Page 81 of The Perfect Stranger

The same Mother Mary design seen on the Santos man in the convenience store. The one who chased her in her dreams.

The one she saw me as being.

She went to stand, panicked and frightened, but it was too late. She fell, her head landing on the pillow. She has lost all muscle strength.

“What’s happening?” she barely mumbled.

The door opened and four sketchy looking Santos men similar to those at the convenience store walked in. Their Glocks were poised, but they would have no use for them here.

Nina’s eyes welled with tears before finally they slid closed, the drug having done its job. Surrounding the bed, like the vultures they were, they took in her naked state, eyes gleaming with the filthy things they could do to her.

“You’re not needed,” I snapped, ready to shoot each one in the back of the head.

“We’re here to take her,” one announced not breaking his stare.

“You’re not touching, Nina. I will carry her out, so you can wait outside until I dress her.”

One of them turned, his face twisted into a snarl. It was the man who had delivered the champagne. “You have thirty seconds. After then, the bitch is ours. And we can’t by any means promise you her welfare.” A smirk twisted his scarred face.

Begrudgingly, they filed out leaving the door open for assurance.

I approached the bed, guilt rattling me to the core. Kissing her lips gently, our foreheads touching, I wiped the tear that sat in the crease of her eye.

“I’m sorry, Nina. Forgive me.”

When she woke, she would no longer recognize me.

When she woke, she would only see me as Los Santos.

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