Page 13 of Emerald Vices

6

ANDREY

Luca glares at the peeling walls of The Last Resort Inn, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “This establishment is beneath us.”

Bujar rolls his eyes. “We’re not here for a slumber party, Luca. Or are you and your alligator skin loafers too good to even set foot in a place like this?”

“We should have sent our men to handle this, is what I’m saying.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Cevdet asks.

I glare at all three men until they fall silent. Then I step in front of them, my shadow falling across the dark parking lot, distorted into something monstrous by the low-angled light at my back.

“We agreed on our purpose tonight, gentlemen,” I growl. “We’re here to make a statement and show a united front. The Halcones don’t know what they’re up against yet. Maybe if they do, they’ll be more wary about starting a war they can’t possibly win.”

“Hear, hear.” Cevdet applauds, his soft clapping the only sound in the eerily quiet night.

He’s not used to doing the grunt work anymore. This is probably the first mission he’s been on in well over a decade, so I understand his excitement. He practically foams at the mouth every time he looks up at the corner unit where Edgar Vargas is supposedly sheltering for the night.

Luca pulls out a sleek knife, the blade glinting in the moonlight. “Well, then we might as well get this over with.”

The four of us trudge up the steps of the motel, having already secured a second key card from the receptionist’s desk. Shura has his gun aimed at the poor schmuck manning the front desk so he can’t alert Vargas about our impending visit.

“Who’s going in first?” Luca asks.

“I think our fearless leader ought to do the honors,” Cevdet suggests.

That subtle thread of sarcasm running through everything he does and says irks me, but I set the irritation aside. Now is not the time for me to lecture him on his tone. Instead, taking the key card from Bujar, I hold it against the access point until the light flashes green. I push my way inside, only to hear the fevered rhythm of grunting and heavy breathing.

The woman underneath Vargas is staring listlessly at the ceiling, chewing on her bottom lip as though she’s staring at a clock, waiting for the bell to ring.

Vargas is too busy with his pale, scrawny ass in the air, pumping into his less-than-enthusiastic “date” for the night, to be aware of the audience standing in his room.

It’s the woman who realizes they’re not alone. She frowns at the new shadows thrown across the ceiling and then her gaze flickers to the door.

She takes one look at me and screams right in Vargas’s ear, causing him to roar like a bullfrog. “The fuck, woman?!”

He slaps her across the face, still determined to fuck her even as she fights to get out from under him. Only when she refuses to lie back down does he follow her gaze to the door.

“¡Mierda!” He jolts, nearly rolling off the bed.

The woman hurls herself to the filthy carpeted floor and scrambles backward to a seat on the far wall, naked and trembling. Vargas attempts to lunge for his gun on the end table, but Bujar beats him to it.

Suddenly, Vargas finds himself staring down the end of his own gun—stark naked and completely unprepared.

“Who the fuck are you?” he croaks.

Cevdet looks offended by the question. “Who are we? Only your worst nightmare.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the cliché machismo as I stride further into the room where the hooker is pressed against the wall, her mascara running in black streams down her hollow cheeks.

I kneel in front of her. “What’s your name?”

Her teeth are chattering so badly she barely manages to get the words out. “I-I-Ivy.”

“Known this useless fuck for long, Ivy?”

“N-no. He picked me up on the street corner… Said he wanted me for an hour.”

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