DAMIEN
One year later
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our new District Attorney, Damien Montero,” Mayor Tom Gino announced, introducing me to present my victory speech shortly after the local news stations announced my win. I strode with certainty and coolness onto the makeshift stage, past the armed security officers in fatigues up to the podium. Making sure to smile and wave at the press, my colleagues, and my campaign team, who were standing front and center, cheering me on. Everyone eagerly awaiting my first words as their new DA.
You would think after all this time in the public eye I would’ve been used to the reporters and the flashing lights from the cameras. The never-ending stream of microphones being shoved in my face, and every question under the fucking sun being shouted at me in a matter of seconds. I wasn’t though—at least not entirely. I never sought out the fame, it simply came along with the title.
“Damien, how does it feel to be the new District Attorney?”
“Mr. Montero, are you going to follow through on your campaign promises to clean up the streets for the lower-income housing?”
“What about the more strict, ridged policy you want in place for orphans when it comes to the homes they’re being placed or adopted into?”
“District Attorney Montero, please tell us how you plan to implement the new programs for our underprivileged youth to keep them off the streets?”
It was one question after another with no end in sight.
Once I stepped onto the stage, everyone started chanting my name, clapping loudly, and whistling from the crowd as white and blue balloons fell from the ceiling. Blanketing the crowd as they all anxiously waited for what I had to say.
Grabbing onto the microphone, I took one last glance around the space. Doing my best to ignore the stream of flashing lights that nearly blinded me. My eyes finally settled toward the back of the building where I could solely focus on what I had to say.
“Albert Einstein once said, ‘Strive not to be a success, but rather to be of value,’” I declared, making the sea of people go crazy. “Which is exactly what I will strive to do during my terms as District Attorney,” I confidently asserted, pausing for effect. Knowing damn well I would be re-elected for all three terms I could serve as DA.
One way or another, I’d make sure of it.
“I want to thank everyone responsible for me standing up here today. Especially, the people who pulled all-nighters, campaigning for my election. I’d like to thank my staff that worked around the clock, sacrificing time with their families and friends to be by my side. I’d also like to thank Police Commissioner Reynolds, Judge McClain, the police departments, and Mayor Gino for believing in me. Without all their efforts, I wouldn’t be standing here right now. And last, but certainly not least, are all the people who voted for me. Please, let’s give them all a round of applause.”
The crowd put their hands together as I did. Smiling down to my staff members before turning around to acknowledge everyone on the stage. Making sure I made eye contact with every last person I’d just named. Earning me a grateful smile and a nod.
I eyed the crowd again, giving them my full attention and spoke with conviction. “No man or woman could do what I plan to do in the next four or more years. No other man or woman knows the streets like I do. Being born and raised in Cuba under a communist leader has taught me more than anyone could ever truly understand. The life I’ve lived, the things I’ve seen, right from wrong, it all blends together in the end. What lasts eternally is the impact from the change I plan to immediately provide for our troubled youth and society.”
Right on cue there were more cheers, bright flashes, and commotion.
“I will use my resources and knowledge to bring down operations that are ruining our society. Crack down the criminals responsible for the increase in homicides across the United States. Continue what I have already started by bringing several crime lords to justice. Serve them with punishment far greater than what they’ve caused. Starting with the terrorists that threaten our land on a daily basis. Ruin the drug cartels who are using our borders under the radar. Build a better future for our children and their children for years to come.”
Before I could get my last word out, the crowd busted out in applause. Instantly taking me back to another place and time. When I was just a boy, worshipping a man who turned me into a fucking monster.
“Fatherland or death, we shall win!” echoed in my mind over and over again.
My speech was all political bullshit, but like George Orwell said, “Political language is designed to make lies sound truthful.”
I finished my speech and then answered questions from the press.
“Damien, on a more personal note… because you know every woman in America is dying to know, and since you’re not very vocal about your private life. Can you tell us if you have a special someone in your life? A possible Mrs. Montero for the future maybe?” a nosey ass female reporter questioned.
I suddenly saw Amira’s face as if she was standing right in front of me and not just a torrid ghost from my past. Eight years without her, and my mind still loved to fuck with me any chance it got.
I charismatically grinned, shaking off the shuddering feeling creeping up my spine. I wasn’t prepped for these types of questions since I rarely answered them, so I chose to answer it honestly. Silently hoping it would suffice her curiosity and back the fuck off. There was a reason I didn’t discuss my personal life, mainly it was no one else’s goddamn business. Particularly when it came to the press, they loved to twist and turn my words, and fabricate them into something that wasn’t there. It’s what sold papers.
Sex, gossip, and lies.
“There is no special someone.”
“And why is that? What does it take to own the heart of one of the most desirable men in the world, according to People magazine?” she added, not letting up.
“You can’t own the heart of a man who doesn’t have one,” I blurted thoughtlessly, regretting my reply instantly. The press would have a fucking field day with that statement. “No more questions at this time.” I smiled and waved, maintaining my composure even though I wanted to get the hell out of there. I couldn’t. The night had only just begun, and my PR would never let me hear the end of it if I bailed.
A huge celebratory party was being held in my honor after the ceremony at some fancy, ‘my shit is better than yours,’ establishment. Surrounded by a mixture of the stuffy, elite, important people I’d met along the way, and those who were just there to kiss ass. I, for one, couldn’t wait for it to be over. I had my own plans that didn’t include fake-as-fuck politicians and an orchestra. I was throwing an after party of my own at my club.
“Thank you all for your time. Have a great night,” I concluded, exiting the stage.
I spent the next several hours portraying the man they all expected me to be.
El Santo.
“How did you do it?” the mayor of Miami chimed in, overhearing my conversation with the police commissioner about Devil Rejects. “Taking down Jameson, the President of the MC, that we’ve been after for decades.”
Creed found out the truth he needed, and I played my role, but not without sacrifice. I have a nasty fucking scar on my shoulder from the bullet wound I inflicted on myself to prove it. Winning my current position as DA like Creed presumed I would. The press was in a frenzy over the news of what supposedly went down at the MC compound. The story I pulled out of my ass was nothing but pure and utter fucking genius. Doing what I did best—serving justice.
“Everyone has a story, Tom,” I responded to the mayor, “but Creed Jameson’s isn’t mine to tell.”
He chuckled, raising his glass in a congratulatory gesture.
A few hours later, I was finally walking through the club doors where everyone was already celebrating without me. I made my rounds, talking, drinking, snorting some blow off girls’ asses and tits here and there. Wanting to party and have a good time.
As the night progressed, people started scattering everywhere. I did another white line and leaned back into the couch cushions in my private, secluded suite, encased with privacy glass that was in a remote location near the dance floor. It frosted over when needed with just a touch of a damn button, hiding my sins. I allowed the blow to take over, watching the colorful lights dance around the room to the beat of the music. The distinct taste of the drip from the blow ran down the back of my throat, but I chased it down with an eight-thousand-dollar bottle of Louis XIII. I told you I was fucking celebrating.
Trying to forget, trying to go numb, trying to block out the last several years without Amira in my life. Nothing was working, nothing ever did. The pain was still very much alive and bleeding out of me, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake. There were times like these where my mind wouldn’t allow me to push her away, as if it knew I needed her still. There I was, celebrating what should have been one of the happiest days of my life. Earning the prestigious title of DA, I wanted for so long. Becoming top fucking dog, and finally getting the recognition I deserved even before I left Cuba.
Left her.
I always thought if I could have just conquered what I set out to accomplish in the States, everything I lost would have been worth it. Everything I fucking sacrificed, turned my back on, gave up on, would suddenly fill the empty space inside of me. The empty hole in my heart where she once lived. I couldn’t have been more wrong. The club was filled to the brim, and yet I felt more alone in that moment than I had in all of my life. Not having her here to share my happiness, my triumph, my hard work meant absolutely nothing to me in the end. I was just lying to myself to keep going…
To keep pushing through…
To keep making sorry ass excuses for my seedy, fucked-up life.
For all the decisions I’d made that would eventually have consequences. All the demons on my shoulders that would eventually take me under.
I welcomed the fucking monster tonight.
Me.
Because at least then I knew I was still alive.