Page 3 of Lethal Vengeance
I hold my breath while he contemplates my words. Out of all the references my contacts sent me, this is the only group I trust to accomplish the task successfully. Every report I received on them reinforced my opinion of their competency and underlying integrity. Good guys or bad guys, it doesn’t matter, only their code matters, and reports state it’s solid.
He dips his chin in a sharp nod. “I’ll move the girls to a different facility and give them new identities, which will buy us some time. I want to know when they land.” With a subtle shift, he straightens and drops a flash drive into my purse.
I rush into my other news before he can leave. “When I left Wednesday, I saw Rodrigo at the entrance to the park. He recognized me. Maybe you should assign another job to me and ask him to deliver the details. A distraction. I won’t be successful if he starts following me around all the time.”
He stands and studies my face. Reaching back, he grabs his foot to stretch his quadriceps. Dropping it, he lifts the other.
I stare at the muscular leg in front of me. Cut, with hard lines and a smattering of dark hair. I’m sure many women would find his legs attractive. But I’m only interested in the smooth spot near the top of his thigh. My fingers caress the knife in the side pocket of my leggings while I stare at it.
It would only take one deep stab to puncture the femoral artery, and in that particular spot, it’s too high up for a tourniquet to be effective. The image of him bleeding out on the ground in front of me makes me smile. The whole thing would take five minutes.
He clears his throat and I glance up to find a smirk on his mouth. “I’ll arrange it. Rodrigo will reach out to you soon. Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asks suggestively.
My fingers slide over the knife one more time. I sigh, knowing it’s not time. “No, I’m good.”
He winks, circles his hand, and the jogger sitting on a nearby bench rises. They both take off running on the path around the lake.
Soon,I whisper to the darkness in my soul.
2
QUINN
Adark, almost empty dive bar outside of the tourist area, Cantina Iguana was probably popular a good twenty years ago. Now, the worn red and yellow booths are ripped, and the air is musty and full of stale cigarettes. For me, it’s perfect. Both a reflection of my soul and the perfect ambiance for planning my next move.
“Gracias,” I tell Lupe when she sets my usual beer down in front of me. The young woman is the only bartender I’ve seen working here in the last year.
A familiar smell hits my nose when someone takes the seat next to me. Eternity by Calvin Klein—the smell of my boyfriend, Mario, in middle school. My mouth twists, knowing the memory is ruined forever by the psycho wearing it now. I dart a glance at the mirror behind the bar. Rodrigo, Armando’s right-hand man, sits to my left.
Rodrigo smiles at me when I glance his way. “Surprise!” His tone is almost gleeful, which makes me wonder who he killed today.
I dip my chin to acknowledge him and lift my glass.
“Negro Modelo.” He orders Lupe.
She pales but immediately grabs a glass from a cooler and pulls a draft of beer. After setting it down, she waits until he nods, then scurries away.
Irritated at this show of power, I swivel until I’m facing him. “Do you have information on my next job?” I arch an eyebrow purely to piss him off.
His black eyes dart to my forehead and tighten. “Don’t you want to know how I found you?” He retorts with a smirk.
“Was I lost?” I counter with a shrug.
Cocking my head to the side, I contemplate the devil in front of me. With thinning brown hair and a dark complexion, there isn’t anything remarkable about him. At around five feet seven, he’s a couple of inches taller than me and lean like the stray dogs that fight for scraps in the street. Anyone who thinks he’s not much of a threat only has to look into his eyes—dark, almost pitch black, and empty. In their depths, there’s no light or glimmer of conscience, only death—the worst he can deliver to you.
He’s the cartel’s designated man for torture and murder. And if there’s one thing he excels at in this world, it’s death. He’s a master. I should know; I studied his techniques. Copying some of his more creative ways meant my work carried the same psychotic flavor as his. An effective way to establish my reputation and instill a sense of fear.
Torture aside, I’ve rarely had to deal with him in person. Most of the time, one of his lackeys delivers the information. Probably a good thing, or I might have been tempted to kill him sooner. When I do decide to take him off the board, I’ll be doing the world a huge favor. But I won’t torture him. A bullet to the back of the head—execution style—will work perfectly. Plus, it has the added bonus of looking like a hit instead of something personal.
His lips curve into a facsimile of a smile before he takes a drink of his beer. “Not lost, but you’re certainly hiding… something. Although I do have to commend you. It’s been a while since I’ve spied such clever prey. I thought you might be undercover police for a while, but I ruled that out long ago. The crimes you’ve committed go far beyond the boundaries of law enforcement.”
My eyes dart around the restaurant before coming back to rest on him. “I’m just a visitor to Monterrey, Mexico. No crimes here.” I look at him pointedly, ignoring the prey comment for now.
He laughs. “Nobody would dare listen in on my conversations.”
I guess I won’t admit to listening to him on a regular basis. “Some of us are not so fortunate. Do you have the information or not? I’m tired and want to get some sleep.”
“Not so fast, mi amiga. I want to have a chat with you about your park visits with Armando Morales. It’s my job to protect him and make sure he doesn’t get himself into trouble like his brother,” Rodrigo explains. “The organization was very upset when Julio died.”
