When Villains Rise

by Rebecca Schaeffer

  He considered. “Probably not. He’d send someone to see how it went, though.”

  Nita tapped a finger on her leg. “Would he come to meet a high-profile client there?”

  “Maybe. Depends on the client.”

  “With only a day’s notice?”

  “Notice isn’t an issue if the person is important enough.”

  Nita nodded to herself. “I figured as much.” Nita turned to Kovit. “We’re going out.”

  He blinked at her. “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  Fabricio ran his hand through his hair. “Where?”

  Nita raised her eyebrows. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here. Kovit, get the duct tape.”

  Fabricio raised his hands again, palms out. “I thought we were working together?”

  “We are. But I don’t want to leave you here unbound. Who knows what plans you could set up behind my back?”

  Fabricio’s shoulders slumped as Kovit led him to a chair and began duct-taping him to it. Fabricio gave Kovit a mournful look. “Can you tape me to the couch instead? It’s more comfortable.”

  Kovit shrugged. “All right.”

  Nita rolled her eyes. “Kovit, you need to stop doing everything your prisoners ask.”

  “There’s no harm in letting him be comfortable,” Kovit protested.

  Nita sighed dramatically.

  Fabricio plopped on the couch and held out his hands for Kovit to tape. “You’re not a great team player, Nita, you know that?”

  “I don’t particularly care.”

  He muttered something inaudible over the squeak of the duct tape being peeled off its roll.

  When Fabricio was bound, Nita and Kovit headed for the door. “Don’t worry, Fabricio, we’ll be back in a few hours.”

  “And if you die?” His voice was caustic. “I’ll be stuck here in a duct tape cocoon until I die too.”

  “Nonsense, the Airbnb is only booked for three days. They’ll discover you when they come in to clean it. You can survive without water for at least that long.”

  “That’s not exactly comforting.”

  Nita waved it away. “Not my problem.”

  She closed the door behind her before Fabricio could voice any more complaints.

  Nita and Kovit made their way toward the conference hotel, following the map on Nita’s phone. They walked north, up a wide cobblestoned pedestrian street full of clean, pricy shops interspersed with bookstores and fast-food chains. There must have been three McDonald’s in just as many blocks. Glass windows and modern blocky buildings mixed with massive stone archways and turn-of-the-century European construction styles. All along the streets, manteros had laid mats on the ground and spread jewelry, wire animals, sandals, belts, and an assortment of other things up for sale.

  The echo of currency exchange people calling, “Cambio, cambio, cambio,” mixed with the roar of the nearby roads and the chatter of hundreds of people on the crowded street, many of them exchanging their unstable pesos for dollars and euros, currencies with less fluctuation.

  Nita stuck close to Kovit, trying to distance herself as much as possible from the crowds of strangers. She curled her body away each time someone brushed past and clenched her fists at her sides.

  She kept her head low, trying to avoid notice. It was only a matter of time before the black market realized she was in Argentina. INHUP had leaked her location before, but she hadn’t traveled with INHUP this time. Did whoever had leaked her information last time have access to flight manifests? Passport control records? She didn’t know.

  Her hair fell over her eyes and watched the people around her carefully. She couldn’t let her guard down just because they were in a new city.

  Nita and Kovit eventually turned toward the water, crossing a series of massive highways to get to a bridge. The bridge was designed all in white with tall ridges on one side that made it look like a sail floating across the waves. The wooden boards creaked as they walked across, and the sound reminded Nita too much of the groan of the wooden docks in Death Market.

  Ultramodern and ultra-expensive, the conference hotel resembled nothing more than a cubed fishbowl. Nita hated buildings like that, they made her feel like she was back in a glass cage again.

  The lobby was as plush and modern as the building promised, all circular white couches and pristine white desks. A stairwell on the far side of the lobby led up to the second floor, and pleasant-looking signs were posted in gold at various points, directing people to different rooms.

  Nita pulled up her list of major dignitaries attending the conference and showed it to Kovit. She’d weeded through it earlier and picked out the people who seemed important enough that Alberto Tácunan would take notice. “We want one of these men.”

  Kovit scrolled through the list, examining the pictures and smiling slightly. “Does it have to be one of these guys, or will any rich middle-aged man do?”

  Nita rolled her eyes. “You know they won’t.”

  The two of them took lobby chairs facing reception so they could watch who was checking in. With the conference starting tomorrow, there were a lot of people arriving today, and it was only a matter of time before one of her targets showed up.

  They settled in for the long wait, and Kovit idly twirled one of the free pens on the table. A stocky young white man walked by talking on the phone in English.

  Kovit watched him, his mouth turning down.

  Nita frowned. “Do you know him?”

  He shook his head. “No. He just looks a little like Matt.”

  “Oh.” Nita looked at the young man again. He had a loud, brash voice, and he was exclaiming at someone on the phone. His muscles were too large, toned past the point of being attractive and into the point of being a bit creepy. He had that square jaw and football-player look that was popular in movie stars, but Nita had always found unattractive.

  “Did I ever tell you?” Kovit asked softly. “What Matt did that made Henry so angry?”

  Nita turned to him. “No.”

  Kovit’s eyes were on the stranger. “Matt was supposed to kidnap a man and bring him back to the compound. The target was checking into a swanky hotel just like this one.” His smile was bitter as the Matt-looking young man hung up and walked to the elevator. “Matt was supposed to follow him up to his room and snatch him. He had a large suitcase ready to stuff the body into—a beige and purple flowered one that looked like an old lady’s curtains.”

  “What happened?” Nita asked.

  “The person he was supposed to kidnap resisted.” Kovit shrugged. “Matt had a violent streak. He pulverized the man’s head, murdered him. Brought the body back. Oh, man, Henry was mad. They were only planning to scare the man, give him a good rattling. They didn’t want him dead.”

  Kovit sighed heavily. “It wasn’t the first time something like that happened, and well . . . Henry decided Matt was a liability.”

  “And asked you to get rid of him,” Nita finished.

  “Yeah.” Kovit looked around the room, his eyes dark, lost in the past. “It’s still so hard to wrap my head around. That Henry killed him, after everything. It doesn’t feel real?” He ran his hand through his hair and gave a sharp laugh. “I never saw the body. I don’t know how or when it happened. And I’m in a strange place, so there’s no memories of him here, nothing to remind me that he should be here too but isn’t.” He closed his eyes. “Sometimes, I feel like he was just a dream, a phantom I made up to be not so alone in the Family.”

  Nita was quiet a long moment before she asked, “Is it easier? To pretend he was a dream?”

  “Easier? Maybe. But it makes me feel like a shitty friend.”

  Nita didn’t have much to say to that. She’d felt similar when grieving for her father. She still felt it now. Anytime she let the world distract her, let her mind slip away from the pain, she’d suddenly see something and be struck by the realization that her father was, indeed, still dead. And she’d feel like she betraye
d him every time she forgot, even for those brief moments.

  “What about Henry?” Nita asked.

  Kovit’s expression darkened. “What about him?”

  Nita hesitated. “You’ve been avoiding talking about him.”

  “I don’t want to grieve for him. He betrayed me in every possible way. He ruined my life, he treated me like an object, and he murdered my best friend. I shouldn’t grieve for him.”

  “But you can’t help it,” Nita said gently.

  Kovit swallowed heavily. “Why does he get so much space in my mind? Matt was a friend, a real friend, but Henry’s the one whose death haunts me, who plays over and over in my head.” His voice was bitter. “I wish I could just turn it off, shut out all these feelings. I don’t want them. He doesn’t deserve them.”

  Nita bowed her head. “It would be a lot easier if we could stop caring about the people who hurt us.”

  She thought of her mother, and her dark promise to get rid of Kovit, and shuddered softly. Why did Nita always go back to her? Why couldn’t she have remembered her passport the first time?

  “It would,” Kovit agreed. He ran a hand through his hair. “I just keep coming back to that moment we realized he’d sold me out to INHUP. If he couldn’t have me, no one could. Like those pet owners who’d rather put down their pets when they move than let another person adopt them. Like he thought he owned me.”

  “I think,” Nita said carefully, “in his mind, he did.”

  Kovit sighed. His eyes were dry, and his expression was calm, but she could see that he was hurting underneath it all. She didn’t blame him. He’d be some sort of superhuman if he could get over murdering his surrogate father in only two days.

  She’d opened her mouth to say something when he elbowed her gently, a wicked grin coming over his face, breaking the spell of grief.

  “Look,” he whispered, eyes hungry and violent and full of delight.

  Nita followed his gaze and found a man checking in at the registration desk. A slow smile crept across her features.

  Kovit pulled out his switchblade and smiled, cracked and dark and promising agony for all those in his path, and he whispered, “Time to have some fun.”

  Eighteen

  NITA KNOCKED on the door to room 403. Kovit stood just to her side, invisible through the peephole. There was no answer the first time she knocked, so she did it again, and called in Spanish, trying to mimic Fabricio’s strong Porteño accent, “Mr. Almeida, you left your credit card at reception. We’ve been trying to call your room phone, but it doesn’t seem to be functioning.”

  There was a muffled thud, and then the door opened to reveal a sweaty middle-aged white man glaring at them.

  “What?” His Spanish was heavily Portuguese-accented. “Are you sure?”

  Nita just smiled and smashed two knuckles into his throat.

  He choked, stumbling backwards, and Nita stepped into the room, closely followed by Kovit. She closed the door behind them, and Kovit smiled as he watched the man gasp and sputter. “You’re getting better at this.”

  “Thank you.” Nita returned his smile, flicked her phone onto its loudest setting, and played some death metal from YouTube, loud off-key screams reverberating around the room just under the heavy base.

  Almeida stumbled to his feet, but Kovit casually grabbed him, twisted his arm behind his back with one hand, and seized his throat with the other. Almeida couldn’t get air to scream as Kovit twisted the arm, forcing Almeida down.

  Nita took out the duct tape, and they set to work taping him firmly to the chair.

  When they were done, Nita sat down on the bed across from Almeida.

  “Do you know who I am?” she asked.

  Kovit had covered his mouth with tape so he couldn’t scream, and Almeida just shook his head, eyes wide with fear.

  “That’s fine, then. You don’t need to.” Nita fished through his briefcase, searching for his laptop. She pulled it out and opened it to a password screen. “But if you want to get out of this alive, I’ll need your laptop password.”

  He started to shake his head, and Kovit pressed his switchblade into Almeida’s throat. “Think carefully.”

  Almeida swallowed, and the switchblade pressed a little harder, drawing a thin trickle of blood. Almeida’s eyes flicked between them, and he tried to say something through the duct tape.

  Nita smiled softly. “Let me get that for you. And remember, if you try and scream, my friend will cut your vocal cords right out, and I’ll make you write the answers to my questions.”

  Almeida flinched, either at Nita’s calm words of horror or the duct tape ripping off his skin, Nita wasn’t sure.

  “It’s my girlfriend’s birthday.” Almeida’s voice was hoarse as he gave them the date.

  Nita typed it in and then went straight to the email icon. “Do you work with Alberto Tácunan?”

  His eyes widened. “Uh.”

  “Never mind, I found the emails.” She smiled slightly, scrolling through his inbox. She’d organized it by sender, and she skimmed boring emails about tax forms and offshore accounts and funneling money. “Any plans to meet him while you’re here?”

  “No.”

  Nita ordered the emails by most recent and decided he was telling the truth. So she composed an email to Alberto Tácunan, marked as urgent.

  Something has come up. I need to see you in person. I’m at the summit tomorrow. Can we meet?

  She considered adding more details, but decided the vaguer the better, and hit the Send button.

  She glanced through the emails, and Kovit retaped Almeida’s mouth and asked in a hungry, hopeful voice, “Can I play with him?”

  Nita kept her face calm even as her stomach turned. “Not yet. We still might need him.”

  Kovit sighed and flopped on the bed beside her to read over her shoulder. On the chair, Almeida began to struggle, but it was pointless, and both Nita and Kovit ignored him.

  Kovit watched as Nita flipped through emails with Tácunan Law, scrolling through Almeida’s files. Offshore accounts, check. Funneling campaign money into personal accounts, check. Running a brothel in São Paulo, check.

  “What a sleazeball.” Kovit’s voice was layered with disgust.

  “Agreed.” Nita casually copied the relevant emails and sent their details to one of the Brazilian nonprofits trying to end corruption.

  Kovit pointed at one of the email headers. “Look, did he ask his superiors to be the representative to attend this summit?”

  Nita blinked and clicked on the email. He had indeed requested it. She skimmed the email, then the next. It looked like Mr. Almeida had significant holdings in the black market. He’d lost a lot of money when el Mercado de la Muerte was destroyed—a lot of bribe money, specifically. He’d wanted to come here to ensure that whatever happened, this summit failed.

  “Wow.” Kovit’s eyes were wide. “I’d realized the black market had a lot of reach—they must have to keep Death Market running so easily—but this . . .”

  “I know,” Nita whispered. “It’s a lot.”

  “Look there.” Kovit reached over her shoulder and clicked an email. “Is that a hit? He put a hit on an activist?”

  Not just any activist. He’d put a hit on Mirella.

  Her companion in captivity in el Mercado de la Muerte. The girl who’d had her eye gouged out and sold, who’d escaped with Nita, who’d been shot on the dock. Who Nita had thought dead until she came and wreaked bloody vengeance on the people attempting to flee the market after Nita burned it to the ground.

  It was hard to imagine Mirella as such a powerful activist that she could cause a summit like this. That she could inspire assassination attempts. Mirella was always trapped in Nita’s mind as the victim, powerless and angry. A victim of Reyes, who sold her for parts on the black market, a victim of Boulder, who’d stolen her eye and eaten it.

  A victim of Kovit, who’d tortured her.

  Nita shivered at that thought and tried not to th
ink too hard about Kovit leaning over her shoulder, reading up on assassination plans for Mirella.

  “Wow, this activist person is impressive.” Kovit scrolled through the email. “She really pissed these people off.”

  Nita blinked. “You still can’t say her name?”

  “Whose name?”

  “Mirella.”

  He looked at her blankly.

  And Nita realized: he didn’t remember Mirella’s name. She was nothing to him but another faceless victim in his past. He had no idea who Nita was talking about. Mirella was so unimportant to him that the memories had already faded into nothing.

  Nausea rose in Nita’s stomach. Mirella’s screams had haunted Nita’s nightmares, and Kovit, the instigator of those screams, didn’t even remember her. Nita had always known he dissociated from his victims, refused to name them, refused to make them people in his mind. But seeing him looking between Nita and the email in confusion after everything he’d done made her ill.

  Kovit occasionally frightened her. She hated watching him eat, seeing the perverse pleasure he got from others’ pain. But seeing this, right here, this lack of recognition, was somehow so much worse than when he’d ripped that INHUP agent’s tongue out in front of her. Worse than Fabricio describing what Kovit had done to him.

  “Dolphin girl,” Nita tried. “You remember, in the market?”

  He continued to stare at her blankly, and a chill ran down Nita’s spine.

  She turned away quickly. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

  Even though it really was.

  She clicked through the emails and found that this latest assassination attempt was going to be the third by Almeida alone, never mind other organizations. Mirella was apparently very effective as an activist.

  Nita sighed. All that power, and all Mirella had managed to do was paint an even bigger target on her back. Nita couldn’t help but sympathize—they were stuck in similar situations, targets of people more powerful than they. In some ways, it felt like they’d never escaped the black market at all. They’d just gotten out of one cage and into another. And this one didn’t have clear walls or ways to see your enemies. You couldn’t shoot them or burn them, because you didn’t always know who they were. And even if you did, Nita imagined if Mirella murdered high-ranking government officials, it would have consequences.