Page 18 of Vicious Savage

THE JEKYLL

I’m under an open window. And I don’t like what I hear. The low moans of a woman in pain, obviously delirious. The heavy grunting of men. One, then the other. So rapidly, right after each other. I close my eyes and swallow back the bile I feel rising up my throat. A hazy red cloud covers my eyes, and it’s like I’m out of my body looking down at what’s happening around me.

The gauzy curtain flies back and forth in the wind, scraping against the window frame. I feel nauseous listening to the woman’s painful groans and I don’t know how much longer I can tamp down this anger before I unleash it on the Castillo gang. Which may not be such a bad thing — my anger might just be the rage we need to get us through this.

There’s a knock on the door, loud enough for me to hear and loud enough for the grunting to stop. Low voices speak, before the stomping of boots go toward the door.

“The prodigal daughter has returned!” One of the men bellows. He sounds too young, too brash to be Castillo. “Come in, baby. Wanna join the fun?”

I listen carefully. Luna is quiet, before I imagine her eyes falling on her friend, because her feet patter hurriedly across the floor and she screams at the men asking them what they did to her.

“Are you fucking crazy!” she screams. “There’s six of you against one defenseless woman? You’re disgusting! Where’s my father?”

Luna is telling us how many men she can see.

“You’re just in time to join the party, Lulu,” one of the men laughs.

“Where’s my father?”

Her father must have been elsewhere in the house, because I hear him as he comes into the room, clapping his hands together slowly.

“Welcome back,mi hija.”

His words are forceful, angry. And I know his retribution will be lethal.

“How could you do this?” she spits, her words venomous.

“Do what, Luna? I haven’t even started.”

“Why am I not surprised?” she spits. She’s mighty brave to go up against the likes of her father.

I hear a sharp pop and I know that’s the signal I’m waiting on from Attila. I rise and look through the window. One of the men is down and the room breaks out into chaos. I aim and shoot at two of the men, capping them in the knees. Luna throws herself onto her friend, covering her body to prevent any stray bullets from hitting her.

The men shout at each other, their guns raised and aimed at the windows, chaotic voices rising above the noise of gunfire. I duck beneath the window, taking cover as a stream of bullets comes flying at the window. I hear the same across the other side of the house and hope that Attila has the foresight to move out of the way. There is more gunfire and screaming, smoke rising from with the house. I chance a glance through the window, but can’t see through the fog descending on the room, then narrowly miss a flying bullet as it comes my way.

In the distance, I’m aware of the faint sound of a car motor turning over as doors slam shut and tires squeal down the road. And just as soon as it started, the din dies down until I can hear nothing but the quiet hum of the neighbor’s air conditioning unit a few feet away.

I rise again, look through the window, and I can vaguely make out the bodies laying strewn against the floor. It looks like we hit the majority of them. I make my way around the back of the house until I find Attila, his shoulder grazed, pulling himself from the ground. The front of his T-shirt is soaked with blood where the bullet has nicked him.

At the front of the house, we reload our guns before kicking the door open and entering the house. Four men lay dead on the ground. Nadia barely gasps for breath as she holds on to the last thread of life, her naked almost lifeless body trembling with fear. It’s a sight I know is going to take me a long time to forget. I find a throw on a nearby sofa and grab it, covering her body until she’s decent. Her flat eyes look up at me, her crystal orbs vacant of life, as tears stream down the side of her face. In the midst of her horror, this one little act is the only kind of mercy she is afforded.

“Castillo is gone,” Attila seethes. “He’s taken Luna.”

I bend over Nadia, wrap the throw around her properly, then lift her into my arms.

“We’ve lost one,” I tell him. “We’re not going to lose the other.”

“There’ll be questions at the hospital,” he reminds me. Arizona is not our usual stomping grounds. We may have reach in many places, but this is unfamiliar territory to us. He’s right; I know he is. But I won’t leave the woman here to die. Her face has been beaten, swollen maliciously, cuts and bruises already forming at her temple. I won’t subject her to any more torture.

“I won’t leave her here,” I tell him. “You can go your own way if you want, but I won’t leave her.”

I couldn’t save Sisely, but I sure as hell won’t let another woman die on my watch. Not if I can help it. I cradle her in my arms as I walk toward our SUV and slide her in to the back seat. Attila relents and tells me he knows someone who may be able to help. He calls his friend Dante Accardi, a man I’ve heard plenty about but never had occasion to meet, then directs me where to drive.

It’s just over an hour before we get to a clinic, where we’re met at the door by a doctor in a coat and a nurse with a wheel chair. I kick the chair away and carry Nadia into the clinic, setting her down on the operating table as the doctor indicates.

“Will she be okay?” I ask, as the doctor frowns down at her.

He gives me a long look. He wants to ask what happened, but he knows he shouldn’t. He won’t get answers. They never do. And those that do soon realize they were better off not knowing.

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