Chapter 11: Blood for Blood
1467 Words
Diablo’s hand locked around Rivera’s ankle like a vise. Burned. Black. But strong.
She screamed. Gun fired. Bullet tore into the sand between Sinner and me.
Diablo dragged her down. They rolled in the dirt. One hand vs two. Burned flesh vs a mother’s rage.
“Family reunion,” Diablo coughed. Blood on his teeth. “You should’ve let me die, sister.”
Rivera drove her elbow into his throat. Broke free. Stood. Aimed at him.
“Should’ve killed you in the cradle,” she said.
Sinner didn’t watch. He watched me. “Angel. Back to the boat. Now.”
“No,” I said. Gun steady. Aimed at Rivera. “Blood for blood. We end this together.”
Rivera laughed. Turned the gun on me. “My daughter. My greatest mistake. You chose him over me.”
“You chose power over me,” I said. “I choose him.”
The beach went quiet. Waves. Wind. Three guns. Three people. All willing to die.
Diablo struggled up on one knee. “Wait. Before you kill me, sis—one question. Who told you about the ledger? Who told you Angel was the key?”
Rivera didn’t answer.
“The Architect,” Diablo said. “From his grave. He’s been talking to you for years. Through the radio. Through the drugs. He was never dead. He was in your head.”
Rivera’s hand shook. Just for a second. Doubt.
Sinner saw it. Moved. Fast. He didn’t shoot her. He shot the gun out of her hand. It flew into the surf.
Then he tackled her. They hit the sand hard. He had her pinned. Knife to her throat.
“End it,” he said. Not to her. To me. “You pull the trigger. Blood for your father. Blood for your mother. Blood for you.”
Rivera looked up at me. No fear. Just calculation. “Do it, Angel. Kill me. Then you’re just like me. Just like him. Monster for monster.”
I walked forward. Stood over them. Gun aimed at her head.
My finger trembled on the trigger.
Sinner’s eyes were on me. Not Rivera. On me. “Whatever you choose, wife. I’m with you.”
I thought of my father. Dead in a warehouse. Thought of my mother. Alive and empty. Thought of Sinner. Taking bullets for me twice.
I lowered the gun.
“Not like this,” I said. “No more blood for blood. No more cycles.”
I kicked Rivera’s gun into the water. Then Diablo’s knife. Then Sinner’s gun. All gone.
“Now what?” Rivera spat. “You think mercy wins?”
“No,” I said. “Truth does.”
I pulled the ring off my finger. The one with the hollow band. Empty now. The chips were gone. Sunk with the drive.
But the ring itself—engraved inside. Tiny letters. My father’s handwriting.
Coordinates. Not to a warehouse. To a grave.
“My mother’s grave,” I said. “Real one. Not the fake one you visited. You’ve been talking to a headstone, Mom. The Architect died twenty years ago. Stroke. Alone. You’ve been following a ghost.”
Rivera went still. “Lie.”
“Check,” I said. “Go dig her up. See if there’s a body. Or see if you’ve been at war with a dead man this whole time.”
Diablo laughed. Ugly. Broken. “Told you she was smart, sis. Smarter than both of us.”
Rivera shoved Sinner off. Stood. Stared at me like she’d never seen me before.
“You’d let me live?” she asked.
“I’d let you choose,” I said. “Stay and fight. Or walk away and find out who you are without him. Without the war.”
She looked at the ocean. At the burning yacht in the distance. At her son with a knife at her throat. At her brother bleeding in the sand.
Then she turned. Walked into the water. Didn’t look back.
Sinner didn’t stop her. Neither did I.
Diablo watched her go. “She’ll be back,” he said. “They always come back.”
“Maybe,” Sinner said. Helped him up. “But not today.”
Diablo leaned on him. Enemy to ally in one breath. “You’re an i***t, Blackwood. Marrying her. Saving her. Letting her go.”
“She’s not mine to let go,” Sinner said. Looked at me. “She’s mine to follow.”
VP’s boat idled offshore. He waved us in.
We left Diablo on the beach. He wouldn’t come. “I got debts to pay,” he said. “Reaper’s Sin needs a body. Even a broken one.”
Sinner nodded. Respect. “Blood for blood, brother.”
“No,” I said. “No more blood.”
We rode in silence. Sinner’s arm around me. His chest to my back. Alive. Breathing. Mine.
He pressed his lips to my temple. “You could’ve killed her.”
“I could’ve,” I said. “But then I’d be her.”
He kissed my hair. “Proud of you, wife.”
We reached the dock as the sun cleared the horizon. No suits. No clubs. No FBI. Just an old truck and VP tossing us keys.
“Where to, boss?” VP asked.
“Nowhere,” Sinner said. “Everywhere. New names. New town. No cuts. No clubs.”
He looked at me. “You in?”
I looked at the ring in my palm. Plain gold now. No chip. No secret. Just vows.
“I’m in,” I said. “As long as you’re with me.”
He slid the ring back on my finger. Kissed my knuckles. “Always.”
We drove. Windows down. No destination. Just road. Just us.
For the first time since the chapel, no one was chasing us.
For the first time ever, we were free.
Night fell. We stopped at a motel off the highway. Neon sign buzzing. Room 7.
Sinner paid cash. No names.
Inside: two beds. One door. One window.
He locked the door. Checked the window. Then looked at me.
“Safe,” he said.
I dropped my bag. Walked to him. Put my hands on his chest. Over the stitches. Over his heart.
“Safe with you,” I said.
He pulled me in. No guns. No blood. Just arms. Just heat. Just husband.
He kissed me slow. Like we had time. Like the war was over.
Because it was.
We fell asleep tangled together. No nightmares. No sirens. Just breathing.
Dawn came soft through the curtains.
Sinner woke first. Always alert. Always watching.
He froze.
I followed his gaze.
On the door. Slid under it.
An envelope. Plain. No name.
Inside: one photo.
Rivera. Standing at a grave. Fresh dirt. New headstone.
The name carved: MARGARET ARCHITECT.
And written below in red ink:
*MOMMY’S HOME. DINNER’S ON ME. -R*
Sinner crumpled the photo. Stood. Gun already in his hand. He’d hidden it under the mattress.
“She didn’t walk away,” he said. “She went to her mother’s grave. To say goodbye. Or to say hello.”
He looked at me. “Pack, Angel. We’re moving.”
I stood. But I didn’t pack.
I walked to the door. Opened it.
Rivera stood in the parking lot. White dress. Clean. No gun. Just a picnic basket.
She smiled. “Good morning, daughter. Husband. I brought breakfast. Can we talk?”
Sinner moved to block me. Gun raised.
Rivera didn’t flinch. “If you shoot me, you’ll never know why I did it. Why I faked my death. Why I built the FBI badge. Why I let you think I was the monster.”
She set the basket down. Pushed it forward with her foot.
“Inside,” she said. “Proof. That the Architect wasn’t the only one lying. That your father wasn’t the only one with secrets. That Kane isn’t the only president with blood on his hands.”
Sinner didn’t lower the gun. “Talk.”
Rivera looked at me. Only me. “Your father didn’t just keep the ledger. He created it. He was the Architect’s partner. He built Devil’s Blood and Reaper’s Sin. He ordered the hits. Including your mother’s.”
The world tilted.
“No,” I said. “You’re lying.”
“I wish I was,” Rivera said. “Open the basket, Angel. See for yourself. Then decide if you still want to be Mrs. Blackwood.”
Sinner’s hand found mine. Squeezed. Hard.
“Don’t,” he said. “Whatever’s in there, it doesn’t change us.”
But I was already walking. Already reaching for the basket.
Because blood for blood was over.
But truth for truth?
That war was just starting.
- Writer
