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Bruised. Bleeding. Wearing nothing but a stained pair of underwear and a dirty tank top.
Lips curled in repulsion, I hold my aim steady, certain that I would kill him in the most horrific ways, if not for my promise to bring him back to Julio unharmed.
The girl whimpers behind me, but I don’t dare avert my attention. Uncertainty burning behind all that arrogance in his eyes tells me he’s a man who fears death, in spite of his poor attempt to be brave. I fire a shot that just misses Castellano’s ear. Another just outside his shoulder, and he flinches with the gunfire, the diversion just enough for me to lurch forward and kick the gun from his untrained hand.
“Whoever you are, you’re a dead man. Do you know who I am? Huh? Do you know who the fuck I am!”
Unfettered by his shouts, I jerk the gun toward the girl. “Untie her. Now.”
“Fuck you, gringo.” He spits at my feet.
I fire yet another warning shot between his legs, and he kicks himself back to the wall.
“Fuck!”
And just like that, we’re on to step two.
“Don’t make me ask again.”
He slides up the wall, the rage tearing across his face like wildfire, telling me he’d gut me open like a pig, if the roles were reversed. Or have someone else do it, anyway.
In a matter of a couple of minutes, he’s finished the task of loosening the binds, and the girl scrambles away into the opposite corner of the room.
“Mis hermanos …” he says, lifting his chin, as if he has any right to be so fucking proud. “They’re going to find you, culero. And when they do, they’ll peel off every inch of your skin, before dumping your body in acid.”
Without warning, I knock him out in one hit. His body falls like deadweight onto the squeaky thin mattress behind him.
6
Thierry
The girl sits shivering in the corner, wrapped in one of the blankets I managed to scrounge.
When I approach, she shoots to her feet, and holds out a gun toward Castellano, who lies tied and gagged on the floor. She must’ve picked it up after I kicked it out of his hands earlier.
“Non, chère. I can’t let you do that.” The Valir accent slips in my surprise, as I step toward her, but the dialect is softer, less harsh than when I try to force it away. “Put the gun down.” I reach out a hand, and with shaky arms, she swings the gun toward me, but then takes it back to him. “C’mon, girl. I’m gonna take you somewhere safe. These men won’t touch you again. I promise.”
Her lip quivers. Hands even shakier than before.
Eyes clamped, she whispers, “Padre divino, vengo a ti en oración que pide al perdón de mis pecados.” Divine Father, I come to you in prayer, asking for the forgiveness of my sins. “Lo siento, Mama.” I’m sorry, Mama. Choking up the last word, she trembles.
I lurch toward her.
Before I can stop her, she shoves the gun into her mouth and fires a shot, spattering her brain over the wall behind her.
Fucking hell.
At my back, the echoing sound of Castellano’s hysterical laughter, as if he’s suddenly lost his mind, stokes the urge to silence him with a bullet. My only hope is that whatever Julio has in mind for him, it’s slow and painful.
After rounding up Castellano, along with the extra rope that I use to bind his hands behind his back, leaving a small length for a leash, I guide him out toward the Audi and find Adrien lying in the gravel about a hundred feet from my car. Short, panting breaths, and pale, bluish skin tell me the hit to his flank likely entered the gut. He won’t make it.
He reaches out for me, eyes glassy and pupils dilated, like death has already begun to creep up on him. “Please,” he rasps. “Help me.”
Gun aimed down at him, I shake my head. “Sorry, chat. No one sees my face and lives.”
I put a bullet in his forehead and keep on toward the car.
* * *
