Page 55 of Shadows of Justice

Trismo glances behind him and whistles through his teeth, and a massive pit bull catches up to them. Its diamond collar is as thick as the chain around the gang leader’s neck, and is easily the most muscular dog I’ve ever seen.

As the men turn the corner and head to the messy office, deep in conversation, the dog freezes and turns in my direction. It’s as black as midnight, its gray eyes trained right on me. Its hackles raise and it starts to pant, ears pricking.

I know I only have one shot at this, or I literally risk getting my throat ripped out.

I take a breath and swallow the saliva that’s gathered in my mouth, hoping this isn’t the way I’m reunited with Collette.

“Hiiiiiii doggie!” I screech, and the dog has the sense to cock its head in confusion for a moment.

The initial shock over, it crouches and starts barking, the volume and hostility coming from the animal making it really easy to properly look terrified. The men hurry back around the corner and set their eyes on me, so, I wave, trying to portray the dumb blonde I probably am.

“Can I pet your doggie? He’s so cute!” I squeal, and then retract my outstretched hand when the dog lunges at me.

“Dante! Siéntate,” Trismo barks at the dog. Dante instantly sits on his haunches, panting and drooling from his blood-red maw. T-Bone starts toward me, yelling in Spanish and I cower, doing my best to look confused.

“I-I’m sorry,” I start, “I don’t really speak Spanish. I was just looking for the bathroom.” My eyes dart back and forth between the hand T-Bone grips my forearm with and the other two men. “Baño?”

The American man in the suit leans toward Trismo and mutters something in his ear before he turns back down the aisle toward the office. Trismo looks me up and down, and being the subject of his focused attention causes a hair-raising shiver to skate over my skin.

There’s nothing alive behind those eyes. They belong to a beast that bathes in blood. That eats souls for breakfast and takes his coffee with children’s tears.

He’s not a man. He’s a monster.

My belly burns with the desire to take this fucker down. He’s been in and out of prison his whole life, but has been quite busy as of late, racking up his list of crimes since finishing his latest seven year stint for intent to distribute fentanyl. His current rap sheet lists off in my head—wanted for racketeering, trafficking, robbery, assault, and murder.

He is why I’m here. This waste of oxygen needs to be behind bars forever, where he can’t hurt anyone else.

Trismo regards me with a tip of his head. Now that he’s facing me, I can see that the skull tattoo is portrayed with a gaping jaw, the top half on his shaved hairline, the bottom teeth and mandible on his own jaw. The fiery eyes of the skull on his head bore into me with more life than Trismo’s.

It’s as though I’m looking upon the Reaper himself.

T-Bone hasn’t released me, if anything his hold has gotten tighter. Trismo passes Dante and gives him a pat on the head, stalking toward me with the cold precision of a predator watching prey. He stops right in front of me, so close I can feel his body heat. I force myself to look him in the eye, still trying to maintain my airy vibe and praying that he’s buying it.

“¿Tú nombre?” Trismo asks me with a jerk of his chin. “Your name?”

“E-Esmeralda,” I answer, forcing a smile.

Trismo and T-Bone share a look and a chuckle, like they know it’s a made up name. But luckily, in my portrayed line of work, that comes with the territory.

The gorilla holding my arm wasn’t deemed fucking T-Bone at birth either. Give me a break.

They share a short conversation in Spanish, eyeing me all the while. I look back and forth between them, giving them my best doe-eyes, and manage to wiggle out of T-Bone’s hold. Trismo lifts up his shirt, revealing a gold-plated pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans and Spanish phrases tattooed over his chiseled abdomen. He takes out a massive switchblade and snaps it open, watching my every reaction. My eyes widen as he runs the tip of the blade along the curve of my jaw, and he grins in satisfaction at the sight of the cold sweat that breaks out on my forehead.

I cower away from the blade but he grabs my throat, holding me fast. My entire frame trembles so hard he must be able to feel it, and it’s not an act in the slightest.

“Do you know where you are, Esmeralda?” Trismo asks me in a heavy accent, his face so close to mine that our noses nearly brush.

“I . . . I thought I was going to the bathroom,” I answer, as I wonder how many lives the blade running along my cheek has taken.

Trismo smiles, the black diamonds glinting on his shark teeth. He says another phrase in lightning-quick Spanish, and then jerks his head to the side, toward the doorway.

“Down the hall, on your right.”

I nod and scurry around him, giving Dante a wide berth as he reaches his nose out to sniff me as I pass. Thankfully, he’s an obedient beast, and keeps his ass planted on the cement floor.

I burst through the door, the faint trickle of Trismo’s amused voice curling toward me like smoke.

“I’ll see you soon, Esmeralda.”

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