“You have a few options here. He’s a doctor. I could make it look like he overdosed on prescription meds.”
“I don’t want him dead,” Mena shrieked.
“You sure? That’s the best way to get rid of this problem. Not my normal M.O., but it fits for this situation.”
“Your normal M.O.?” Mena asked.
“I’m Vadaj.”
“What does that mean?”
Athena chuckled. “Omar didn’t tell you what his cousin in the PC-5 does?”
Mena gave a blank stare, unsure that she wanted confirmation of what she expected Athena to say.
“I’m an assassin for the gang. I kill people, quite effectively, too,” said Athena.
“This is a mistake. I didn’t know that’s what—”
“Relax. Vadaj doesn’t just kill. We are cleaners too. I’ll make sure none of this is connected to you. But I’m doing this for family and can’t call my normal crew to help, so you’re going to have to get your hands a little dirty.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Erase yourself from this room,” Athena reached into her pocket and tossed a small spray bottle toward her. “Spray everything down with that solution in any area that you were in. You don’t have to wipe it away, just let it dry naturally and it will eat away any oil or dirt that would make your fingerprints cling to surfaces.”
Mena caught the small bottle, then walked over toward the bar where she’d made the drinks for her and Michael.
“A shame, you didn’t get him to sign before he passed out.”
“He figured out what I was doing and came after me. If the drug hadn’t kicked in, I’m not sure what would have happened next,” Mena admitted.
“Good thing it did. Trust me, hurting another person leaves a mark on you, even if you feel justified in doing it. I wouldn’t want you to live with something like that.”
Mena didn’t want Michael’s blood on her hands either. All she wanted was to be legally divorced, but Michael had made it clear he would not let that happen.
Because you’re mine.
“Where are your clothes? You have a suitcase somewhere?” Athena asked.
“Michael thought I would stay the weekend with him before he flew back to New York, but I had no plans of doing that.”
Athena slipped a phone from her pocket and typed quickly.
“What are you going to do to him?” Mena’s finger grew numb from pumping the spray bottle. The fine mist glistened across the surfaces of the furniture in the casita.
Athena glanced up and gave her the most innocent look. “Fly him back to New York.”
Pushing the memories from her mind, Mena stood from the couch and stumbled into the kitchen. Reaching for the bottle of wine, she filled her glass, then jumped as her doorbell rang. Taking a quick sip, she left the glass on the kitchen island and peeked through the peephole.
Athena.
Why was she here?
Mena opened the door. “What’s wrong?”
Athena raised an eyebrow. “Can I come in?”
“Of course,” Mena stepped back and allowed the petite woman into the penthouse. Athena was dressed in yoga pants and a hoodie. Her dark brown locks cascaded around her face, making her look younger and more innocent than she had the first time Mena met her.
