SANTIAGO
As Pedro steers the SUV toward the club, my thoughts are filled with Ciara. She has made so much progress over the past three days.
I hate that I had to leave her with Astrid, but I need to take care of the fucking sex club because God only knows how that shipment of women has been suffering the past three weeks.
Glancing at Pedro, I ask, “Any sign of Nolan Walsh?”
“Not yet. Jorge is following the father, and he also has men at the safe house so they can keep an eye on the place where he kept Ciara.”
I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I want the fucker found.”
“I know,” Pedro replies. “Are you ready for tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure? You look preoccupied,” he keeps nagging.
“Drop it, Pedro,” I mutter. “I’m fine. Let’s just get the job done.”
“Okay.” The fucker starts to whistle, and it has me letting out a sigh.
I check the straps on the armored vest I’m wearing because the last thing I want is to be shot tonight.
We all have earpieces so we’ll be able to communicate, and I check the magazine of my submachine gun as we turn up the street where the club is situated.
“Target ahead,” Pedro mutters.
I have twenty of my well-trained men with me, so everything should go smoothly.
My second-in-command brings the SUV to a stop in the parking area of the club. We jump out, the sound of screeching tires filling the air as my men pull up beside us.
We storm the entrance, and Pedro takes out the bouncer. Moving inside, we’re met with purple strobing lights. There are easily ten poles with half-naked women dancing around them and tables situated between them.
I point the barrel of my weapon at the ceiling and pull the trigger. The sound cuts through all the noise, then I shout, “Music off and everyone out. Ten seconds, and I start shooting whoever’s still here.”
Knowing my men are behind me, I move forward toward the back area where the real shit will be happening. When we enter a hallway, someone opens fire on us. I quickly duck, and pulling the trigger, I spray the entire area ahead of me with bullets.
Rushing forward, Pedro and I keep taking out the men as they appear until we reach rooms that have curtains for doors.
I’ve seen this so many times that it shouldn’t affect me anymore, but it does. A man comes storming through the curtains, slamming into my side. He lifts my body into the air before knocking me into the wall. Air explodes from me, then I bring my knee up, hitting him in the abdomen.
Pedro points the gun right against the fucker’s temple and pulls the trigger. Blood sprays over me, and I quickly regain my balance as the body drops to the floor.
“Christ,” I snap. “I had him. You didn’t have to fucking blow his brains all over me.”
“Couldn’t resist,” Pedro chuckles.
My men move through the rooms, rounding up all the fuckers who work at the club and taking them to the front.
“Where the fuck is the bathroom?” I shout.
“Out here, boss,” one of the guards answers.
I glance at Pedro. “Check which women are good to leave on their own and which are coming with us.”
“On it.”
I see the bathroom sign to my left and stalk toward it. I head straight for the sink, and opening a faucet, I wash the blood off my face and neck.
Suddenly, I hear something clanking behind me, and with droplets running down my face, I turn to look at the partially shut door of one of the stalls.
Lifting my machine gun, my finger curls around the trigger as I slowly walk closer.
“Either you come out, or I’m shooting you. The choice is yours,” I say, my tone laced with warning.
“I’m coming out,” a man says, and seconds later, he appears with his hands in the air. “Please, don’t shoot.”
I move closer and pat the fucker down to make sure he isn’t armed and pulls a gun on me. Sure that he’s unarmed, I look at his face. I know what every single person who works for the club looks like, and not recognizing the man, I say, “Get out of here.”
He hurries toward the door, and I follow after him. While the man runs for the exit, I glance at the four fuckers that are kneeling in front of a bar, their hands restrained with cable ties behind their back.
Knowing the police will be here at any moment, I order, “Load them into the vehicles. Let’s get out of here.”
I stalk toward the exit, and Pedro catches up to me. “There are three women who barely speak English. I think they’re Polish.”
“We’ll get someone to translate for them at home,” I reply. “Have two of the men take them to the airfield while we deal with the fuckers.”
Pedro nods and falls back to give out the order.
I climb into the passenger seat of the SUV, and I don’t have to wait long before Pedro gets in behind the steering wheel.
We have safe houses and warehouses everywhere, and after starting the engine, Pedro drives us toward our destination in Santa Cruz de la Sierra. It’s situated near the airfield, so we’ll be able to make a quick getaway after dealing with the four men who worked at the club.
We drive for about twenty minutes before Pedro pulls up to the warehouse that looks abandoned.
I climb out and watch as the other SUVs park. My men take the prisoners into the warehouse, and I glance around the area to make sure it’s quiet before I follow them inside.
I hand the machine gun to Pedro and pull my deck of tarot cards out of my pocket.
The four men are forced to kneel while I shuffle the cards, then I say, “There are so many other ways to make money.”
“Who are you?”
I glance at the man, then ask Pedro, “What’s his name again?”
“Braga. He’s in charge of the club.” Pedro points to a man dressed in a three-piece suit. “That’s the owner, Campos. The other two are just soldiers.”
I reach behind me, and pulling my handgun from where it’s tucked into the waistband of my pants, I aim and give the soldiers quick deaths by shooting them in their heads.
“Remove the bodies and cut the cable ties on the other two,” I order.
I tuck my weapon back into place behind my back and continue to shuffle the cards.
Campos keeps staring at my hands, fear tightening his features, and it makes me chuckle. Tilting my head, I say, “You’ve heard of me.”
He nods. “My cousin drew one of your cards.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Which one?”
“Temperance.”
With that card, I tie a noose around the guy’s neck and make him balance with one foot on a wooden pole. If he can hold out for twenty-four hours, he’s free to go, and if not, he hangs himself. Pedro and I came up with that one over a dozen beers out on the veranda.
“He must have good balancing skills,” I say. “Seeing as he lived to tell you about it.”
Campos nods.
“Braga first,” I mutter. “Stand up and choose your card.”
“Is this about the pussy?” Campos asks. “Everyone sells pussy.”
“Not everyone.” I spread the cards as Pedro shoves Braga closer to me. “Choose one.”
Braga gives me a confused look but pulls a card out of the middle. A frown forms on his forehead. “The Chariot?”
A grin spreads over my face. “One of my favorites.” I make a scene of bowing and gesturing at the door. “Your chariot awaits. Enjoy the ride.”
Pedro shoves Braga toward three of my men, and they drag him out of the warehouse to tie him to the back of an SUV. They’ll drag his body until he’s dead.
Just like the cartel did with my mother.
My grin turns into a deadly sneer as I look at Campos. “Your turn. Choose your fate.”
“I can pay you,” he tries to bargain.
The revving of an engine sounds up, and then Braga’s terrified screams follow as he’s dragged away from the warehouse.
Campos is sweating so severely the drops are running down his face. “I can pay you millions.”
I give him a surprised look. “How much are we talking? What is your life worth?”
“Five million.”
I start to shake my head, and he quickly shouts, “Ten.”
Every time I shake my head, he doubles the amount until I say, “I’m getting bored.”
“Fifty-six million! I can give it to you in Bitcoin. Untraceable.”
Smiling wide, I say, “I like the sound of that.” I glance around the warehouse at my men. “Do any of you have a laptop?” They start to shake their heads, and I look at Campos. “Such a shame. Pick a card.”
“No! I can give you the money.”
My expression turns grim. “If you don’t pick, I will.”
Shaking like a leaf, he finally pulls a card out of the pack and slowly looks at it.
“And?” I ask.
“The Magician.”
“Oooh. The fun is just starting.” I glance at Pedro, who quickly jogs out to get the three boxes.
“W-what does the card mean?” Campos asks.
“You get to choose again.”
Relief washes over his face, and bending over, he places his hands on his thighs and breathes hard.
“There are three boxes. One has a gun, which means I’ll shoot you in the head. The second has a card saying you get to walk free, and the third has gasoline and a lighter.” When the horror returns to his face, I chuckle. “Cheer up. You still have a chance to walk free, then you and your cousin can bond some more over surviving fate.”
Pedro comes back with the boxes and sets them down on the floor in front of me.
“Do you feel lucky?” I ask Campos.
He just stares at the black boxes with gold edging.
I wave a hand over them and order, “Pick up the box of your choice.”
Campos crouches and reaches for the middle one but then changes his mind and goes for the box on the right. Straightening up, he holds the box out to me.
With a grin, I take it. “Want to see what you missed out on?”
He shakes his head. “Just open the fucking thing.”
I flip the latch and lift the lid, then my grin widens into a broad smile. I pull the lighter and bottle of gasoline out while saying, “I’d say better luck next time, but there’s no next time.”
As Campos’ eyes widen, I squirt the gasoline at him, and it sets him in motion as he jumps backward. I flick the lighter open and ignite the flame before throwing it at him. I got enough gasoline on his jacket for it to catch fire, and while he slaps at it, I squirt the rest over his face, neck, and chest. The flame jumps, spreading fast, and Campos starts to scream as he charges toward me. I move fast to the side to avoid him.
He falls to his knees and then begins to roll around as the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh hits my nostrils.
I stand and watch until he stills, and drawing my gun from behind my back, I point at his head and pull the trigger.
“Overkill much?” Pedro asks.
“I had a lot of frustration to get rid of,” I mutter before walking toward the exit. “Let’s go home.”
