"Sleep... let yourself drift away..." I whispered into Miguel's ear as his breathing settled into a soft, steady rhythm. His quiet snores were barely audible, almost drowned out by the stillness of the night.
Outside, the world was pitch bck, the forest swallowed by shadow, the moon the only thing daring to spill light into the room.
I watched him for a moment.
His skin was impossibly soft, smooth in a way that spoke of care and routine. He took care of himself—meticulously so. I'd noticed it these past two days that he's been here: the careful way he washed his face, the products lined neatly by the sink, the time he took with himself like it was a form of self-respect he refused to let go of. It made my heart warm almost.
A soft knock echoed against the door. Right on time.
I moved carefully, slowly peeling myself away from him, making sure not to disturb his sleep. He shifted just a little, instinctively reaching for warmth that was no longer there, and I paused until his breathing evened out again.
Then I stood.
The gear felt heavier than I remembered. Familiar, but distant—like slipping into a past life I thought I'd buried. I strapped on my vest, tightened it until it fit snug against my torso, then ced my boots with practiced precision. Each movement was silent, deliberate.
I gnced back at the bed.
Miguel was still asleep, curled slightly on his side, peaceful in a way that felt fragile.
I walked back to him and leaned down, brushing my lips gently against his cheek. He stirred faintly but didn't wake.
"I'll be back, Miguel..." I whispered, my voice barely more than breath.
Another kiss. Lingering this time.
When I straightened, resolve settled deep in my chest. I stepped toward the door already pnning the orders in my head. Le would be posted outside the room—my closest, most trusted guard. If anything so much as breathed wrong near him, she'd know.
No one was touching him. Not ever again.
I opened the door softly and eased it shut behind me. Le stood guard just outside like I wanted, unmoving, her presence solid and reassuring. I stepped closer, lowering my voice.
"Remember my orders," I said quietly. "If he wakes up and leaves the room, comfort him. Tell him I had to run errands st second."
She nodded without hesitation. "Sí, jefa." (Yes boss)
Satisfied, I walked past her and made my way down the stairs. The warmth of the bedroom faded with every step, repced by stone, silence, and purpose. At the bottom, three of my women were already waiting for me, geared up and alert.
"?Lista, jefa?" (Ready, boss?) one of them asked.
I nodded, exhaling slowly as she handed me my AR-15. The weight of it was familiar in my hands—comforting, almost intimate. Chambered in 5.56, the same rounds that had earned me my nickname years ago. I ran a quick check, fingers moving on instinct.
Ready.
The massive front doors opened, and cold night air immediately bit into my skin, sharp and unforgiving.
Floodlights illuminated the compound, casting long shadows across concrete and steel. Ten guards were positioned around the perimeter, rotating through checkpoints with military precision. Two more stood watch in the towers fnking the entrance, silhouettes against the dark sky.
Secure. Always secure.
I marched toward the white armored truck parked near the barracks, one of many reinforced vehicles lined beneath the carport. Every panel was pted, every compartment stocked—ammo, rifles, contingency gear. Overkill to some. Survival to me.
I climbed into the front passenger seat. One of my women slid in beside me as the engine roared to life, the vibration humming through the frame. The rest piled in behind us, the doors smming shut one by one, sealing us inside steel and intent.
I checked my vest, my radio, my weapon—once more, everything in its pce.
Everything ready.
I leaned back slightly as the truck began to move, eyes hard, mind focused.
All that was left now... was to finish the job.
We rolled through the checkpoints one by one, barriers lifting the moment my truck came into view. Floodlights washed over us, illuminating familiar faces. My women straightened as we passed, nodding with quiet respect, hands tight on their weapons. They didn't need orders—they already knew who I was and what I was capable of.
These women were loyal. Hand-picked. Tested. None of them would ever betray me.
And if one day someone was stupid enough to try... well—that kind of mistake didn't end with just one body. Bloodlines had a way of disappearing when lessons needed to be taught.
I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes.
Miguel.
I pictured him asleep, curled up warm and safe in my bed, breathing softly, unaware of the storm moving through the night for him. The image settled something deep in my chest, grounding me. For the first time since I left the room, my jaw unclenched.
"I'm going to get revenge, Miguel," I whispered under my breath. "Because you deserve it."
No one in the truck spoke. No one needed to. Every woman in here understood what he meant to me. They'd seen the way my voice softened when I said his name. They knew this wasn't business.
This was personal.
I opened my eyes as the truck continued forward, the engine growling low, hungry. The road ahead disappeared into darkness, and I felt that familiar, cold crity settle in.
"?Quieren meterse con alguien a quien amo?" (Want to fuck with someone I love?) I murmured, more to myself than anyone else.
"Muy bien." (Alright)
My fingers tightened slightly against my rifle as a slow, dangerous smile touched my lips.
"Tengo algo preparado para ustedes, cabrones." (I have something ready for you fuckers.)
-
The lights of the pueblo crept into view, dull and sickly against the night. Same cracked roads. Same crooked houses. Nothing had changed—and that alone made my stomach twist.
This was it.
The pce where I found him. The pce where they broke him.
The truck slowed as we rolled through the outskirts, tires crunching softly against loose gravel. I stared out the window, my jaw clenched so tight it ached. Then I saw it—the bench. The exact one.
For a split second, the world narrowed.
I remembered Miguel sitting there, small, shaking, trying so hard to look okay when everything in his eyes screamed that he wasn't. The way his voice trembled when he spoke. The way he flinched when I got close before he realized I wasn't going to hurt him.
My chest burned.
"I hate rapists..." I whispered, the words tearing out of me like a wound finally reopening.
A tear slipped free before I could stop it, trailing down my cheek. I didn't bother wiping it away. They didn't deserve my restraint. They didn't deserve mercy. What they did to Miguel—what they took from him—was unforgivable.
How could anyone touch something so gentle and turn it into pain?
The truck turned onto the street.
My seatbelt was already off. My body leaned forward slightly, muscles coiled tight, anticipation buzzing in my veins—sharp, electric. Like a predator watching prey wander too close. My fingers flexed once, slowly.
We came to a stop.
The engine stayed running.
I pushed the door open and stepped out into the night, boots hitting the dirt without hesitation. The air smelled the same—dust, smoke, rot. Disgusting. Familiar. My women moved with me, quiet and ready, shadows slipping into pce. The driver stayed put.
We weren't here to linger. We were here to erase.
I lifted my gaze to the house ahead, eyes cold, heart pounding with a single name echoing in my head.
Miguel.
And for him—no one here was walking away unchanged.
I didn't waste a second.
My boot smmed into the door and it gave in instantly—cheap wood, rotted hinges. One hit was all it took. The door flew inward with a sharp crack, smming against the wall as we poured inside.
Empty.
The living room was silent, stale air hanging heavy, like the house itself knew what was coming. I lifted my hand slightly and my women spread out without a word. I headed straight for the hallway.
Three doors.
My steps were slow now. Deliberate. Each one echoed like a countdown.
The st door.
I kicked it in.
The sight of her hit me like a bde to the chest.
One of them.
The woman who hurt Miguel.
My vision tunneled. Every sound drowned out except her screaming—panicked, disgusting. She fell back, crying, begging, words tumbling over each other in desperation. Mercy. Forgiveness. God.
It made my blood boil.
Genocide didn't even feel like a strong enough word.
I raised my rifle, hands steady, finger tightening—
"Jefa," (boss) one of my women said calmly from behind me, cutting clean through the moment. "?No cree que sería mejor torturars en casa?" (Wouldn't it better to have them tortured at the house?)
I froze.
Her words sank in slowly, like venom spreading through my veins. She was right.
A death too quick would be a gift—and they didn't deserve gifts.
I lowered the rifle, exhaling through my nose. My jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
"Agarra a otra," (grab the other one) I said quietly. "Cárgas." (Load them up)
I stepped back into the hallway.
My women were already moving. Efficient. Silent. The older one was restrained, gagged, terror wide in her eyes as she realized screaming wouldn't save her. The younger one was hauled past me moments ter—kicking, sobbing—before being dragged outside.
I followed at a distance, watching as they were thrown into the back of the truck like discarded trash.
I stopped at the doorway and looked back at the house.
This pce had taken something precious from Miguel. I'd make sure it gave something back ter.
I climbed into the truck and the doors smmed shut. The engine roared to life as we pulled away, the house shrinking behind us. I looked behind me, I saw their unmoving bodies shift with the motion of the road.
My hands rested calmly on my rifle.
A slow smile tugged at my lips.
"I can't wait to hurt them."
"I love you Miguel..."
———
Donations
https://ko-fi.com/dayofdarkness666???utm_medium=email&utm_source=onboarding&utm_campaign=SharePage