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“I’m somewhere in the outskirts of this fucking hellhole,” he snapped. “I don’t know. After Shade, I killed the bastard… and dragged Shade away so they couldn’t get his body.”
“Son of a bitch,” I ran my free hand through my hair. “Can you make it back to the meeting point?”
“I don’t know where the fuck I am, Boss.”
“Shit. Okay. We’re going in very soon. Can you make your way to the perimeter of the compound?”
“Yeah,” Milo said. “I think so. I see the lights.”
The ground was really flat, but with scrub trees growing everywhere, Milo might not have been able to find the hideous mansion if he was deep enough in one of the clusters of dense foliage.
“Good. Go to the perimeter. I’ll call you when we go in.”
“Okay, Boss. On my way.”
I hung up and rubbed my forehead. Shade. Jesus Christ.
“What happened?” Brick asked, concern written into his features.
“Shade is dead.”
Brick stood still, allowing me a minute to grieve my friend. I wasn’t stupid though. Brick was going to gain a hell of a lot if we pulled this off, and he was in no way a sympathetic man. He was a drug lord, a cartel boss, a criminal, just like me. This was business to him. A mere transaction. He didn’t stand to lose everything he cared about.
“Fuck this,” I growled. “We’ve waited long enough.” I glance over at Miri’s friend, still unconscious on the ground. Done with the bullshit, I bent over and pulled out my KA-BAR. “I’m going in.”
Miri
“You are very tough, no?” El Cuchillo laughed and twirled the bloody knife in his hand.
I panted, my naked chest heaving up and down as I struggled to keep quiet. I might scream. I might cry. I might shout until my voice disappeared, but I would not give this prick the satisfaction of begging him to stop.
“You ever wonder why you didn’t get any drugs like your friend? Hmmm” I didn’t know if he expected me to answer the question, so I remained silent. “Do you know what adjuste de cuentas means, puta?” Apparently he wanted an answer, because the knife point pressed against the cartilage benea
th the thin skin of my throat.
“N-no,” I whispered, holding my breath to prevent the blade from sliding into my windpipe. Drowning to death on my own blood didn’t sound like a very good way to die.
But the torture would end.
As much as I wanted the pain to stop, I held out hope. Cat got away, I heard Raoul tell El Cuchillo earlier. I might not know a lot of Spanish, but the tantrum the little prick threw said more than words.
“Ahhh let me give you una educación.”
He circled the table, moving around my head to the other side, the point of the knife never leaving its spot on my throat. The pressure was just enough that I didn’t dare swallow. I felt something warm and wet drip down the side of my neck and knew he’d pierced the skin. My body was covered in similar cuts. There wasn’t a single part of me that didn’t burn like I was dipped in kerosene and lit on fire. I couldn’t even distinguish the bullet graze on my calf from the other injuries.
“Adjuste de cuentas. It means to settle a score. To get revenge.” He stopped and removed the knife. I swallowed gratefully and gulped down air while I could. The drug lord bent over the table, his dark, hollow eyes scanning my ruined skin. He moved so quickly I didn’t see the flick of the blade until I felt the flesh on my hip split open. I whimpered and bit my tongue, again, to muffle my screams. “Your Boss, your lover,” Cuchillo hissed, “cost me a lot of money. He was stupid to turn down my offer to go into business together. Now he will pay.” He stood straight and pointed at me with the knife. “I will take my payment from you. If I gave you heroin, you wouldn’t feel my knife, puta barata.” He made a face and spit on the ground. “It’s why I won’t fuck you. You are dirty, Boss’s cheap whore.”
“Fuck you. And I should thank you for not fucking me with your tiny, useless prick,” I rasped. “Just kill me, asshole. I don’t give a shit about your revenge.”
El Cuchillo froze and the two dark pits beneath shadowed brows made me shiver. “You little cunt. Tiny prick? I should fuck you with my knife.” His lip curled and he moved closer, raising the blade above me. I closed my eyes and steeled myself for the blow that would hopefully end my life.
I’m sorry, Jag.
A phone rang and my eyes flew open. Clearly irritated at the interruption, my torturer stepped away from the table to pull the device from his pocket. He no sooner put it to his ear than his mouth dropped open in shock. Before he could speak to whoever was on the other side, the door burst open with a loud crash.
“El Cuchillo! Hay una problema!” From the very edge of my peripheral vision, I saw Raoul run into the room, his face red and his eyes wild. He ran up to Cuchillo and they bantered in rapid Spanish. Phone forgotten, their voices rose until they were shouting at each other. Unable to keep up, I closed my eyes again and tried to ignore the searing pain that burned every inch of my body.
From far away, there was shouting, in both Spanish and English. Gunfire broke out, some shots so close my ears rang. Close by, I heard the dull thuds of bodies hitting the ground and the slaps of fists on flesh. A gurgled, choked cry came from the hall and I couldn’t stop the tears that welled up from rolling down my face. It sounded as if the world was ending around me while I remained helpless.
