapters at a time.

Thanks for tuning in and much love during the quarantine! We’re all in this together and I want to be there for you, my dear readers. Hugs to you!

– XO Maggie Lynn Heron-Heidel

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Del Muerta: Sanctum of Hell Part 1 | The Prologue

Remember that serial novel I was promising you my dear readers to keep you entertained during the quarantine? Without further ado, I present:

DEL MUERTA: Sanctum of Hell Series
Welcome to Infierno. Directly translated: welcome to Hell…
In the city of Dejado Atrás lurks a dark secret; a paradox that hides behind the veneer of democratic deception. Dictators will fall and vigilantes will rise in this dystopian action novel.

Without further ado, here is the first part of Del Muerta. I hope you love this novel as much as I have loved writing the characters. Each one is dear to my heart, even down the low, rotten scoundrels. And there are plenty of them in this series, believe me. No more spoilers, I’ll let you enjoy the story.

Maggie Lynn Heron-Heidel


Prologue

Restless sirens pierced the dark as five silhouettes raced across the rooftops of Dejado Atrás. The wraith-like figures flitted over the lip of the nearest roof, jumping to the fire escape below to scramble into the protective cover of the alley.

One was livid; the other four no different but all a united front as they dove behind the shadows of a forgotten dumpster.

The ghetto of Infierno lay beyond them; the dim streets as black as the hearts of those who governed it. It was their home to protect. Their sanctuary. Yet simultaneously their hell. Hunted like common animals, they were constantly chased within an inch of their lives.

The searchlight of the armored police car roved over their hiding spot, then disappeared as it drove past. In a flash it was gone, still scanning for the vigilantes that dared defy its authority. All breathed a collective sigh of relief, the danger silently ebbing away.

 “This is getting out of hand,” the alias called the Chupacabra muttered, breathing hard as her hazel eyes combed the surroundings. Pulling off her mask, she shook her head. “We can’t even meet without them trying to catch us.“

“Ya think? We need to get inside information about how the Hacienda operates,” another of the five murmured; the Reverend’s eyes glinting with barely concealed fury as he gave the other four a cursory glance. “Otherwise the Forge is going to bury us all.”

Nobody disagreed, thinking of the uprising that regularly attacked the governance of the city. The members of the rebellion didn’t care who they killed in the process, so long as they claimed control. Almost as corrupt as the regime in current control, neither side of the fight cared about the inhabitants of the metropolis. 

Only one of the five dared to reply.

“Already done. I’ve infiltrated Tourney,” the Lynx replied, removing his mask as the others turned to stare at him. The original vigilante of the city, he shook out his hair, damp from the drizzling rain. “I’ll get the information we need-“

“The Tourney?! Are you insane?!” Chupacabra hissed in horror at her foster brother, knowing he was already willing to sacrifice himself to defend them all. “Everyone who enters it winds up six feet under! You’ll die!”

“It’s our only option,” he insisted, his cherry wood eyes as solemn as the grave he would likely wind up in. “Once in, I’ll report back what information I can get. They’re housing the contestants in the manor. I’ll have direct access to the inside.”

“What about fixing that bitch of a daughter the presidente’s got? The ‘prize’ of the whole bloodbath?” Eden snickered, leaning against the brick wall of the alley. His grin was positively sinister, his fingers suggestively tracing the holstered gun at his hip. “Worst comes to worst, you kill her-“

“Or the complete opposite. You seduce her,” the Chupacabra said with an equally fiendish gleam in her eye, relishing the idea. She pulled off her flesh-colored gloves and brushed her raven hair back. “Use her to get the information we want. Then discard her when we’re done.”

The Lynx’s eyes gleamed at the thought of finally exacting revenge on those who had murdered his wife and daughter. Yes, that idea had a certain ring to it. A tempting, cloying edge that he couldn’t resist.

Everyone in the city hated ‘Princess’ Anna of the Hacienda as she sat poised on her royally pompous duff, pampered with riches and spoils while the rest of the world starved. She was no princess by blood; only as a common derogatory nickname amongst the people of the city. Fixing her for good would do everyone a favor beyond measure, even just for morale’s sake.

But the Lynx had a better idea still.

“No. I seduce her to our cause,” he said, seeing the other four brighten as they considered the idea. “What better way to get back at them than to corrupt the one thing they count on to continue their regime?”

All five shared a conspiratorial smile, thinking of all the havoc they could wreak working from the inside out of the deep state of Dejado Atrás. With this move, they could potentially outmaneuver the entire government. Using intel they’d steal, they’d at long last take down the corruption that saturated the streets.

Before they could plan further, however, searchlights flickered back into the alley. Discovering they’d been conned, the police had returned. Four of the five scattered like frightened rabbits, heading in different directions as the light blinded their eyes.

Instead of fleeing with them, the Lynx quickly ascended the fire escape to lead to the roof above. Not caring if he was caught so long as the others escaped, he scrambled over the top of the building as the policemen followed in hot pursuit. The Hacienda couldn’t stop what he’d started; a movement to recover the city from their grip. Vigilantes were sprouting up in every corner to best them; to fight for what was right.

Darting past the billboard video screen atop the roof, he stifled a grim smile. Princess Anna glared out of the billboard advertising the Tourney with bored apathy. She had no idea just what was coming for her.

The Lynx only laughed as a shot rang out, a bullet ricocheting off the billboard screen and missing him entirely as the police fired. Two more bullets zipped past and missed, the yells of the pursuing officers demanding he surrender. To hell with that.

Like the phantom spirit that he was, he disappeared into the night without a trace; without a whisper of a sound. Before the eyes of the disbelieving officers, once over the side of the building, the Lynx was gone.

As they searched through the dawn, the promise of revenge hung in the air like smoke over a smoldering fire. Even if the Lynx had to give up his life, at least freedom would belong to the people of Infierno once more.

Dejado Atrás would be free at any price. Princess Anna was going down.

- Del Muerta: Sanctum of Hell Copyright 2019 

I hope you enjoyed the prologue! Be nice to me and comment your predictions about the story below and I might just release chapter one tomorrow instead of making you wait another week for it!

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Love and hugs,

Maggie Lynn Heron-Heidel