Page 33 of The Perfect Stranger

Chapter Eleven

“You have five fucking seconds to give me a reason not to end your piss-poor excuse of a life,” said the man in a robe with his now flaccid and rather unimpressive cock on display.

Pulling the hood roughly off my prisoner, I waited until recognition dawned. As expected, he didn’t seem pleased. A flash of urgency and fear crossed his face when his rebel army colonel raised his head. Gregorio was in no state to argue or protest. A combination of chronic dehydration, blood loss, and alcohol had him awake but far from present.

“The fuck is going on,” Santos raged.

“So you recognize Colonel Gregorio?”

With narrowed eyes, he answered. “So what if I do?”

“I found him in a bar two hours north of La Balsa. Actually, it was more like he found me. Showed me this.” I pulled a photo from my pocket I’d brought from the States.

Gabriel squinted at the image of himself. “The fuck…”

“Your friend spent the next two hours talking about how he knew of a cash crop of coke, but needed to take out the drug lords first. Two men by the names of Gabriel and Luis Santos.”

With an icy glare, Gabriel turned his attention to Gregorio who wore an unknowing smile. Saliva slipped from the corner of his mouth.

“You. Fucking. Piece. Of. Traitorous. Shit!” He was in a rage, and I couldn’t have been happier. Spittle flew from his mouth into the face of a Gregorio. “What the fuck is wrong with him?” he asked of his former colleague’s docile state.

“Your Colonel is an addict. Practically begged for his last hit.”

“What else did the puto say?”

“He promised a cut if I took you and your uncle out of the equation.” Gabriel’s level of mistrust caused his gun to naturally gravitate toward me. “Fact is, I’m not one to strike up business relations with pond feeders. So here you go…” I pushed Gregorio to the side. He stumbled before making a show of carefully righting himself, his dopey smile only making him look the greedy fool. “I brought you the traitor.”

“And just what do you want in return? Nobody wants anything for free.”

“Quite right. I want a job.”

He scoffed. “A job?”

“That’s right.”

“Doing?”

“Personal security.”

This time, he laughed. “Job’s taken.”

“You mean those two downstairs, who just let me walk straight up without having ever seen me before?”

His face turned into a snarl, my words having the desired effect.

“Why the fuck would you want to work for me?”

To kill you and your uncle.

“I’m former Special Forces. Protection is what I do best.”

“Kill ‘em.”

Two loaded words. Two words loaded with dare, challenge, and opportunity.

I would call out his bluff and take great pleasure in doing so.

Gregorio was slowly piecing things together. The alcohol made him childlike, but he was starting to gather his senses in time to register my Glock pointing at him.

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