Page 38 of Vicious Hearts

33

ARIADNE

Icough as I inhale an inordinate amount of dust. There is so much of it, it looks like this place has never been cleaned. Not once in its miserable existence. I’m in a warehouse somewhere, an old industrial style barn that is efficient if nothing else. I’m tied to a chair, my hands behind my back and my feet tied at the ankles. The bindings aren’t tight enough to cut off my circulation, but they’re uncomfortable in a way that clothing is on a sweltering hot day.

I feel like I have a noose around my neck, but I know there’s nothing there. It’s my anxiety slowly creeping up my throat, making me want to scream. I have no idea where I am or who I’m with. I don’t know if I’m even still in Guatemala.

There is blood running down my legs, streaks of it that paint me in an ominous bloody glow. And my feet are rubbed raw from where they were scraped against the ground. The pain is like a throbbing sting that refuses to settle down. I curse the fact that I chose today of all days to wear cut-offs and flip flops, because I’ve somehow managed to end up semi-naked and barefoot.

There’s an overwhelming sadness in me as I think of Caleph, knowing I’ll never see him again. There’s no way he would have made it out of that car before it exploded in a fireball of flames. And I don’t know if I’ll even make it, but truth be told, I’d rather be with Caleph, even if that means the next world. I can’t conceive of going on without him. Where would I go? What would I do? If I even ever manage to get out of this alive?

The sound of heavy footsteps approaches, until I see the man from the van come into view. My sight is still skewed, one eye completely swollen shut, but I can see enough to focus on his bald head as the giant bends over and presses a bottle to my lips. Water. I hadn’t realized how parched I was until the cold liquid slid down my throat thirstily.

He doesn’t say anything when he rises and stands where he is, looking down at me. I must have drunk half the bottle before I pushed it away. I lift my head slowly as his awkward shadow falls over me. I try to force my other eye open, the pain dulling my senses, but it’s hopeless and I attempt to concentrate with one eye. I try to glean any information I possibly can on who my captor is. He’s a big man, a giant by normal standards, his skin coated with a thick tan. He wears a dark red wife beater and fatigues and reminds me a little of Vin Diesel. For a moment, my tragic writer’s mind tells itself I’m in an alternate version of the universe and I’m a bit player in an action film. Anything to calm the insanity that threatens to sweep through me and leave me decimated.

I don’t know why he’s standing, just looking at me, as though waiting for something. It’s not even that he’s looking at my near nakedness, because he’s not. He’s towering over me, his face plastered on mine, his hard eyes creased in what I interpret to be confusion.

I open my mouth, swallow thickly as bile threatens to race up my throat, then lick my lips. I’m still parched, and he seems to realize this, because he presses the water bottle to my lips again.

“Where… Where am I?” I whisper, as he lowers the bottle again.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he gives a short grunt then turns and walks away, leaving me alone.

* * *

Hours passbefore my captor appears again. He’s carrying a bowl with a spoon in it. He pulls up a chair until he sits facing me, close enough that he can feed me whatever mush he’s brought me. He lifts the spoon to my mouth, and my nostrils can’t help but inhale the aroma of a hearty chicken soup. It’s crazy, but I’ve never smelt anything so welcoming, so inviting.

I push my lips apart and he empties the contents in my mouth. I’m quick to swallow, the lukewarm liquid sloshing down my ravenous throat. Chicken and corn, and it tastes as amazing as it smells. He continues in this manner until I push away the last spoonful and he sets the bowl down then stands. He leaves me, then returns a few minutes later, carrying a first aid kit and some clothes, which he sets on a nearby table. He lifts one of my legs onto his knee and opens the kit. He dabs at my heels with a cloth and some antiseptic, then he wraps it in some muslin. He sets my foot down and moves to work on the other leg, applying the same care. The throbbing pain in both feet is now a dull ache, giving me some relief.

I don’t fight him as he starts to work on my other injuries. I couldn’t fight him even if I had the energy. Instead, I watch him as he works, wondering why the monster that dragged me across the road suddenly feels the need to be my guardian angel. He wipes at my face, smooths some ointment around my eye while I keep my other eye closed. He cleans and applies bandages and band aids to several places on my legs and arms, and I can feel some semblance of feeling returning to my limbs.

When he finishes cleaning and bandaging, he surprises me by cutting my bonds and lifting me slowly out of the chair. I can stand, but just barely. He holds me upright then slides the clothes he brought in earlier onto the chair I was sitting on and directs me with his eyes to get dressed. My silent captor doesn’t say a word as he turns and walks away again.

I scurry into the clothes; a loose-fitting pair of black drawstring pants and a dark green Henley. Not my size, and I don’t know about the colors, but under the circumstances, I’ll take anything I can get to cover myself up. Once I’m done, I sit back down on the chair and wait; I don’t know what else to do, and escape is out of the question. In my current state, I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to get five steps before a bullet lodges in the back of my head.

34

THE JEKYLL

The minute I heard the Guatemalan and the Mexicans in the bar, talking about a five-million-dollar bounty, I knew I was in business. Hours of surveillance led me here. Every shred of intel I had was telling me the Cartel was on its last legs as it suffered infighting and massive financial losses. Not to mention all the underhanded work I’d been doing in the background to sabotage them. My efforts were not going in vain.

The five million dollars for them was a windfall. Of course, someone would have to pay with their life for them to make that money. Possibly another sacrificial lamb. I heard them say something about a girl. They gave me enough identifiers that I was able to climb into the dark web and sift through the pending jobs until I found her. A twenty-seven-year-old reported from the US. And apparently, she was currently in Guatemala, which made their job easier.

I continued my surveillance until I finally got the thread; she’d be in a car on her way to the airport the next day. I got enough information, even down to the car she’d be in, and exactly where she’d be intercepted. I just had to find a way to get to her before the Cartel did. And find a way I did.

The police now believe her dead. The cartel is accused of botching the job and won’t be paid a cent, and I won’t be cashing in on the bounty, so there’s no issue for me there. If news of her “death” spreads, the bounty will be null and void, buying me precious time.

I’d had to be rough with her when I pulled her out of that car, if only to get her out of there before emergency services arrived. If she’d been taken to the hospital, it would have been easy for the cartel to track her down and retrieve her like she was an asset, a means to an end.

But now I had the issue of what to do with the girl. I’d saved her from some rough house types who would’ve used and abused her before cashing in the bounty. In the process, I’d inherited a problem I didn’t know what to do with. I’d cleaned her up as much as I could with the little resources I had, but that still didn’t solve the problem of what to do next.

* * *

My phone chirpsas I walk into the tiny makeshift office. I look at the screen and bite the inside of my cheek in irritation. I don’t know why Marden keeps calling, but I swipe my hand across the screen and wait for him to speak.

“Brother,” he says into the phone, but all I give him is a grunt.

I’ve never been much of a talker, and Marden is exceedingly chatty when it comes to me. Sometimes I think he deliberately tries to irritate me with his chattiness. He’s used to my silence by now, so he pushes on without waiting for a reply.

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