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I’ve followed Sawiris to Medellín, where he’s spending the weekend before heading back to whichever hole he calls home.
I only have two days to free the girl. After that, she’ll be lost forever.
My heart is thundering in my chest as I climb over the wall of the mansion where Sawiris is staying. I’m dressed in black pants, a long-sleeve shirt, boots, and gloves, blending in with the dark night around me. I also have makeup on that makes me look like I’m in my fifties, with a grey-haired wig, so I’m not easily recognizable. Creeping toward the back of the house, my mouth goes dry from the adrenaline pulsing through my body.
You can do this, Isabella. This is what you trained for.
My muscles tense when I spot the two guards stationed outside the patio’s sliding door.
Once I’m close enough, I burst into action, darting forward. Jumping into the air, my legs wrap around the first guard’s neck, and as I flip him, I hear the satisfying crack. His body drops to the gleaming tiles as I land on my feet.
The second guard pulls out his gun, and I dart to his left as he fires off a silenced shot. The palm of my hand meets his nose but not hard enough to shove the bone back into his skull. He stumbles but catches his balance just as I deliver a solid punch to his jaw. Another shot is fired, missing my right leg by an inch.
Grabbing hold of his shoulder, I use his solid frame to swing my body behind his, and then I wrap my arm around his throat and my legs around his waist. I tighten my grip, cutting off his air supply. With grunts, he drops to his knees, and then he slams me back against the tiles. The force vibrates through my body, but I don’t loosen my hold.
It takes a moment before his grunts grow quiet and his body goes limp. Then, shoving the bastard off me, I grab his gun, and training the barrel on his forehead, I pull the trigger. I pick up the other guard’s weapon and shove it behind my back.
Opening the sliding door, I step into the living space. A guard comes running from a hallway to my right, and I quickly fire a shot that hits him in the neck. Then, swinging around, I plant another bullet in a guard’s chest as he comes racing down the stairway.
I check the clip, taking note that I have seven bullets left. Shoving the clip back into place, I stalk to the stairs and swiftly ascend the stairs to the second floor.
I search through the rooms, thinking how stupid Sawiris is for only having six guards. The remaining two are stationed at the front of the house, and I know it’s only a matter of time before they realize something is wrong if they haven’t been alerted by the gunfire yet.
Reaching the main bedroom, I kick the door open just as Sawiris is busy choking the girl.
The sickening scene shudders through me. The girl’s naked and beaten, which tells me I’m too late.
Sawiris glances over his shoulder, irritated that he’s disturbed while raping and abusing a girl that doesn’t look much older than eighteen.
His eyes widen, and then I pull the trigger, burying a bullet between his eyes. His body slumps over the girl that’s in too much shock to even make a sound.
Rushing to the bed, I grab hold of Sawiris’ body and toss him to the floor. For a moment, bile builds up in my throat when I take in the broken state of the poor girl.
I’m so sorry I didn’t come earlier.
“We have to get out of here.” My words don’t seem to register, and I can’t blame the traumatized girl.
I grab some of Sawiris’ clothes, quickly dressing her in a button-up shirt just so she’ll be covered. “We have to go. Come on,” I say as I pull the girl to her feet.
Grabbing hold of her arm with my left hand, I pick up the gun from where I set it down on the bed, and then I drag the girl out of the suite.
The moment I step out into the hallway, I’m prepared to kill anyone who gets in my way of saving this girl.
I pull her behind me as we begin to walk to the stairs. When we reach the front door, I murmur, “Stay behind me. If anything goes wrong, just run.”
I feel her shuffle a little closer to me, and I give her arm a comforting squeeze.
Opening the front door, my eyes search for the other two guards. The one’s taken partial cover behind a pillar slightly to my right, and as he glances from behind the pillar, I pull the trigger.
I yank the girl out of the house, and as we race down the stairs to the driveway, I spot the other guard up ahead by the gates.
That’s the mistake many wealthy people make. They hire idiots.
I fire two shots, and as his body drops to the ground, I throw the gun to the side and pull the other weapon from behind me. Rushing to the guardhouse, I press the button for the gates to open, and then I drag the girl off the property to where the unmarked van I bought two days ago is parked.
I shove her into the passenger seat, and once I’m behind the steering wheel and we’re driving back to Bogotá, I take a couple of deep breaths.
I glance at the girl who’s cowering against the door.
“You’re safe now. I’m taking you to a house where you can recover. After that, you can go home.”
Finally, she lifts her eyes to me. “Who are you?”
“A friend.”
“Why did you help me?”
“I hate sex slavery.” I keep my answers short, not wanting to give her too much information about me.
Silence falls between us, and I can feel the pain she’s in, trembling in the air.
Halfway to Bogotá, she whispers, “I’m Ana.”
