The guy laughs again, but menacingly this time. He reaches for the gun but Annabelle slaps his hand away with her free one. “If you don’t shoot him, I will.”
“This is none of your concern,” she tells him tonelessly.
“Like hell it isn’t! You are my concern and you know I’ll kill anyone who threatens you!” he barks at her.
“Go pack our bags,” she orders him, as if unfazed by his statement.
He doesn’t look like he would normally take orders from her, but stomps off into one of the bedrooms. Annabelle just stares at me in silence, her beautiful face is emotionless. Her black hair is unbound and wild around her face from our earlier activity. A sense of male satisfaction shoots through me knowing that I contributed to her sex hair.
The guy stomps back in a minute later, carrying a large black leather duffel, and says, “Pack your own shit, Annie.”
She lets out an amused sound. “Fine, be a bitch.” Then she holds out the gun to him. “Keep an eye on him and do not shoot him.” Pointing a finger at him, she lowers her voice, “And I won’t believe that it was an accident.”
He ignores her gun and pulls out one of his own from under his un-tucked dress shirt. “Yeah, yeah, hurry the hell up.” He waves the gun in an impatient gesture.
What a loving relationship. And she chose him over me?
Instead of going into the same bedroom as he did, she goes into one on the other side of the suite, which may just save his life. So, her stuff isn’t in his room? Guess they might not be screwing after all. That shouldn’t matter to me, definitely shouldn’t make me happy, but it does.
When Annabelle is out of earshot, I can’t hold back the question, “Are you fucking her?”
He makes a strangled sound in his throat. “My tastes don’t run that way.”
Relief comes from that, but my curiosity is whetted. “Oh, so you’re gay?”
“Fuck no!” His look can only be described as a mixture of startled and disgusted. It’d be funny if he wasn’t holding that gun on me and if I wasn’t still feeling jealous despite his denial.
“So what are you, her partner?” I ask, wanting my questions about the fake Russian guy finally answered. Part of my closure, I assure myself.
“Annie doesn’t need a partner, she’s almost as talented as me,” he states cockily. Then he scowls at me, threatening me with, “I’d shoot you in a heartbeat if she’d let me.”
“Why doesn’t she?” ‘Cause I really don’t understand that myself. More games?
He looks at me like I’m an imbecile, saying slowly, “Duh, because she’s an idiot who loves you.”
“So, you’re a liar just like her,” I grit out through my clenched jaw, looking away from him towards the doorway she disappeared through.
“Now who’s lying? You love her right back.” He seems far from ecstatic about that thought, adding, “You two idiots are made for each other.”
My gaze darts back to him and I give him a dirty look. “I’m going to kill her.”
“See, that’s exactly what you shouldn’t be saying in this situation,” he warns me, shaking the gun in the air. “Hence the gun in your face?” From the look in his eyes, I know he wouldn’t hesitate.
Changing the subject, I walk over to a nearby wall to lean casually against it. “So, what’s your name?”
He hesitates only a moment before answering, “You can just call me cool.”
“I’m not going to call you cool. Unlike you and Annabelle, I don’t like lying.”
He laughs despite himself. Annabelle walks back in looking from one of us to the other. Setting her suitcase down next to his duffel, I notice her change of apparel and I like. Black jeans, mid-calf black low-heeled boots and a tight, dark purple sweater. Her hair is in a sleek ponytail at the base of her skull. Glaring at their luggage, carnal relationship or not, I can’t help being jealous.
Her face is sad, her words decisive, “We’ll tie him up and leave him for the maids.”
Walking to me, she has a gold braided rope in her hand. I retreat from the wall and back away from her. “What do you do, carry that around with you in case you want to strangle someone?”
She shakes her head, speaking almost tonelessly, “Strangling takes too long. Plus, it’s from the canopy curtains. Now, either you cooperate or I’ll have to knock you out again.”
I definitely don’t want another headache like the one I had after she knocked me out twice in the same day back in Miami. Eyeing the gun the guy is holding, knowing that I don’t stand a chance of getting out of this situation, I arrogantly hold out my hands in front of me.
Instead, she moves behind me and yanks my hands behind my back. A minute later, I pull against the binding, disappointed that she can tie a knot so well. She then orders me to walk into the bedroom that was hers and lay on the bed. I glance at the dude holding a gun before complying. Lying down on my back with my hands underneath me, I watch Annabelle untie another gold rope from the canopy curtain and use it tie my ankles. This is kind of degrading, definitely frustrating.
She hovers over me and runs her fingers through my hair, murmuring, “You need a haircut.” Then she sighs deeply, regretfully. “I’m not going to gag you, Gabriel, because then you’d be here all night until the maids come in the morning. Instead, if you yell long enough someone should come and release you.”
Ignoring her look of resigned sadness, I glare at her, filling my words with venom, “Next time I find you, Annabelle, you’re dead.”
She smiles at me indulgently, softening her tone, “I love you and you love me. You just need time to remember that. How about I make you a deal?”
“I don’t make deals with the devil,” I spout stubbornly.
She ignores my rude remark. “I’ll be gone from Paris before you’ll be able to find me. You only have two months left of high school. If you go home and finish school, I promise to contact you by the end of May with my location at that time. Then you can come and pretend that you’re going to kill me.”
“What about you? Don’t you need to finish high school too?” I ask, curious to know more about her real life despite myself.
She smiles ruefully, answering, “I got my GED four years ago in the United States. I had a job to do and school would have gotten in the way.”
“Four years ago?” I ask in disbelief. “You started murdering people when you were fourteen?”
She gets an offended expression on her face, narrowing her brown eyes at me. “Killing people who deserve it, is not murder.”
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Fine, the murder spree ends in two months when we meet again.”
The smartass grin of hers tests a temper already pushed to the limit. “You keep telling yourself that.” Hesitantly, she kisses me gently on the lips, but I turn my face away. Undaunted, she whispers, “I love you, Gabriel.”
As much as a part of me would like to believe her . . . I don’t. In response I tell her, “I hate you, sociopath.” A hurt look crosses her face, making her big golden brown eyes shine, and I remind myself that she’s an Oscar-worthy actress. Then she’s gone and I immediately begin yelling for help.
Chapter 22
Annabelle
Lima, Peru - May 15th
“Dammit, Annie! Quit skipping! I don’t know how you can be so happy in this humidity,” Jackson grumbles from a few yards behind me. I glance over at him to see him pull the collar of his Alianza Lima t-shirt away from the damp skin at his neck. It’s not hot outside, this being the start of winter down here, but still very humid. The sea mist creeping in reminds me of the time I was in Southern Chile. Looking up at the cloudy sky, I’m thankful it isn’t raining like last night. But the dirt roads in this dodgy area of the city have been turned into mud.
“Quit being such a baby, Jacks. I don’t want you here anyways. You’ve been tagging along on my contracts for the past two months now. Haven’t you told Simon what a totally sane, awesome job I’ve been doing?” Waiting for him to c
atch up, I push at his shoulder playfully, but he isn’t in a playful mood and just scowls at me. Big overgrown baby.
“You have been,” he concedes, “But, you forget that I was in Paris with you two months ago. I know that you’ve lost all sanity where it concerns your little boy toy.”
“Gabriel is not my boy toy! He’s my boyfriend, sort of.”
Jackson gives me a pointed look. “I think he would consider the two of you broken up. Breaking up usually accompanies murdering the other person’s father.”
Letting out an aggravated groan, I snap, “How many times do I have to tell you, Jackson? Gabriel doesn’t really want to kill me. He’s just hurting and wants to hurt me in return.”
“I still don’t trust him . . . or you, in regards to him. I know you have this idiotic plan that you two will reunite after he graduates high school.”
“Two weeks.” To annoy Jackson I sigh dreamily, adding a bounce to my step.
Jackson gives me an odd look. “You’re turning into such a girl, Annie.”
Rolling my eyes, I give him the finger. “I am a girl, dumbass.”
“No, like a real girl,” he says as if that makes total sense. Dumbass.
“Whatever, try not to interfere with my job.” Pointing with a thumb at my chest, I tell him, “Serious assassin here trying to work.”
“Serious assassins don’t fall in love,” he mutters.
I ignore him.
Before we turn the corner and reach our destination, I hold out my arm to halt Jackson. “Hold up. This is a rare shot of this man outside of the jungles. If I miss this opportunity, then I’m going to have to venture down the Amazon to get at him.”
“I know the job, Annie, and how to do it. Try to remember who taught you everything you know.” He grins smugly in superiority.
“Yeah, I do remember that Simon, not you, taught me everything I know,” I reply. “Jeez, pretty soon you’ll be claiming to have given birth to me.”
“Ouch,” he teases, “With your big head, I can only imagine how painful that was for our mother.”
I stomp my foot indignantly. “My head is perfectly proportioned to the size of my body!”
He pats me on the shoulder. “Of course it is. And your ears don’t stick out either.”
Doing the only thing a sister can do in this situation, I kick him in the shin. At his yelp of pain, I consider my first mission of the day accomplished.
He rubs his shin, glaring at me. “Let’s just get this job done so that I can have a break from babysitting you.” Then under his breath, he adds, “I need to get laid.”
I’m so ignoring that last remark.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do, get the job done. And it’s not babysitting. It’s tagging along like the damn nuisance you are. Watch me work and maybe you’ll learn something.”
Turning my attention back to our surroundings, I peer around the corner of the building to see the rundown bar that my target, Arturo Martinez, is supposed to be at this afternoon. It’s definitely not in the best area of this city with not a tourist in sight. I look ruefully down at the touristy ensemble that I’ve donned. Well, at least not any real tourists. I look so freaking gay in this outfit. I’m wearing a flowered ruffle skirt, tank top with a giant tropical flower on it and white espadrille sandals. All I’m missing is a neon fanny pack.
The predators in this place won’t be able to resist my helpless female image. But there's one predator in particular that I’m hoping will take notice. Arturo Martinez, leader of the Bright Path terrorist group.
The bastard, along with all of his homies, like to terrorize those who cross their sleazy paths along the Amazon River near the Colombian border. The terrorist group recently kidnapped and murdered twelve foreign aid workers who were attempting to bring medicines to a remote tribe in the jungle.
Along with kidnapping for ransom and murder, the group’s terrorist talents include violence against peasants, drug smuggling, sabotage against American interests in Peru, car bombings and the killing of government officials and police officers. Although the Bright Path is a decades old group, Arturo Martinez has been leader for only the past five years. It’s time for Arturo to retire.
He rarely leaves the jungles along the Amazon, so I'd initially planned on pursuing him there. That would have been a huge pain in the ass. However, this morning Simon received information that he would be in Lima visiting family. While scoping out his aunt’s house a couple blocks away this morning, I offered a neighborhood boy a buck to give me any info he had on the comings and goings in that house.
Little punk held out for more.
As I held out the dollar, I had asked him in Spanish, “Do you know the people who live at that house?” I pointed to the house with the faded pink paint and white front door. Well, at least it was better than the orange house down the street.
Clever little brat replied, “Not for a dollar, I don’t.”
I pulled another dollar out of my jeans pocket. “How about for two?”
He just shook his head, pissing me off. I added a quarter to the growing pile of money that I held in the palm of one hand. “How about I throw in a nice shiny quarter?”
He scoffed and looked offended at my suggestion. Jackson, who was standing behind me at the time, immaturely laughed at the kid who was besting me.
Narrowing my eyes, I looked at him more closely. “How old are you, kid?”
The kid crossed his arms and puffed up his puny chest. “Seven and a half.”
“Ten American dollars, that’s my final offer.” I stared down at him in what was supposed to be an intimidating way.
It didn’t faze the brat. “Twenty American dollars and that necklace you are wearing for my mama.”
So, um yeah, a seven and a half year old Peruvian boy made me lose my cool. “Cabrón!” I yelled and picked him up by his shirt. “Your parents should send you to work in a soccer ball factory!”
That’s when Jackson butted in and disengaged my fingers from the kid’s faded Ninja Turtles t-shirt, setting the kid back down on his dirty bare feet. Jackson was only laughing harder by this point. I felt an unusual occurrence of guilt because the boy finally looked intimidated and scared.
He freely gave the information I sought after that. Turns out that his best friend was Arturo Martinez’s youngest cousin and he was able to overhear the grownups’ conversation earlier that day about going to the bar. The kid made out good and got forty dollars and my necklace out of the deal. My guilt was assuaged. Hey! I donate money to Feed The Children, I’m not completely heartless. Besides, I could have sworn I saw the kid turn around and smirk as he walked away.
So that’s why I happen to be around the corner from this shitty bar, leaning against a building with powder blue paint peeling off the wall, plotting the death of Arturo Martinez. Why am I always killing men while they’re at bars and clubs? I shrug off the thought, something to think about at a later time.
“I still think I should go in with you,” Jackson whispers.
I turn my head back to look at him as I respond, “Having a big strong man with me would ruin the helpless female image. You can hang outside the door and listen for trouble.” Knowing him, he’d try to steal my thunder by taking out Martinez himself.
A grunt is his only reply. That’s what I thought.
“I’m going in,” I say then saunter around the side of the building toward the bar entrance. Jackson will wait until I’m inside to take his post outside the propped open wood door. While I’m dressed in a brightly-colored touristy getup, Jackson is dressed like one of the locals in this area of the city. T-shirt, jeans and sneakers, all worn out looking enough that not even a thrift store would accept them. Yeah, he looks like shit.
Strolling into the bar, all eyes turn towards me, totally expected with me looking the way I do. I’m like a walking neon sign. The hot pink bikini top straps are peeking out from underneath my tank top. Underneath the bouncy floral skirt, I’m wearing matching hot
pink boy short bottoms, and if someone happens to get a peek, oops!
“Hola!” I call out to everyone in the bar in a girly voice, while playing with my blonde ponytail. Then I continue in purposely badly spoken Spanish, “Could anyone tell me how to get back to my hotel? The Miraflores Park Hotel?” I name one of the pricier hotels in the city, seeing dollar signs in a few of their eyes. Shifting from one foot to the other, the linoleum floor is sticky beneath my sandals. It being daytime, the place is lit only by the meager light provided from the cloudy day outside. The shutters on the numerous windows are probably closed once dusk comes, with overhead lights being switched on.
While speaking, I spy Arturo Martinez lounging in a booth not ten feet away. A guy not much older than Jackson comes up to me with a leering grin. Boy, someone needs to get himself to una dentista. “I could offer you someplace to stay tonight.”
Waste of my time. I brush past him to stand under the large woven ceiling fan. My blonde ponytail strands and ridiculous skirt are lifted slightly in the cool breeze. “No thanks, I just need to get back to my hotel. My parents will kill me if I don’t make it back by dark and I’m lost.”
Slowing down as I’m about to walk past Martinez’s booth, not glancing his way, a dark hand shoots out and wraps itself around my wrist. I halt and give a stunned look to the man that the hand is attached to. Holding back a victorious smile, I stare into the almost black eyes of Arturo Martinez. “Excuse me?” I ask guilelessly.
His smile is predatory, with white but slightly crooked teeth. “We could give you a ride to your hotel,” he offers and glances boastfully at the two men seated across from him.
I open my eyes wide and gaze worshipfully at him. “Oh could you? I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”
“No bother. We can take you after our next drink.” Wow, what a nice guy, I think sarcastically, offering to drive me after he drinks more alcohol. Playing the dumb naive tourist has me thinking about how some people are stupid enough to actually fall prey to men like Martinez. I notice the almost empty Pilsen Trujillo beer resting on the table in front of him as I take a seat next to him. Perfect.
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