Chapter 25-2
496 Words
It’s two in the morning by the time the trespasser finally breaks. I don’t enjoy torture as much as Esguerra does, so I let the guards have a go at the guy first. They pummel him, breaking a few ribs, and then I ask him what he’s doing here. He tries to lie, claiming he came to the estate by accident, but after I do a few rounds with my switchblade, he begins to sing and tells us all about his employer, a powerful drug lord from Bogotá.
“Do these cabrons never learn?” Diego says in disgust when the man’s speech devolves into sobbing pleas for mercy. “You’d think they’d know better than to try this s**t. Sending this joker to find holes in our security—could they be any stupider?”
“They could.” I step toward the blubbering man and slice my knife across his throat, putting him out of his misery. “They could try attacking us here.”
“True.” Diego steps back to avoid the spray of blood. “Do you want his body shipped to his patrón or taken to the incinerator?”
“The incinerator.” I wipe the switchblade on my shirt—it’s so bloody that an extra stain is nothing—and close the knife before putting it away. “Let his boss wonder.”
“Okay.” Diego motions to the two other guards, and they drag the body out of the shed. The place will need to be cleaned, but that’s a task for the next shift. I wait for the new guards to arrive and give them those instructions before heading out to my car.
Diego walks out beside me, so I ask, “Need a ride?”
“Sure. I was going to walk, but a ride sounds good.” He shoots me a grin. “Get myself to bed faster.”
“Yeah.” Before we get in the car, I take out a rolled-up towel I keep for these occasions and spread it on the driver’s seat. Diego isn’t as dirty as I am, so I let him get in the passenger seat as is.
It’s a short drive, but Diego manages to talk my ear off on the way. He’s hyper, like some guys get after a kill. It’s as if he needs to reinforce that he’s alive, that it’s not his body that’s about to be incinerated out there. I know how he feels because a version of the same excitement is humming in my veins. It’s not as extreme as it was with my first few kills—you can get used to anything, even taking lives—but I still feel sharply alive, all my senses heightened by the proximity of death.
“Listen, man,” Diego says when I stop in front of his barracks building, “I just want to say I didn’t mean anything earlier today with that girl of yours. You were right—it’s none of my business.”
“She’s not my girl.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know them to be a lie. Yulia may not be “my girl,” but she’s mine.
She’s been mine from the moment I laid eyes on her in Moscow.
“Yeah, sure, whatever you say.” Grinning, Diego opens the door and jumps out. “See you tomorrow.”
He shuts the door, and I drive off. Loose gravel shoots out behind my car as I floor the gas, filled with sudden impatience.
I’ve waited long enough.
It’s time to claim what’s mine.
- Writer
