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He writes a series of numbers.
I know immediately what they are. “GPS coordinates?”
Geraldo points with a dirt-encrusted finger. “I remember. This.” He taps the note. “Kept repeating… I woke… at hospital.” He tosses his head to the night sky and groans in deep frustration. “Policia looked. Nada. Looked myself, dozen times.”
“Is this where you were found?”
He shakes his head.
“Not where you’d been found, but something you remembered from that night?”
He nods.
“And you’ve checked this area at least a dozen times before?”
“Aye.”
“Oh,aye, is it?” Can’t help the grin. “We’ll make a Welshman of you yet.”
“Bugger, not likely.”
I full-out laugh. “You’re a clever one.” And he knows the area. If he couldn’t find anything, it seems a dead end. Still, I take the paper. “Thanks, mate. Take it easy.”
As I turn to go, Geraldo grabs my arm, the warmth in his blue eyes ice cold. “Careful. Dangerous.”
A flush of cold energy works its way down my spine, setting the hair at my neck flying. “Will do. No worries.”
12
ARMAND
Idrag the girl down the basement stairs. The puta fights like a panther. She swings at me, misses, tries again, and scratches my arm with her long, dirty nails.
“Let me go!” she screams. “My son needs me!”
“He doesn’t need a whore,” I tell her, kicking her legs out from under her and letting her roll the rest of the way into the basement.
At the bottom of the stairs, she tries to crawl away. I jump down and grab her, drag her across the room by her hair.
Her gaze takes in the room with the metal chains embedded in the walls, the bloody mattresses, the knives, the drill. Her eyes widen and fill with terror. “What is this place?”
“It’s a meat locker, puta,” I tell her, grabbing her face and squeezing. “If you didn’t look just like her, I’d show you how it works.”
She stops. Her brow furrows. “You took me because I look like another?”
“The accident of your birth.” I unlock the chains, bring them to her wrists. “Like mine, like all of us. It defines the destiny of every person on this planet. Though some would tell you otherwise… but they lie.”
She slaps me. “Let me go. Please. My son. He is alone.”
“Alone? You let a whore buy you a room. Let her take care of him.”
She kicks out at me with her unchained leg. “She is no whore!”
I hit her in the nose and she cries out, quickly bringing her hands up to protect herself by covering her face. As if she could escape her punishment that easily.
I punch through her hands again and again. “Your room was paid for by a whore and with whore’s money.”
It feels so good to hurt her, to hit her, to let her know that my strength is mightier than her filth. The blood and her muffled cries send desire surging through me. It wouldn’t be the first lamb meant for slaughter I gorged myself upon, but this one is needed to save my life.
