Page 28 of The Perfect Stranger

Putting my personal feelings aside, I handed Alejandro a flashlight. “Hold this.”

With the light, I could now see Jase’s wounds. His upper thigh had taken two bullets. Retrieving the medi-pack, I quickly secured padding to stop the bleeding.

“Take Jase,” I ordered calmly, despite my thirst for retribution.

Alejandro acted without hesitation, instructing the few La Balsa men he arrived with to collect him. Jase was no lightweight, and I pitied the journey they had through the jungle. When their footsteps and grunts fell silent, and the darkness surrounded them, I turned my attention back to the man who was partly responsible for this war.

His eyes were defiant, lips snarling under the tape. I ripped it off, earning me a curse to hell.

“Where can I find Luis Santos?” I asked, straight to the point.

“I don’t know who that is.” He shrugged his shoulders, indifferent to the name.

“Think hard. Think real hard.” Gregorio watched my finger caress the trigger.

“You think you can trust him?”

“Who, Santos?”

“Alejandro Dominguez.”

“Coming from a man who made a sport of raping his sister, I trust that man with my life.”

He laughed, mocking. “We all make mistakes, I guess.” It was said as a warning. A pre-emptive ‘I told you so.’ “There’s a reason why he was stationed in the asshole of the La Balsa mountains.”

“Whatever he has done to you, I have no doubt you deserved. But I’m not here for him.” Retrieving my knife, I sliced through the tape binding his wrists and ankles. His brows furrowed in confusion, the fool assuming I was releasing him.

“Up,” I instructed motioning with my knife.

He righted himself, gripping the wall for support.

“The choice is yours, dipshit. Where can I find Luis Santos?”

Gregorio stumbled away keen to get back into the open. I followed, unfazed by his game, my Glock pointed at his chest.

“Where is he?”

When his lips tightened in defiance, I fired a shot at the ground. His eyes widened, steps quickening.

“Where is Luis Santos?”

Gregorio looked around, desperate and frightened. Keen to be seen or to acquire a weapon. I fired another shot, and he flinched like the coward he was. We were now exposed in the street, yet I didn’t feel any threat. Fed up, I shot Gregorio in the shoulder. He fell backward onto the road howling out in pain, hand clamping the wound. I stood over the top of him, the barrel pressed to his forehead.

He was quaking. “I don’t fucking know where Luis Santos is.” Gregorio’s bravado has crashed to rock bottom. He was now a blubbering mess, saliva dribbling over his chin as he sobbed.

What a miserable piece of shit.

“You work for him, don’t you? You were following his orders, were you not?”

“Yes, yes, but it wasn’t through him.”

“Then who?”

“His nephew, Gabriel Santos.”

I stood straight, letting the sorry sack of shit collapse back.

“Gabriel Santos?”

---