Page 10 of The Tourist

“Señor, hombres aquí.” We’re interrupted by the woman. I learned enough Spanish in school to know she’s telling him that the men are here.

Something about the way her hands are shaking worries me. Are these men really that bad?

“My guests? They’re early.” My master lets out a snarl of frustration as he injects me with the heroin I so desperately need.

I feel the needle as it enters my arm. It’s a pain I crave now. The only pain I will ever crave again. I pray he gives me too much and lets me drift away into oblivion.

Once he’s injected me with the heroin, he grabs me viciously by the left arm, his fingers digging into the already tender flesh, and I let out a cry of anguish. I’ve lost so much weight. I’m little more than skin and bones.

He drags me back into the white room where two men are standing. Their faces look blurred to me, and I try to focus, but my head is spinning.

Please, God, grant me the bliss of nirvana.

Everything fades around me. I could be anywhere now. I won’t feel them beating me. I won’t feel them sticking their cocks wherever they want. I won’t taste their cum or my blood.

Suddenly, a moment of clarity hits and my survival instinct kicks in. There’s a small part of me that still wants to escape. A very small part. I allow the venom in my veins to fight the drugs that are dragging me under, and as lucidity returns, it brings the face of one of the men into sharper focus.

I recognize him.

My brain fights with itself, trying to comprehend what it’s seeing, but the heroin is winning now. His face is probably just a mirage—another false hope.

There’s no way it can be him.

There’s no way that Diego Rodriquez is standing in front of me.

And there’s no way that the shadowy figure next to him is pointing a gun at the head of the man who bought me.

CHAPTER6

Diego

CHAPTER 6

Eaton and I approach the formidable compound nestled deep in the Colombian rainforest in silence. Each structure within the sprawling fortress is built to intimidate, from the towering walls crowned with coiled barbed wire to the surveillance cameras that look out from every angle, like the unblinking eyes of a predator.

The men flanking us are a formidable army from the Las Vegas underworld. We are all united under the banner of vengeance and justice, which is not a word I would usually connect to our line of work. The tension among us is palpable.

Reaching the perimeter, our tech expert steps forward and swiftly deactivates the nearest surveillance camera with a precise burst from a handheld laser.

The timing is critical.

Suddenly, a guard appears from around the corner. Unsuspecting and vulnerable, he barely has a chance to register our presence before our point man silently and efficiently takes him down.

The thrill of the hunt spikes adrenaline through my veins and mixes with my stark, cold resolve. Tonight, I will bring an end to the devil who has my sister in his clutches. According to Eaton’s informant, the influence of Serena’s captor has seeped from this compound into the nearby towns and villages, like a virulent plague. When I kill him, I won’t just be saving my sister. I’ll be ridding the world of pure evil.

When we finally infiltrate the interior of the compound, chaos erupts. Gunfire slices through the night, and the air is filled with the shouts of men. Our forces are relentless as they progress.

I closely follow behind Eaton as he directs his team toward the heavily guarded main building where there’s a hub of anticipated resistance. This grim, forsaken place promises nothing but heartache for those who’ve been brought here against their will.

We make our way inside, and as we move through the building, the assault team take out any resistance until we reach a large, brightly lit room with white walls.

There’s some kind of elderly housekeeper waiting there, and Eaton orders her to fetch her boss and threatens her life if she warns him of our presence. She immediately rushes out of the room through a door opposite to the one we entered.

The moment Chloe is dragged into the room, I recognize her.

I’ve known her since childhood. As a teenager, I admired and even wanted her, but she was always off limits as Serena’s best friend.

The sight of her is gut-wrenching. She’s barely recognizable as the carefree friend of my sister. Her body is frail, and she’s wearing no clothes on her skeletal frame. Her hair is scraped back into a harsh pony, and her ashen skin is marred by bruises and cuts. Her once vibrant eyes are now dull, clouded by suffering and dimmed by the shadows of abuse.

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