28. Vines of Passion

Caleb grapples with life without Naomi, haunted by his actions, yet remains fiercely dedicated to ensuring her safety above all else.

CALEB

Naomi left me.

Naomi's departure consumed my thoughts from dawn till dusk, a relentless torment that overshadowed every waking moment. It felt like a knife twisting in my gut, an endless ache that accompanied me through each day. The memories, the photographs—the snapshots of her peaceful slumber, the candid moments around town—each one a reminder of what was lost and what was about to be.

The emptiness in the house mirrored the void in my chest as I struggled to rise from my knees the day she walked out on me, my limbs heavy with the weight of how royally I had fucked up. Each movement was a laborious effort, as if I were dragging myself through quicksand. She hadn't just left with her belongings; she had taken a piece of me with her, leaving behind a chasm that seemed impossible to fill.

The physical ache in my chest was unbearable, as though my heart had been wrenched from its cavity and trampled upon. But it was more than that—it was the crushing realization that I had failed her, that she had walked away because I wasn't enough. I didn’t do enough to protect her.

The knowledge that she hated me for it burned like acid, searing through my soul and leaving scars that would never heal. Every corner of the house whispered her name, a cruel reminder of my loss and my failure, a relentless torment that promised no reprieve.

How could she possibly want to be with me after enduring such horror? How could she trust me to keep her safe when I had failed to protect her in my own home? The images of Jasmine with that gun, the terror in Naomi's eyes—I couldn't shake them, couldn't erase the guilt that gnawed at me like a relentless parasite. It was no wonder she wanted nothing to do with me; hell, I wouldn’t want to be with me either.

But I couldn't afford to dwell on the pain. Instead, I threw myself into the renovation of the historic building with a fervor that bordered on obsession. My involvement surpassed what my team expected, and I knew I was testing their patience with my near-micromanagement. Yet, I pressed on, driven by a need to exhaust myself physically and mentally, to drown out the torment in a sea of sweat and labor.

The gym became my therapy, a place where I channeled my emotions into punishing workouts. Each rep, each mile, each drop of sweat was an attempt to exorcise the demons that haunted me. I avoided Dr. Lynn's attempts to reach out; I wasn’t ready to confront my feelings, let alone share them with anyone else. The thought of sitting in a room and baring my soul felt like a luxury I couldn't afford.

As for Naomi, I respected her space, understanding that my presence only added to the turmoil I had inadvertently brought into her life. The fear of pushing her further by attempting to reach out paralyzed me, leaving me in a state of suspended anguish, where every breath felt like a betrayal of the love I had lost.

So, I left her be, honoring her desire for distance even as it tore at my soul. Each day without her felt like a punishment I couldn’t escape. The emptiness gnawed at me, but I forced myself to keep moving, hoping that maybe, one day, the pain would dull.

One morning, a jaw-dropping aroma wafted up to my bedroom, pulling me from a restless sleep. I sniffed the air, half-convinced I was still dreaming. The scent was intoxicating, almost unreal. I practically leaped out of bed and hurried downstairs, my heart pounding with confusion.

What I saw next had my rubbing my eyes to try to wake myself up—Marlon, who hadn’t left Florida since the day he opened his restaurant, was in my kitchen, conjuring something that smelled like pure magic. My twin cousins, Victor and Valentina, were also there; Victor lounged on my couch, engrossed in a newspaper, while Valentina sat at my dining table, focused on her laptop.

They all turned to me as I entered, and I returned their hopeful gazes with bewilderment.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Valentina said with a grin. “Thought you could use a little surprise for your favorite cousins.”

Victor folded his newspaper and smirked. “Yeah, figured it was time for an intervention. You’ve been ghosting us long enough.”

“God damn, Caleb, put that thing away. No need to show off,” Marlon quipped, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he pointed at my morning wood.

Valentina shook her head disdainfully, as though I was the most offensive thing she’d ever witnessed. “Seriously,” she muttered under her breath, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she returned to her work.

“What’s going on? Did someone die?” I asked, my confusion mounting as I stood there in my boxers—after all, this was my damn house.

“Man, go put some clothes on. Can’t have you walking around here in just your panties,” Marlon quipped with a smirk, his voice carrying the hint of a Southern drawl that only seemed to add to his charm.

“I was asleep... in my house,” I muttered, still trying to process the surreal scene unfolding before me. “Wasn’t expecting anyone. I gotta change these locks,” I added, settling into a chair at the dining table across from Valentina, who regarded me with concern.

Victor ambled over and joined us just as Marlon began laying out a spread of food that set my mouth watering. The aroma alone was enough to make my stomach growl—a tantalizing blend of spices and flavors that hinted at Marlon’s fusion of French and Caribbean cuisines.

The kitchen filled with the sizzle and pop of frying bacon, the sweet scent of maple syrup mingling with the savory aroma of jerk spices. My senses were overwhelmed, and for a brief moment, the weight of my worries lifted.

In the center of the table, a large platter held golden-brown fried plantains, their sweetness contrasting beautifully with the savory dishes around them. Fluffy, steaming jasmine rice spilled from a decorative bowl, infused with the aroma of coconut milk and spices that tickled my nostrils. The sight alone was enough to make my mouth water, but the scent carried me back to simpler times, to family gatherings filled with laughter and love.

Next to it, a generous portion of jerk chicken glistened with a tantalizing glaze, its spices promising a fiery kick that only Marlon knew how to temper just right. Thin slices of mango salsa dotted the edges of the platter, adding a refreshing burst of citrus and heat, a symphony of flavors that danced on the palate.

On a smaller plate nearby, delicate shrimp skewers nestled atop a bed of greens, drizzled with a zesty lime dressing that hinted at a blend of herbs and vinegar. The colors were vibrant against the backdrop of the rustic wooden table, where Marlon's careful presentation turned each dish into a work of art. Each detail was a testament to his skill and passion, the culinary equivalent of a master painter’s stroke.

Beside the shrimp, a bowl of callaloo stew beckoned with its deep green hues and rich aroma, the blend of spinach and coconut milk promising a creamy texture that would melt in the mouth. It was a dish that spoke of home, of warmth, of comfort in the midst of chaos.

Marlon's attention to detail extended to the side dishes—a bowl of crispy fried yucca chips, sprinkled with sea salt and accompanied by a tangy aioli dipping sauce that added a decadent touch. Small bowls of pickled vegetables added a refreshing contrast, their briny crunch cutting through the richness of the main courses, a perfect harmony of flavors and textures.

As I surveyed the spread, my appetite surged despite the emotional turmoil that had been weighing me down. Marlon had not just cooked a meal; he had crafted a culinary journey that invited us to savor each bite, to forget our troubles for a moment and indulge in the flavors of his heritage and heart. This wasn't just food—it was a reminder that even in the darkest times, there was beauty, there was family, and there was hope. Even if I didn’t want it.

Marlon’s voice filled the room, steady and reverent, as he guided us in prayer. We bowed our heads, hands clasped together, as the aroma of the meal mingled with the solemnity of the moment.

"Lord, we thank you for this food before us," Marlon began, his deep timbre carrying the weight of sincerity. "We thank you for bringing us together in this time of need, for the bonds of family that strengthen us, and for the love that sustains us through trials. Bless this food to nourish our bodies and our spirits. Amen."

Then, with a collective sigh, we released our hands and began to serve ourselves from the spread before us.

The air around us lightened, if only momentarily, as we dug into Marlon's masterpiece.

"So, can we talk about why everyone is really here?" I finally broached the unspoken topic, my voice tinged with curiosity and resignation as I ate.

Victor leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “You mean other than my undying love for fried plantains?" Victor quipped, mouth full.

"I love y'all, but cut the bullshit," I replied, my tone dry and to the point. The room fell silent for a heartbeat.

"First of all, it's Brunch Sunday, but since you haven't been answering your phone, we realized we had to bring brunch to you," Valentina explained, her words carrying a hint of concern. Her eyes searched mine, seeking an understanding that I wasn’t ready to give.

"Ain't been in a talking mood," I muttered, my gaze fixed on my plate. The food was a distraction, a good one too.

"We know you're heartbroken about Naomi," Valentina continued, her voice gentle yet insistent. Each word was a carefully aimed dart, piercing the walls I'd built around my pain.

Here we go, I thought to myself, bracing for the inevitable conversation.

"You can't shut down like this, Caleb," Marlon interjected, his tone firm yet empathetic. His presence was a rock, solid and unyielding, and it made the ache in my chest even more pronounced. "We’re here because we care, because we’re family. And family doesn’t let you drown in your own sorrow."

I continued eating, deliberately avoiding eye contact. Who were they to tell me what I could and couldn't do? Deep down, I knew they were right, but admitting it felt like surrendering to a truth I wasn't ready to face.

"We love and care about you, Caleb. We know you're hurting—" Valentina began, her voice soft with concern.

"You don't know shit," I interrupted, keeping my tone steady but firm. The bite in my words was a shield, a desperate attempt to keep the pain at bay.

"We know you love that girl and you're suffering without her," Marlon chimed in, his words carrying a weight of understanding that made my chest tighten.

"So, what? You're here to tell me everything is gonna be okay?" I scoffed sarcastically, pushing back against their attempt to probe. The bitterness in my voice felt like a defense mechanism, protecting the raw wound of my heart.

"No, man. We're here to be here for you. We're not judging you; we just want you to talk, to say something. Let us help," Victor insisted, his tone gentle yet persistent. The sincerity in his eyes was disarming, chipping away at the walls I had built around myself.

I stared down at my plate, conflicted. Their concern was palpable, their intentions genuine. But admitting vulnerability felt like relinquishing control, exposing wounds I'd rather keep hidden. Yet, a part of me longed to unburden myself, to share the weight of my heartache with those who cared.

"I appreciate it, really," I muttered finally, my voice betraying a hint of resignation. "But I've gotta figure this out on my own."

Silence settled over us, thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. I felt their eyes on me, their unspoken support hanging in the air like a lifeline.

"You don't have to do it on your own," Victor insisted, his voice filled with earnest concern.

I wanted to believe him, to believe any of them could make a difference. But what was the point of talking? It wouldn't bring Naomi back, it wouldn't erase the pain my ex-wife had caused her. What was the fucking point of any of this? I needed to endure each day until the ache in my chest subsided. That was my plan, and it felt solid. I deserved the pain.

"Or if you need help coming up with a plan to get her back, let's get your girl back," Marlon pressed on, his determination evident, his eyes boring into mine with a fierce intensity.

Getting her back? Now that sounded comical.

"She doesn’t want me. She left me. That's it," I stated flatly, avoiding eye contact with anyone. The words felt like lead in my mouth, each syllable a heavy stone.

The weight of their concern hung heavily in the air, thickening it like fog.

"If you're depressed, it's okay," Valentina offered softly, her voice a tentative lifeline.

I looked at Valentina, feeling a surge of frustration. I appreciated their efforts, especially Marlon traveling all this way, but no amount of good intentions could fix me.

"I'm messed up, alright?" I admitted, my voice heavy with resignation. "She's gone, and it's like... there's no coming back from this. Not for me." I sighed, running a hand through my hair, frustration evident in every gesture. "I wake up every morning and it's the first thing on my mind. I go to bed, and it's the last thing I think about," I continued, the ache in my chest palpable, a gnawing void that refused to be filled. "She’s done, she made a choice and I’m respecting it. Staying away from her is for the best. Nothing and no one can help me through this, except time. You can’t fix me."

Victor shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting between Marlon and Valentina, silently pleading for guidance. Marlon, ever the blunt one, leaned forward, his expression a mix of concern and determination. "Look, Caleb, I get it. But sitting here, wallowing in this shit, ain't gonna do a damn thing either."

Valentina's usually sharp tongue softened as she reached out, touching my hand gently. "We're not saying it'll fix everything overnight. But you don't have to go through this alone. We're here for you."

I pulled my hand away gently, not ready to accept their comfort. "I appreciate it, I do." My voice cracked, betraying the weight of my words. "I just need time."

The silence that followed was almost suffocating, a tangible reminder of the emotional chasm that separated me from those I loved.

"Well, right now, we'll be here. We don't have to talk about shit, but we're here and we ain’t going nowhere," Marlon said, his voice firm yet understanding. His words were a lifeline, a promise that I wasn’t alone in my pain.

I nodded, a mix of gratitude and reluctance filling me. It was comforting to know they were there, even if I wasn't ready to open up about everything yet. Sometimes, just having their presence was enough to keep me going.

"That's more than enough," I finally managed to say, my voice rough with emotion. The words felt like a small concession, a step towards accepting the love and support they were offering.

Marlon nodded back, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. In that moment, I felt a flicker of hope amidst the darkness. Maybe, just maybe, with time and their support, I could find a way through this mess.

And so for the next week, my goddamn cousins were at my house whether I wanted them there or not. Every morning, the smell of Marlon's cooking wafted through the house, pulling me out of bed. He was a relentless force in the kitchen, whipping up everything from hearty breakfasts to soul-soothing dinners, making sure I ate every day, even when I barely had the will to lift a fork.

Victor was my shadow, dragging me to the gym like a drill sergeant. His workouts were brutal, designed to push me to my limits and beyond. He wouldn't let me slack, barking out encouragements and insults in equal measure, his tough love a lifeline that kept me anchored to reality. Every drop of sweat was a release, a way to channel the chaos inside me into something tangible, something I could fight against.

Valentina, with her quiet strength, took on the task of transforming my disheveled house back into a place of peace. She called in reinforcements, organizing and cleaning every nook and cranny until the space felt anew. She had the carpet in my owner’s suite redone—Xion’s blood had still been there, a daily reminder of what went down, a gruesome marker that kept me anchored in the past when my mind tried to make me move on.

But she didn't stop there. Valentina arranged for Dr. Lynn to make a house call, convinced that I needed to talk to someone, even if it was the last thing I wanted to do. Her persistence was infuriating and touching all at once, her steady hand guiding me through the mess of my life with a determination that was impossible to ignore.

Marlon, Victor and Valentina were my constants, these three, refusing to leave no matter how much I tried to push them away. They rode with me through the storm, their unwavering support a lifeline I clung to desperately. Each of them, in their own way, showed me love and care, tending to my broken heart with a fierce determination that both infuriated and comforted me.

On the last night together, as I started to worry about facing the days without their steadfast presence, a restricted number lit up my phone screen while we sat in my backyard playing Uno. I stared at it, my heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and unease.

“D,” I answered.

“We’re on for tomorrow. Be at the jet at 10 AM,” he said, the certainty in his voice sparking a surge of anticipation that cut through the fog of my despair.

I smiled wider. The perfect outlet for my pent-up frustration had finally presented itself.

“I’ll be there,” I replied, my voice steadier than it had been in weeks.

JEFFERY

"Bout time y'all let me out this motherfucker! Been pushing my release date back for weeks and shit," I hollered, my voice echoing off the prison walls as I strode through the first gate that had held me unjustly for far too long. "Open this damn gate too!" I shouted back, watching as the iron bars creaked and groaned, slowly giving way to the freedom that awaited me on the other side.

Stepping out, the sun smacked me in the face like an old enemy, hot and relentless. Squinting, I looked up at the wide-open sky, a blinding blue canvas that felt surreal after staring at gray cement ceilings for too long. The air hit different too, fresher, tinged with the scent of grass and the distant hum of city life—so different from the stale, metallic stink of the joint.

My eyes scanned the yard, past the guard towers and the high, razor-wire-topped walls that had been my world for way too long. Beyond the final gate, a chain-link fence wrapped in more barbed wire, I saw a group of people waiting. Some had signs, some had their arms crossed, expressions a mix of joy and suspicion.

The gravel crunched under my Timbs with every step towards that last barrier. My heart pounded like a bass drum, each beat reminding me of the time stolen from me, the years spent plotting my comeback. As the gate creaked open, I spotted my ride – a slick black whip, engine purring, driver holding the door open like he was my damn chauffeur.

I paused, soaking it all in—the taste of freedom was sweet and gritty, like the first sip of Henny after a dry spell. Stepping out of that last gate, a smirk crept onto my face. The world was mine again, and I was ready to take it by storm.

Sure, my bid was at some white-collar shit, not the hardest joint to be in, but prison is prison. Freedom ain't just about walking where you want; it's about hustling, making that money.

"Jeffery, right?" A little Will Smith-looking motherfucker asked, leaning against a pristine Mercedes.

Who the fuck was this?

"Who's asking?" I growled, eyes narrowing at him.

"I'm your driver for today. Name's Jamison." His friendly smile was almost too much as he pointed to the sign with my first and last name on it with some kind of car transportation service logo. "Kayla couldn’t make it, so she hired me to ensure you left here in style."

I smirked. Kayla was my ride or die. She always knew how to take care of me. We'd been on and off since college. She was a scamming ass bitch who sucked a mean dick, perfect for what I needed. We got money and fucked hard, anywhere, anytime, with whoever I wanted. I was actually excited to see my bitch. It had been way too long. I knew Kayla had Naomi sign over her business. We were about to get things popping again, bringing those millions back in. I was about to get my hands back on my cash cow.

I didn't mean to tank the business the way I did, but Naomi pissed me off, testifying against me in court just because I hit her a couple times. She blew it way out of proportion. She didn't even know Carlos, whose case it was in the first place. How they linked up and teamed up against me was still a mystery, but they got me jammed up on battery charges and some other bullshit. I had to get Naomi back for that.

Why would she betray me like that? I never did anything to her but knock her around a couple times, nothing crazy. I always made sure she healed right. It was her fault anyway, too smart for her own damn good.

"Aight, take this shit, man," I said, tossing my bag at him, the same one I had when I got arrested.

He caught it with a smile, "At your service!"

Ol overly friendly customer service ass.

Jamison opened the door to the Mercedes. Before I got in, I took a look back at the prison happy to get the fuck outta there. Kayla had done well, ensuring everything was set for my return. Naomi might have thought she could get rid of me, but she was just a pawn in my game. Her business was mine now, and with Kayla by my side, we were unstoppable.

I smirked as I slid into the plush leather seat of the Mercedes. Jamison closed the door behind me with a satisfying thud. The car’s interior screamed money and power, a far cry from the grimy cell I'd been trapped in. As I settled in, feeling the smooth leather against my skin, I noticed a shadow shifting beside me.

Before I could fully process it, I realized there was another motherfucker in the backseat with me, grinning like he knew something I didn't.

"What the—" I started, but before I could finish, he lunged at me..

A sharp sting pierced my neck as he rammed a needle deep into my flesh. I tried to shout, to fight back, but the world around me started spinning. My vision blurred, the luxurious interior of the Mercedes twisting into a nightmarish haze. My muscles slackened, betraying me as a numb, cold sensation spread from my neck down to my limbs.

The last thing I saw was that bastard's smug smile, his eyes gleaming with a sinister satisfaction. My smirk faded, replaced by a look of shock and betrayal. I was left with a single, haunting thought: someone had outplayed me, and I had no idea who or why. Everything around me dissolved into darkness, the weight of unconsciousness pulling me under.

CALEB

Coming face to face with Naomi’s abuser and seeing the panic in his eyes—it was like breathing for the first time in weeks. My heart raced with a twisted thrill as I watched fear etch itself across Jeffery's features, a predator suddenly reduced to prey. That look, that sweet, delicious terror, put a smile on my face that I hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity.

There was no way I was letting Jeffery set foot back in NYC, not with Naomi out there. Whether she was mine or not, I had made a promise to keep her safe, and I wasn’t about to break it, even if she wanted nothing to do with me.

Subduing him was exhilarating, plunging that needle in his neck released some of my pent-up rage. Watching his body slump in the backseat as we drove from upstate New York to some rural town outside of Pittsburgh, a dark satisfaction settled in my chest. Dorien had a bunker there, a secluded spot he promised was perfect for handling dirty business away from prying eyes.

The bunker was hidden beneath layers of earth and concrete, an underground fortress designed for secrets and sins. As we descended into the cold, dimly lit space, dragging Jeffery behind us by his feet like he was nothing more than a sack of coal, a sense of grim purpose settled over me.

“What the hell is all this?” I asked Dorien, my voice echoing off the concrete walls. The dim light cast eerie shadows, making the place feel like the lair of some vengeful demon.

“Welcome to 'bring your friend to work day',” Dorien quipped, letting go of Jeffery's leg with a thud before spinning around with a wide grin. “This is my playground.”

I also let Jeffery’s legs drop with a heavy thump and took a step back, my eyes sweeping over the array of sinister machinery that filled the space. The dim light cast long, eerie shadows on the walls, making the room feel like the set of a horror movie.

“Playground?” I echoed, my voice flat, eyes narrowing as I tried to reconcile the man I knew with the chilling efficiency of his tools. The word seemed grotesquely out of place here.

“Yep,” Dorien responded, a dark chuckle escaping him as he gestured broadly at his collection. “Let’s just say I take my hobbies and playtime seriously.” His grin widened, his eyes glinting with a mix of pride and something more unsettling as he swept his hand around the dimly lit space. “This isn’t your average playground though. It’s more like... my personal lab for when things get…sticky if you will.”

I looked around, unease crawling up my spine as I took in the array of machinery. Each piece was more menacing than the last, an arsenal of instruments designed to inflict pain and extract secrets. Steel tables with leather restraints, racks of gleaming metal tools, devices that didn’t even have names that he’d built—all tools of Dorien's trade, hidden away from the world in this subterranean bunker.

“Dorien, this is some serious hardware,” I commented, my voice echoing slightly in the concrete chamber. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of oil and cold metal, mingling with the musty dampness of the underground.

“It’s all custom-built. Designed to convince folks to see things a clients way,” he replied casually, as if discussing the weather. He walked over to a table and picked up a particularly nasty-looking device, turning it over in his hands with the ease of someone handling a cherished possession.

“Cool,” I said, shrugging as I continued looking around.

“Make sure you pick a toy so we can play,” Dorien said, his voice carrying a sinister edge. His eyes gleamed with anticipation, his twisted sense of enjoyment palpable.

I surveyed the array of instruments and machines laid out before me. The sharp blades, the gleaming needles, the heavy chains – all waiting to be used, each one a promise of agony.

“Welcome to hell,” I muttered, kneeling down to look Jeffery in the eyes. “You’re never going to hurt her again,” I continued, my voice low and cold.

As I stood up, the sense of finality was overwhelming. This bunker, with its cold, unfeeling walls and cruel instruments, was a place of reckoning. No matter what it took, I would make sure Jeffery understood the depths of his sins. For Naomi, for myself, and for every bit of humanity he had tried to strip away from us.

I glanced back down at him, sprawled unconscious on the cold concrete floor, his presence a stark reminder of why we were here. A mix of satisfaction and unease churned in my gut. We had him at our mercy, but the gnawing feeling that things were about to get a lot darker than I had planned wouldn’t let go.

“Well, let’s wake him up so he can play too,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, masking the dread I felt.

Dorien nodded, his expression unreadable as he began pushing some keys on a computer. “Just another day at the office,” he murmured, the nonchalance in his voice chilling.

A few minutes later, Jeffery was strung up from the ceiling, his limbs stretched taut. I watched as Dorien jabbed him with another needle, the sharp prick dragging Jeffery back to the realm of consciousness. His eyes snapped open wide, a guttural cough forcing its way out of his throat as he spluttered back to life. Panic flared across his features as the grim reality of his predicament took hold. His eyes darted around wildly, settling on me with a mixture of confusion and terror.

I sat calmly on a chair directly in front of him, observing every shift in his expression. The room was silent, save for Jeffery’s labored breathing and the faint hum of the equipment around us.

“It’s not fun being on the receiving end, is it?” I asked, my voice cold and detached. The power shift was palpable, and I reveled in the sight of his fear.

Jeffery’s eyes widened further, sheer panic contorting his features. “What the fuck is this? Who are you people?” he spluttered as he struggled against his bonds. “What are you doing to me?”

Dorien strolled over to the computer setup, his movements slow and deliberate, adding to the tension in the room. “Welcome to your worst nightmare,” he said with a sinister grin, his fingers dancing over the keys as he adjusted some settings.

Jeffery’s eyes darted between us, desperation creeping into his voice. “Please, I don’t know what you want. I’ll do anything, just let me go!” His pleas echoed off the cold, unfeeling walls of the bunker.

I leaned forward even more, my gaze locking onto his. “You hurt someone I care about. Now, it’s time you understand what real pain feels like,” I said, my voice a low growl. The fear in his eyes deepened, and for a moment, a flicker of satisfaction warmed the cold knot in my chest.

As Dorien activated another piece of equipment, the hum of machinery filled the room, a grim symphony of impending torment. Jeffery’s cries grew louder, the sound reverberating through the bunker, a stark contrast to the silent resolve that had settled over me.

This was it—the moment of reckoning.

“I’m Caleb,” I said, a cold smile spreading across my face. “But you, you can call me karma.”

Jeffery's eyes bulged with terror, sweat beading on his forehead as Dorien let out a wild cackle, enjoying the scene a little too much.

“Oh, I like that,” Dorien added, his voice dripping with dark amusement.

"Man, get me the fuck outta here!" Jeffery bellowed, his voice cracking as he started to thrash desperately against his restraints. The more he struggled, the tighter the bonds seemed to grip him, inflicting more pain and heightening his panic. “Get me down!”

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Jeffery," I said, rising smoothly from my chair and approaching him with a steady calm that belied the storm brewing inside me. "Did Naomi struggle like that?" I tilted my head, my eyes boring into his. "When you used to beat her, did she try to get away from you like that?"

Recognition flashed across his face, his eyes widening further as fear turned into a more acute, paralyzing terror. The name Naomi hung between us like a specter, a silent witness to the atrocities he had committed.

"Naomi? You know Naomi? This is about her?" he stammered, disbelief coloring his tone as the pieces started to click together in his mind.

I fixed him with a blank stare, the weight of my words pressing down on him like a vice.

"She sent hitmen to come get me? Ain't no way, Naomi would never—"

"She wouldn’t," I cut him off coolly, my voice slicing through his denial like a knife. "I took matters into my own hands. We’ll call this, a passion project."

His face contorted with a mixture of shock and realization. The room seemed to close in around him, the air thick with the promise of retribution. His breaths came in short, ragged gasps as he finally understood the gravity of his situation.

“You see, Jeffery,” I continued, my voice dropping to a menacing whisper, “you made a grave mistake thinking you could hurt her and get away with it. Now, it’s your turn to feel the fear, the pain, the helplessness.”

Jeffery's eyes darted wildly around the room, searching for any sign of escape, but there was none. His struggles became more frantic, more desperate, the metal chains rattling ominously with each futile attempt to free himself.

As I watched him, a dark satisfaction settled over me. This was justice. And Jeffery was about to learn that every action has consequences, no matter how far you run or how deep you hide.

Dorien had a big ass smile on his face, his voice a low, mocking whisper. “Ready to play, Jeffery?”

The look of sheer horror on Jeffery’s face was all the answer we needed. The night was just beginning, and Jeffery was about to experience the kind of fear and agony he had so willingly inflicted on others.

"Why, man?" Jeffery's voice trembled, a mix of anger and bewilderment.

I shrugged nonchalantly, but my voice carried the weight of my simmering rage. "Because you used to beat the shit out of the love of my life, and I don’t like that."

"So, what? You're her man?" Jeffery sneered, sizing me up with a dismissive smirk. "You knew she'd get back with me, huh? So this is how you shut it down? Naomi running with killers now?"

I shook my head, incredulous at his delusion. "Get back with you?" His words were almost laughable.

"Yeah, she loves me. Ask me," Jeffery hissed, his voice dripping with malevolence. "Look how easily she let me into her life. She knows I love her," he insisted, his arrogance unfaltering, a sickening smirk twisting his features into a grotesque mask of smugness.

That was too much. My fist connected with his face with a satisfying crunch, wiping the smug look clean off. His head snapped back, blood spurting from his nose, the shock in his eyes fueling my anger.

"What the fuck, Karma?" Dorien yelled, pretending to be outraged, though his eyes glinted with approval.

"Motherfucker!" Jeffery screamed, pain and surprise mixing in his voice as he spat blood onto the floor.

I grabbed him by the neck, forcing him to meet my eyes, my grip tight enough to cut off his air supply.

"You never loved her, you used her! You abused her!" I shouted. The room seemed to vibrate with the force of my rage, every surface reflecting the intensity of my words.

Jeffery's eyes bulged as he struggled for breath, the raw terror in his expression a bitter satisfaction. The bunker, with its eerie shadows and sinister machinery, seemed to close in on him, amplifying his fear.

"You think you can just walk away from everything you did?" I hissed, my voice a deadly whisper. "You think there are no consequences?"

He tried to speak, but only a strangled gurgle escaped his lips. His body convulsed, his eyes pleading for mercy, for understanding—neither of which he would find here.

"Every bruise, every scar you left on her, you'll feel tenfold," I vowed, my grip tightening until his face turned a sickly shade of red.

Dorien stepped forward, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he held up a gleaming knife, its blade catching the dim light. "Time for some fun," he said, his voice a dark promise.

Jeffery's eyes widened further, the reality of his situation crashing down on him with brutal force. He was no longer the predator; he was the prey, trapped in a nightmare of his own making.

As I released my grip knowing I had other plans, he gasped for air, his breaths ragged and desperate. I stepped back, watching as Dorien moved in, his movements methodical and precise. This was justice—raw, unfiltered, and relentless.

"You never loved her," I repeated, my voice a low growl as I got in his face. "And now, you'll pay for every ounce of pain you inflicted."

Jeffery spat in my face.

"Oh shit!" Dorien exclaimed from behind the computer, his eyes wide with shock at Jeffery's audacity given the position we had him in.

Did he really just—?

Stepping back to wipe the spit from my face, his defiant smile burning into me. I shook my head slowly, a grim understanding settling in. This man had no remorse, no sense of guilt. He was beyond reasoning, beyond redemption. And for that, so was I. I was going to enjoy this.

"Naomi's got a keloid on her left shoulder; let's begin with that," I suggested to Dorien, my voice ice-cold.

Dorien, grinning with anticipation, eagerly pressed a few buttons. A robotic arm, its fingers ending in sharp knives, extended swiftly and plunged one deep into Jeffery's back. The blade entered with a sickening crunch, and as it retracted, Jeffery's scream filled the room, echoing off the concrete walls. I watched, expressionless, unmoved by his agony, the sound of his suffering a grim song to my ears.

I resumed my seat, observing as Jeffery. The bravado from moments ago completely shattered.

"Why Naomi?" I asked him calmly, genuinely curious about his motive for targeting and tormenting her.

"Because she had a fat bank account and fat pussy!" Jeffery replied defiantly, his crassness stripping the air of any remaining civility. The vulgarity of his words hung in the air like a poisonous cloud.

My calm shattered. Rage exploded within me, a storm of fury that made my vision blur. I shook my head in disbelief, appalled yet not surprised by his vulgarity and shallowness. His words made it disturbingly easy for me to set aside my morals, to become the version of Caleb that I needed to be to secure justice for Naomi. In that moment, I found myself almost grateful for his blatant disregard for decency—it continued to solidify my resolve.

"Wrong answer," I replied, nodding to Dorien to continue.

"What’s next, boss?" Dorian asked, his voice filled with sadistic glee.

"Make him bleed," I ordered, my tone flat, devoid of any emotion.

Dorien nodded, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He activated another device, a series of blades and needles extending menacingly. The machine whirred to life, its parts moving with mechanical precision as it approached Jeffery.

Jeffery's screams grew louder, more frantic, as the blades cut into his flesh, the needles pricking and prodding. Blood flowed freely, staining the floor, the metallic scent mixing with the stench of fear and sweat.

I watched, unblinking, as Jeffery's defiance crumbled, replaced by a raw, primal terror. He was no longer the arrogant abuser; he was a broken man, shattered by the very pain he had so casually inflicted on others.

"You know why I picked this particular toy from Dorien's playground?" I asked Jeffery, my voice unwavering against the backdrop of his screams. "I wanted you to experience what it feels like to literally be stabbed in the back."

"Karma is beautiful like that," Dorien chimed in, nodding his approval, a grim smile playing on his lips.

“Right,” I chuckled at my friend, who I had never seen have so much fun. It brought a twisted smile to my face, a brief respite from the darkness of the moment.

"You and your crazy-ass homeboy better let me go!" Jeffery shouted, his voice tinged with desperation and pain. “Fucking psycho-ass nerds!”

His defiance met my words with a cold, unwavering smirk. "Naomi trusted you... she trusted Kayla..." I began, my voice a calm contrast to his distressed cries. "And what did you do? You let everything she worked for burn to the ground while you beat her mercilessly. I've seen the court evidence, the photos of her bruised face and body."

"Ain't nothing but a couple of love taps," Jeffery retorted, his smirk deepening, his eyes daring me to do worse as he bled.

I couldn't help but chuckle, almost admiring his resolve not to break. But the gravity of what he'd done pulled me back. I stepped closer, my face inches from his, letting him see the rage and contempt in my eyes.

"Love taps?" I repeated, my voice low and dangerous. "Is that what you call it when you leave a woman you claim to love battered and broken?"

Jeffery's smirk faltered for the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. I seized the moment, grabbing a nearby knife from Dorien's table of horrors. The blade gleamed menacingly in the dim light, a sharp promise of retribution.

"You see this?" I asked, holding the knife up so Jeffery could see its glint. "This is for every bruise, every broken bone, every tear she shed because of you."

With a swift, practiced motion, I slashed the blade across his chest, a thin line of blood blossoming where the knife kissed his skin. Jeffery screamed, the sound echoing off the concrete walls, a symphony of pain and fear.

"Does that feel like a love tap?" I hissed, my voice dripping with venom.

Jeffery's eyes were wide with terror now, the defiance in them shattered. He was starting to understand that this was no game, that there would be no mercy here.

"Please," he gasped, the word a ragged whisper. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to—"

"Didn't mean to?" I interrupted, my rage flaring again. "You meant every hit, every kick, every moment of torment you put her through. And now, you're going to feel it all."

Dorien activated the machine again. Jeffery's screams filled the room again, raw and desperate, as the needles and blades went to work with deliberate precision. Blood flowed freely now, mixing with sweat and tears, painting a gruesome picture of retribution.

This was for Naomi, for every bit of suffering she endured. And as Jeffery's cries grew weaker, his body slumping against the restraints, I felt a dark satisfaction settle over me.

"She has nightmares about you," I continued, standing up to circle to his back, where I could see the fresh wounds oozing blood. "She cries in her sleep. Every night I had to hold her, wake her up, and remind her that you'll never touch her again. And I've got to keep that promise," I concluded, moving back around to face him, my expression hardening with each step.

Jeffery's eyes followed me, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face as the reality of his situation settled in. His bravado was starting to crumble, replaced by a dawning horror.

"Please... stop," Jeffery cried, his voice breaking and trembling like a terrified child. Tears streamed down his face, his once defiant demeanor shattered, leaving him vulnerable and pathetic.

“Double it!” I commanded Dorien, my voice icy, devoid of any mercy.

Seconds later, Jeffery recoiled under the sudden assault of two sharp stabs—one to his left side and one to his right. The blades sank into his flesh with a sickening crunch, and his screams echoed grotesquely in the bunker. The sound was raw and primal, a symphony of agony that reverberated off the cold, unyielding walls.

I stood watching, as the blood pooled around his feet, the metallic scent mingling with the damp, oppressive air. Jeffery's body convulsed, his eyes weak with terror and pain. A distorted part of me found satisfaction knowing that at the end of this, Naomi would be safe from him.

The tough, defiant man who had been spitting venom earlier was now breaking, tears starting to stream down his face as the reality of his situation hit him like a freight train. His sobs were pathetic, a far cry from the arrogance he had displayed moments before. This stark contrast only sharpened the conviction in my voice as I continued to speak, ensuring Naomi would feel empowered and secure, even as I dealt with the fallout around me.

I walked over to where Dorien stood, watching the monitors with a detached interest. The screens displayed Jeffery's vital signs, each spike and drop a testament to the pain he was enduring.

"You doing all of this over a piece of pussy?" Jeffery's weak voice, laced with disdain, cut through the tense air, shattering the brief moment of calm.

Dorien and I instantly turned to face him, our expressions taut with fury. The sheer audacity of his words ignited a fire within me, a blistering rage that demanded retribution.

"You think this is about sex?" I spat, stepping closer until my face was inches from his. "This is about love. About protecting someone who deserved so much better than you."

I walked over and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look into my eyes. "Naomi is worth more than you can ever comprehend. And this," I gestured to the blood-soaked room, "this is what happens when you underestimate the lengths I'll go to keep her safe."

Dorien, ever the sadist, leaned in with a dark grin. "And now, Jeffery, you get to experience what it feels like to be truly powerless."

He pressed another button, and a series of needles descended from the ceiling, their sharp tips glinting ominously as I stepped back. They moved with a mechanical precision, positioning themselves above Jeffery's exposed skin.

"Please... no more," Jeffery whimpered, his voice breaking, the last vestiges of his defiance crumbling into dust.

I watched, unblinking, as the needles pierced his flesh, each one delivering a fresh wave of pain. His screams grew louder, more frantic, the sound a testament to his suffering.

And as I stood there, I knew that this was justice. Raw, brutal, and unrelenting. Jeffery was finally paying for his sins, and in his torment, I found a twisted sense of peace. Naomi would be safe, and the man who had caused her so much pain would never hurt her again.

"You're right," I said softly, my voice barely audible over his screams. "Karma is beautiful."

"You got so much heart, Jeffery. I really like that," Dorien remarked with a twisted smirk, appreciating his resilience in a perverse way. "Enemies of war fold faster than you."

"I’m not a weak-ass nigga. Y'all gotta use all these machines and shit instead of fighting like men. Using fists," Jeffery slurred, clinging to the last shreds of his energy and consciousness.

"The problem is, you fought Naomi like a man. That wasn’t fair, was it? So why should I be fair to you?" I countered, my voice steady and cold, each word a calculated blade aimed at his fragile ego.

Jeffery let out a grotesque chuckle, a sound more disturbing than amused, then spat blood onto the floor. His defiance was a last, desperate act of rebellion.

"Y'all gon' have to kill me 'cause if I get outta here—"

"You’re not making it out of here," Dorien interrupted bluntly, his tone final and unyielding, leaving no room for doubt or negotiation.

“Sure ain’t,” I affirmed, stepping closer to observe Dorien's setup. The array of instruments gleamed under the dim light, each one a promise of pain.

“Check this out, Caleb. Press this,” Dorien gestured eagerly towards a yellow button on the control panel.

Hesitantly, I pressed it. Instantly, Jeffery was assaulted from multiple directions, stabbed four times in rapid succession. His screams filled the bunker, a raw, visceral sound that made me flinch. The intensity of his agony was unsettling, a reminder of the brutality we were inflicting. My stomach churned, almost betraying me, but I held it together. Dorien, however, laughed, reveling in the chaos as if it were a grotesque spectacle.

“That’s crazy,” I muttered, the gravity of the situation sinking in, each scream a haunting echo in my mind.

Dorien jumped down from his perch and approached Jeffery to inspect the damage inflicted on his back. Blood oozed from the wounds, mixing with sweat and tears. The sight was both horrifying and satisfying.

“Just wanted you to feel the machines at work, you know? I figured you’d want a hand in this after what he did to your girl,” he said almost casually. “You deserved the most lethal infliction.”

Jeffery's eyes flickered with a final, desperate plea for mercy, but there was none to be found. The room was a tomb, a silent witness to his suffering and my resolve.

Dorien adjusted another lever, and the machinery whirred back to life, its cold, mechanical movements promising another round of torment. Jeffery's weakened screams rose one final time, pain and despair that filled the bunker.

I forced a smile, the gravity of what we were doing—what I was a part of—weighing heavily on me. The bunker was filled with the stench of blood and fear, Jeffery's cries subsiding into faint groans as his strength waned.

“Anyway,” Dorien continued, his voice a sickly sweet contrast to the horror unfolding around us, “that’s enough of the toys. Now's the real fun part… watching him bleed out.”

Dorien’s smile was one of satisfaction as he returned to stand beside me, his eyes gleaming with delight. The room was eerily quiet, save for the faint, labored breaths of our captive.

“How long does that take?” I asked, my voice steady despite the grim scene before me, watching as Jeffery faded in and out of consciousness, his skin paling as the blood pooled around him.

“Might be a while,” Dorien replied casually, as if discussing the weather. “But you should take the car and go get your woman back. You’re on the East Coast. You can’t be this close and not go see about her. The security team is in place watching her. She’s good.”

“I gotta stay away from her,” I said firmly as I shook my head no, the words feeling like shards of glass in my throat. “I can’t cause her any more pain.”

“Look what you did for her,” Dorien said, nodding over to Jeffery, who was now little more than a broken, bleeding husk. “I’ve been trying to make you get your hands dirty for years, and you never would. When it came to Naomi, you didn’t even hesitate.”

"But staying away from her is how I show her I love her," I explained. The weight of his words settled on my shoulders like a leaden cloak, each syllable a heavy reminder of the brutal reality we were entrenched in.

"You've never loved anyone like this, Caleb. But you still love Naomi. I know what happened, I know it was hard for her, and for you, but you gotta go get her, man. Fight for the future you were about to have. Trust me on this." Dorien’s voice was uncharacteristically soft, almost pleading, slicing through the grim atmosphere of the bunker.

“What the fuck do you know anyway?” I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and empty. “I haven’t known you to ever settle down with anybody. I know you’re not lecturing me about love while a man is dying a couple of feet away from us.”

Dorien’s gaze sharpened, his eyes glinting with a pain I hadn’t seen before. His jaw clenched, and he took a deep breath, as if steadying himself against an invisible tide. The shadows played across his face, deepening the lines etched by years of hidden sorrows.

"Fuck him!" Dorien spat, his voice rising above the pounding of my heart as he glanced at the barely alive Jeffery. "I don’t want to see you lose her. I know what that feels like—it'll tear you apart. You can’t survive without her. She's your heart, Caleb. You can’t function without that piece of you. You need to fight for her, not just for your sake, but for hers. Don’t let this darkness consume you. Don’t let him win by losing her." His words cut through the chaos, resonating with a raw, painful truth that I couldn’t ignore.

I stared at him, the gravity of his confession sinking in like a heavy stone, and for the first time, I saw the man behind the mask. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now glinted with a pain I hadn’t seen before. The lines on his face seemed deeper, etched by years of hidden sorrow and regret.

“Who is she, Dorien?” I demanded, my voice echoing in the stillness of the room, cutting through the thick silence like a knife. The air was thick with unspoken truths. My question hung in the air, a challenge and a plea wrapped in one.

Dorien’s eyes flickered to the floor, then back to me, the shadows dancing across his face.

“This ain’t about me, man. Go get Naomi,” he said, his voice a low growl, filled with a pain that made my chest tighten. The raw emotion in his voice was palpable, a stark contrast to his usual unflappable demeanor.

“You’re one mysterious motherfucker,” I muttered, shaking my head in frustration, knowing that the conversation had hit a dead end.

The air was thick with tension, as if the very walls were holding their breath, waiting for a resolution that seemed just out of reach.

“And don’t worry about Jeffery. He’ll be pig food when I’m done,” Dorien added nonchalantly, as if discussing the disposal of ordinary waste. “Got a farmer out here, I’ll drop him off to when I’m finished.”

I looked at Jeffery, barely clinging to life. The blood pooled around him, a stark reminder of the violence that had unfolded in this grim chamber. The sight of him, broken and defeated, should have brought a sense of closure, but instead, it left a bitter taste in my mouth. I needed my girl.

“Aight, man,” I said, bumping fists with Dorien in a subdued dap. The gesture felt heavy, laden with the weight of our shared darkness.

“Take the Benz,” he instructed, pressing the keys into my hand. “I’ve got other ways of getting out of here.”

As I left the bunker, the weight of everything that had transpired pressed heavily on my shoulders. The cold, damp air outside felt different, sharper, as if the shadows of my choices were stretching out, trying to pull me back into their embrace. The eerie quiet of the night was a stark contrast to the chaos within the bunker, the violence still ringing in my ears.

A few hours later, I was parked illegally across the street from Naomi’s brownstone, the engine ticking in the silence of the night. The building loomed before me, its brick facade bathed in the amber glow of streetlights, a silent witness to the turmoil churning inside me.

My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a drum of uncertainty and desperate hope. This was it, the moment of truth, where love and fear collided in a storm of emotions that threatened to consume me. The memory of Jeffery’s screams, the sight of his blood pooling on the cold bunker floor, haunted my thoughts. I could still feel the damp chill of the concrete underfoot, the metallic scent of blood mingling with the musty air.

I sat in the car for a moment, staring at the brownstone, my mind a whirlwind of doubts and fears. The image of Naomi’s bruised face flashed before my eyes, the pain and suffering she had endured because of Jeffery. I had avenged her, but at what cost? The darkness that had consumed me in that bunker was now a part of me, a shadow that would forever linger at the edge of my consciousness.

I needed Naomi to hold me, to cradle my battered soul in her arms and whisper that I was still a good man. I needed her to repeat it, to tell me over and over that she loved me, no matter how I had handled Jeffery. I needed to hear those words, to feel their weight lift the darkness that clung to me.

The front door of the brownstone was now directly in front of me, standing between me and the woman I loved. I reached out, my hand trembling slightly, and knocked softly, the sound barely audible in the quiet.

And suddenly it hit me, a wave of cold realization crashing over me: I needed to get the fuck out of here. She did not want me. I’d made her life more difficult and filled it with more trauma. What was I going to say to her now? That I killed her ex for her? No. She didn’t need to know; she just needed peace, and she had it now. Though there was one more step in my plan, she was safe. I wasn’t.

Panic surged through me, my heart pounding with a frantic urgency. I pulled my hoodie over my head, the fabric feeling like a flimsy shield against the storm of emotions raging inside me. Without looking back, I jogged back across the street, my footsteps sounding loud as fuck in the still night, each step a desperate attempt to escape the weight of my actions.

I slid into the driver’s seat, my hands trembling as I gripped the steering wheel. Just as I was about to start the engine, I saw the door of Naomi’s brownstone open. My breath caught in my throat as she stepped out dressed in a pink robe, her eyes scanning the street, searching. My heart ached at the sight of her, my Naomi, standing there bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights.

She looked up and down the street, confusion and worry etched on her face. I watched her from the shadows of the car, my chest tightening with love and regret. She deserved so much better than the chaos I brought into her life.

Tears blurred my vision as I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles white with the strain. I couldn’t do this to her. I couldn’t drag her back into the darkness I was mired in. I had to leave, to disappear, to let her heal without the shadow of my sins looming over her.

As she turned to go back inside, a single tear slipped down my cheek. I took a deep breath, my decision solidifying in my mind. I pressed the Start button, the engine roaring to life.

With one last, lingering look at Naomi’s place, I pulled away from the curb, my heart shattering with each passing second. I drove into the night, the weight of my choices pressing heavily on my shoulders, knowing that leaving her was the only way to truly make sure she had a good life.