Chapter 6

6

Thierry

The girl sits shivering in the corner, wrapped in one of the blankets I managed to scrounge.

When I approach, she shoots to her feet, and holds out a gun toward Castellano, who lies tied and gagged on the floor. She must’ve picked it up after I kicked it out of his hands earlier.

“Non, chère. I can’t let you do that.” The Valir accent slips in my surprise, as I step toward her, but the dialect is softer, less harsh than when I try to force it away. “Put the gun down.” I reach out a hand, and with shaky arms, she swings the gun toward me, but then takes it back to him. “C’mon, girl. I’m gonna take you somewhere safe. These men won’t touch you again. I promise.”

Her lip quivers. Hands even shakier than before.

Eyes clamped, she whispers, “Padre divino, vengo a ti en oración que pide al perdón de mis pecados.” Divine Father, I come to you in prayer, asking for the forgiveness of my sins. “Lo siento, Mama.” I’m sorry, Mama. Choking up the last word, she trembles.

I lurch toward her.

Before I can stop her, she shoves the gun into her mouth and fires a shot, spattering her brain over the wall behind her.

Fucking hell.

At my back, the echoing sound of Castellano’s hysterical laughter, as if he’s suddenly lost his mind, stokes the urge to silence him with a bullet. My only hope is that whatever Julio has in mind for him, it’s slow and painful.

After rounding up Castellano, along with the extra rope that I use to bind his hands behind his back, leaving a small length for a leash, I guide him out toward the Audi and find Adrien lying in the gravel about a hundred feet from my car. Short, panting breaths, and pale, bluish skin tell me the hit to his flank likely entered the gut. He won’t make it.

He reaches out for me, eyes glassy and pupils dilated, like death has already begun to creep up on him. “Please,” he rasps. “Help me.”

Gun aimed down at him, I shake my head. “Sorry, chat. No one sees my face and lives.”

I put a bullet in his forehead and keep on toward the car.

* * *

Parked in the circular drive of Julio’s elaborate mansion, I pop open the trunk of the vehicle, exposing the man hog-tied inside with duct tape over his mouth. Julio breaks away from two other men accompanying him. One of them is an enforcer. The other, whom I’ve never seen before, stands off to the side, his form somewhat hunched, wearing black pants and a black hood that conceals his face. A number of tattoos, some of which bear strange symbols, as well as numbers, cover the pale white skin not hidden by the strange costume-like robe. Arrows and circles, whose meaning I couldn’t even begin to guess.

Coming to stand beside me, Julio tips his head and seems to examine Castellano, probably making sure I didn’t renege on my promise not to harm him. “You kept him in the trunk the whole journey?”

“Minus a piss break somewhere along the way.”

With a snort, he waves the enforcer over, who yanks the smaller man out of the cramped compartment.

As Castellano is brought to his feet, he sneers back at Julio. “I cannot wait until Javier gets his hands on you, cabrón. Gritaras como un cerdito. You’ll scream like a piggy.” He squeals and chuckles in Julio’s face, and I’m convinced the man has no self-preservation.

“I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. I believe you might be familiar with him.” Julio steps aside for the robed stranger, tugging a kerchief from his pocket to daub the back of his neck that glistens with sweat.

Within seconds, Castellano’s face has turned a ghostly white, his eyes wide with fear.

“El Cabro,” he whispers, twisting his shoulder, his hands still bound behind him. The goat. “No, no, no, no. Déjame ir!” Let me go!

Frowning, I flick my gaze toward Julio’s mysterious guest once more, wondering if it is, in fact, the stranger having this effect on him.

Castellano shakes his head. “Lo siento. Por favor. Lo siento.” I’m sorry. Please. I’m sorry.

Seconds ago, he didn’t seem troubled to be at the hands of his enemy, perhaps even proud to die that way. Now, he looks as if he’s seen a ghost.

“Estás jodido, my friend.” You’re fucked. Julio chuckles around a cigar he shoves into his mouth and waves the enforcer on.

Castellano’s eyes turn to me, pleading, and back to the stranger. “No. No!” He wriggles in the enforcer’s grasp, but to no avail, as he’s dragged toward Julio’s house. “Por favor! Lo siento!”

The pale man follows after him, and I turn to Julio, still standing beside me.

“Who is he?”

Huffing an exhale, he stares off toward the three men making their way inside, Castellano’s screams trailing after them. “Men like Castellano tend to be very religious and superstitious. Even after all he’s done, he thinks he’s worthy enough to walk with God. To be forgiven and redeemed. It’s our culture, really. We are guided by spirits all the time. Everywhere.”

“The man’s a priest, then?”

“Yes. You could say that.”

“Santeria?” I’d become familiar with a few who practiced the religion, and understood the relation between their orishas and the saints.

“Men like Castellano don’t fear Santeria.”

They don’t fear Santa Muerte, either, evidenced by the most recent safe house, where a shrine had been arranged for the lady of death. “Voodoo?”

Instead of answering, Julio pats me on the back and smiles. “You’ve done well, Thierry. I’ll see to it that you’re paid in full. Thank you for doing this.”