Hallows: Merciful Death

Rodrigo Jimenez

Tech N9ne- Red Kingdom

B.B.:

We didn't get very far before we arrive at Ernie's Burgers. He growls at me when I got off of him to fix my hair in the dark-tinted glass. He's annoyed and his pouting is the cutest thing ever. Don't get me wrong I was completely into it. I mean hell yeah, he's a gorgeous man. I'm just starving. My hunger has been insatiable for the last couple of weeks. I'm gaining extra muscle in my legs and my abdomen had ab lines now.

"Ten Ernie specials," he orders. "To go,"

I sit down in the middle of the room. Not only are they staring because we arrived in a f*****g Rolls Royce Phantom mini limo but because Carson and I got out of the car hand in hand. Not a lot of people are happy to see us in this part of town. I doubt they've figured out who is responsible for the fire.

This part of town hates the founding families. They call us old money garbage. It used to hurt my feelings but I'm starting to see things differently now. It's better this way. They turn the other way when we walk by and we don't have to hide what we are. Their hate and resentment keep us protected. We're nothing but rich assholes. They have no idea that without us, this town would be overrun by monsters and I'm not talking about Bela Lugosi.

Carson comes to sit in front of me but doesn't say a word as his icy eyes scan the room. I smile loving how predatory he looks right now. I've been wondering what it is that Carson does. I know he runs drugs. After his parents died, he and Luc petitioned to be emancipated and she'll deny it but my mom paid for their lawyer and I think she paid the judge off to give them what they wanted.

He started slanging weed when he was twelve but by the time we were freshmen, he was running the docks. His reputation was and still is intense. They call him the Devil of Hellbourne. Not just the Devil of Hellbourne Academy like Luc. I'm glad I can call him Mine. Wait. Where did that come from?

"A lot of eyes on us," he whispers. I reached over the table to cup his cheek in my hand. His eyes instantly moved to mine.

"Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?" I ask. His eyes sparkle under the light.

"No, never. I usually get damn you're f*****g hot," he smirks. "I don't hang around very many chicks. Especially not ones raised properly,"

"You think I'm raised properly?" I laugh. What a thing to say.

"Yes, you were. Just because your family is dysfunctional, it doesn't mean they didn't bring up a strong level-headed woman. Most girls deserve to be called bitches these days. They confuse empowerment with stupidity,"

"Spoken like true man," I scoff. "Empowerment doesn't mean one thing. Power is embraced in various forms. s*x, violence, manipulation, death, it's not one specific thing. It's a f*****g concept. Like everything else in the world. It was created by man. So, man judges because he still thinks he knows what power is like he wasn't the one who created the lie,"

"The lie?" he laughs. "Why is it a lie if it works?"

"It works before the sheep the man hoards. If I were to take my shirt off and have this conversation with you, you wouldn't be looking at me with the confidence you are now. You'd give me the power to control you because all you want to do is f**k me and as long as I control the outcome, I hold power over you,"

"You're full of s**t," he rolls his eyes. "You can't have full power because you want me just as much as I want you,"

"That's where equality takes place. We both want the same thing. An alliance. Another f*****g lie,"

"You're weird," he laughs. "I love it. What's wrong with an alliance?"

"It will almost always fall apart. Jealousy, greed, inferiority. Power is like poison. People who have it almost always let it corrupt them. It gives them a sense of invincibility. But there will always be someone smarter, stronger, more driven,"

"So how is this lie remedied? All lies have a truth right?"

"Right. The truth isn't in the flaunt of power it's in adaptability. The ability to accept change. Move forward knowing that what you're doing right now isn't the way that it's always going to be done. You have to switch it up. Just because it works doesn't mean it's perfect,"

"What kind s**t do you be reading?" he laughs.

"I have a lot of books. My dad liked to read philosophy, literature, and religions. He passed that legacy on to me. I used to sit on his lap while he read. It was the only place I felt like a child. Where I didn't have to be anyone else but his daughter. Where no one expected a single thing from me,"

"What kind of person was he? I mean I've read the Rolling Stone issues featuring Satan Couture. But I can't picture Dante Blackstone being a dad. There's a whole violent culture centered around him. People worship him like a god. Even now,"

"A devil," I correct. "Gods inspire faith in the unknown. A devil inspires faith in ourselves. Gives us the power to believe we can do what we need to do. He was a complicated person. He was filled with rage but he had these moments of- I don't know peace, maybe. Moments when the demons were quiet and the real him surfaced.

"He was gentle, caring. A really good listener and an even better teacher. But it was like a switch. One moment he was the greatest father and then his darkness took over and the only way he knew how to rectify what he did was through music. He poured that f*****g venom onto that page and then he bled the sound until he was empty. I feel like I might have been the only person who understood but I also feel like I didn't know s**t,"

"Dilly didn't like talking about him," he states.

"No, she didn't. Dilly is more like my mom. She hides her emotions until she snaps. It's what my dad loved most about her. The moment when she lost it. When she let go of her perfect composure. Dilly was the same,"

"Did you know something was wrong with her?" he asks.

"Yeah," I nod. "But the thing with her and my mom is that you can't force them into telling you what's wrong. We have to let them come to us. I think she would have done it sooner if I had pushed it,"

"You keep a lot bottled up too,"

"I do but not by choice. I just don't have anyone to share it with," before he could say anything. The chair to my right is pulled out and a man slips into it.

This man is a few years older. He's wearing a bluish-silver suit with Aztec calendar cufflinks. His dark brown eyes are burning with pain. His buzz cut shows the tattoos on his head. He has more on his face and down his neck. His hands. He's wearing rings and a very expensive watch. His nails are painted black. I have to admit that he's beautiful. Rodrigo Jimenez is a monster with the self-control of a saint. I feel it all around him.

"Como estamos, Diablo?" he asks Carson.

"You're interrupting my day off with my girl," he sneers.

"Esta bonita," he nods looking me over. I don't know why but his approval means something to me.

"Thank you," I smile. He likes that I understand him.

"Como te llamas, bonita?"

"B.B," I answer.

"B.B," he repeats it tasting it in his mouth. I like the way he savors it before he turns his attention to Carson. "Didn't know you were into rich girls, Diablo,"

"I'm into good girls," he smirks. The way he says it. It has nothing to do with actual goodness. More like a pleasing gesture to the way I listen to him. I was wrong. He is a cocky f**k.

"Blackstones are not good," he scoffs. "They're just... damned,"

"You have no idea," I agree.

"What do you want, Rigo?" Carson asks calmly.

"You haven't watched the news?" he asks.

"Do I look like someone who watches the news?" Carson sneers. He pulls my chair closer to him. I adjust my body so I can watch our left side.

"All right, my sister was murdered last night," he states. The people around us lower their voices, trying to listen in on the conversation now.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I say looking up to meet his eyes. We hold each other's gazes for an instant. An instant too long for Carson's liking because he growls at him. There's something about this man that holds my attention.

"Thank you, Bonita," he nods and averts his gaze. "She was very dear to me,"

"I believe you. I lost my sister too," I smile tightly. He nods before turning his eyes to Carson.

"Donde estabas anoche?" he asks him.

"Busy,"

"With?"

"Me," I answer when Carson doesn't. He looks between us.

"And you were where?"

"I thought you watched the news," I smile. "We were at Sheldon's. I gave a performance. We went home after. It kind of-" I pause for dramatic effect. "f****d me up a little,"

"What about the little one? Stacy, she runs for you, no? My sister told me one of her girls was delivering and that's the last I heard from her,"

"Did she give you a name?" Carson asks.

"No,"

"Find the name and I'll give you what you want. You can go now. You're f*****g up my date,"

Rodrigo Jimenez stares at Carson for a little too long. The darkness inside of me stirs because of whatever it is I'm picking up from him. He doesn't like that a seventeen-year-old is giving him orders. He nods and stands up. He waves his hand in the air and a couple of guys get up and walk out with him.

"Calm down," Carson whispered in my ear sending chills down my spine. He doesn't like that the reaper in me is the one that answered this man. "What do you say we go and I'll take you into that little crawl space between the shelves in your library and I f**k you on top of your philosophy books?"

"I say, go get our food," I laugh.