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The events of the previous night came crashing back into my mind. I sucked in a deep breath as the image of Este’s bloodied corpse hit me like a punch to the stomach.
And then, the rest of the night’s events came hurtling back, unrelenting, even as my drugged brain struggled to catch up. Emilio. The drive. The creepy dude in the suit. You’re mine.
If I’d had anything left inside me, I would have burst into tears, but I couldn’t let go. I was too tightly wound, my heart thudding loudly in my ears and my hands shaking as foreign sounds reached me through the wardrobe door.
Cars on the city streets below. Horns blaring. A truck’s reversing siren, loud and obstinate at what felt like a ridiculously early hour.
A knock on the bedroom door, followed by the door opening, had me scrambling to stand up. As it was, the wardrobe had a shelf about four feet from the ground, and I only succeeded in slamming my head against it. ‘Ow,’ I muttered, reaching out for something to hold onto. I steadied myself on the wardrobe door just as it was wrenched open, and I spilled out onto the person on the other side.
Murphy grinned as he took in my dishevelled appearance and my sleeping quarters.
‘You look like shit,’ he said. I narrowed my eyes, flicking them up and down his outfit as I disentangled myself from him. He wasn’t wearing a suit anymore. He looked like a garish tourist who belonged in Florida or somewhere similarly tropical, sporting tweed shorts and a bright blue shirt printed with palm trees. The loafers on his feet looked cheap and nasty, a complete contrast to the expensive leather shoes he had been wearing last night.
‘You look like Hawaii threw up on you,’ I retorted, rubbing sleep from my eye. I looked down at myself, barefoot, still wearing my black sundress and Este’s blood all over me.
Murphy stepped back, his smile still wide and freakish, and gestured to the door. ‘Time for breakfast.’
I eyed him warily as I side-stepped him, walking as quickly as I could to stay out of his reach. I’d take Emilio and his violence over this freak and his wandering hands any time.
I entered the main living area again, expecting to see cereal or perhaps some fast food on the small round dining table, but what greeted me instead made my stomach flip.
Emilio sat on the far side of the table, sipping an espresso from a tiny cup as he read the paper. He was studying the stocks this time, and I wanted to ask if I was allowed to fix a coffee for myself, but I was too distracted by the plate that lay between us.
‘Sit,’ he said, without looking up.
I sat across from him, trying to suck my stomach in to suppress the loud growling noise it was making. I was so hungry I’d eat anything.
Except what was currently in front of me.
‘You don’t seriously expect me to do that?’ I asked, barely concealing the horrified tone in my voice.
He swallowed, annoyance showing in his cocked brow. ‘Did I say you could speak?’
I looked down at the table, trying to cover my rage. What I really wanted to do was stand up, throw the table on its side and scream ‘FUCK YOU!’, but I knew if I did that, he’d punish me. Probably by letting Murphy put his hand up my dress.
I stared at the table for a few moments, as Emilio returned to his paper. When he didn’t speak again, I let my gaze wander higher, eyeing off the bottle of olive oil and the plate stacked high beside it.
Surely he wasn’t going to make me do that?
He folded the paper up leisurely, placing it on the table as he drained the last of his coffee.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Good morning, Ana. I trust you slept well?’
‘Like the dead,’ I replied, without missing a beat.
‘No doubt. We need you looking fresh and well-rested. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.’
‘She looks like shit,’ Murphy said again, making me prickle in annoyance. ‘They’re going to stop her in customs looking like that.’
Just fuck off, I wanted to say, but instead I bit my tongue and ignored him.
Customs. So it was what I had suspected.
‘I’m a drug mule?’ I asked Emilio in disbelief. ‘That was fast. What if I go to the police in the airport?’
Emilio chuckled. ‘I own the police,’ he said, his gaze shifting momentarily to Murphy before returning to me. I choked on that inference as I whirled around to face Weird Eyes. ‘You’re a cop?’
He glanced at Emilio, for once not engaging with me. I guessed that he hadn’t wanted me to know that.
