Damn it, Dale, tell me you had something.
Nothing, just weapons and a laptop. No time. I need to meet up with the crazy bitch who’s going to drive me to my torture appointment.
Fuck.
It’s not a long drive from the cache. I don’t care if I’m being followed anymore, although it would be a little ironic if some other assassin took me out and claimed the bounty on my head before Santiago could get to me. The sick bastard would probably find that amusing.
I’m to meet this woman in public at a café in the Old City, probably to make sure I don’t attack her. Santiago thinks everyone is like him, a totally sick fuck without the slightest hint of scruples. I don’t hurt women. I have rules.
He doesn’t.
What the hell. I park the Impala in a garage so she won’t get towed (for a while, anyway; I’m probably not coming back to her alive) and walk down to the corner of Third and Market where there’s this pizza place.
Crazy Bitch Lily is sitting at a table in the corner, eating a slice of pepperoni pizza. I walk in, sit down at the cast-iron table, and give her the death stare.
“Hello,” she says.
“I can see you’re all choked up.”
“Been stewing on that one a while, I see.”
“Better than dumping your drink in your lap and saying, ‘Ice to see you.’ I considered that one.”
She snorts. “I’m sure you did.”
“Are you going to sit here and watch me squirm or can we go get me tortured to death now? I want to get this over with.”
“Want some pizza?”
I glance down at the mostly uneaten pie on the table before me.
Lily shrugs. “I’m not going to poison you. Santiago wants you for himself.”
“Kinky,” I declare, and take a slice of pizza.
“You’re in a weird position,” she says, chewing. “You want to throw all sorts of threats at me about your woman, but you can’t because I’m a woman.”
“That’s right, I won’t hurt you.”
“Stupid.”
“Yeah.” I chew with my mouth open. “That’s me. We gonna get a beer or get this over with?”
“Let’s go,” she says, rising. “You understand what happens if you bail on me.”
“Yeah, I understand.”
“Good, I don’t feel like chasing you.”
I stand up and follow her out. It’s blazing hot out, the sun baking down on the city streets, hitting the brick of the buildings and warming them up to oven hot. I start to sweat. She doesn’t.
“What happened between you and Santiago?” she says, glancing at me as I walk beside her.
“We had a falling out.”
“Over what?”
“He had two apprentices at the time. Only one of us was going to pass the test. It was never said but I knew it all the same.”
“You had to kill the other one?”
“No, he did, and I swore if I ever saw him alive again, I’d kill him. He just laughed at me. Santiago de la Rosa can never be killed, he’d say.”
“He says that a lot. Who was the guy?”
“Girl. Like you. You alone?”
“I’m the only one.”
“You’re not freelancing yet.”
She shakes her head.
“What’d he do after you returned from your failed mission? You tried to kill me and didn’t succeed.”
“Nothing. He said we’d correct the problem. He said you were his most dangerous pupil and it was a mistake to send me alone.”
“Oh,” I say cheerily. “I guess he didn’t tell you what that means.”
“No, what?” she says, a hint of curiosity in her voice.
“It means he’s going to kill you, too. He doesn’t tolerate failure, Lily. Is that your name, Lily?”
“I gave it to you true. I was there to kill you, after all, not much reason to hide my name. Professional courtesy, and Santiago is not going to kill me.”
I walk with her to a parking garage and my instincts make me scan all the exits and corners.
“Have you told Santiago we’re coming?”
“Yes, of course. I’m not an idiot. If I don’t make it back, your women are dead.”
“Right, right. How much time would you say we have?”
“It’s an hour drive.”
“Call him and tell him there’s traffic, it will take longer.”
“Why should I do that?”
“I have a story you need to hear.”
“I’m not interested.”
“I’m offering you this as a courtesy. I’m trying to save you.”
“Why?”
“You’re a woman.”
“So?”
“You want the answer to that question, tell Santiago we’re going to be late.”
She stops and fishes out the keys to the car.
“Get in, Mulqueen.”
I sit down in the front seat of the car, and wait. Outside Lily has a clipped conversation on the phone before she gets in with me. She starts the car and wheels around to the bottom of the garage.
“I’ve given you maybe an extra twenty minutes. Think that’ll work?”
“Yeah. I’ll make this quick. When Santiago first took me in I was twelve years old. He already had another apprentice. Her name was Samantha. She was a year older than I was, and I was just starting to notice girls, so it made things a little awkward even in Santiago’s place. He still at the villa?”
“No, we move around.”
“Yeah, figures.”
“So you got close,” she says as she eases the car to a stop at a red light. “So what?”
“We got close. It was an awkward teenage thing. We spent a lot of time together, shared training, did homework together. Lots of math.”
“Yeah, there’s a lot of trigonometry involved in sniping.”
“Chemistry for poisons and explosives, the works. You know the drill. We competed a lot. She was very tomboyish. It was a weird thing because we were basically in killer school.
“Still, it wasn’t real. It was like a game. None of it felt real, the target shooting, the sparring with rubber knives. Neither of us shared much about our pasts. All I knew about her was that her parents died. I didn’t tell her much more about me.”
“Then what?”
“Two horny teenagers in close proximity, mostly unsupervised. Do I need to spell it out?”
“No.”
“Santiago gave us condoms. He wanted it that way. I’m surprised there isn’t a boy that trained with you.”
“No, I’ve always been alone.”
“Anyway. He blooded us at sixteen. Not together, thank God. Even then some part of me didn’t want her to see me do it. I didn’t want to see her do it either.”
“You’re delusional,” Lily sighs. “This kind of poetic bullshit is what Santiago wants us to give up. Nobody is innocent, Mulqueen.”
“I was. You were. Santiago de la Rosa is twisted, Lily, and he wants to make us like that which twisted him. This needs to end. He needs to be stopped.”
“Shut up.”
I sigh and shift in the seat. “You know what the blooding was like. Mine went poorly but it went. I think he decided then I was the useless one, but I kept at it, kept up with the training. Started going with him on missions. He never took us together, only singly. You know why he did that?”
“No, why?”
“Because even one witness fucks up his sick little fantasy world. He goes on and on and on about himself in the third person, and Santiago de la Rosa this, and Santiago de la Rosa that, and he’s afraid if two people hear it together they’ll realize how full of shit he is. He’s not an artist or a poet. He kills people for money. There’s nothing amazing about him. He’s just an asshole in a mask. A sadist. He’s not training you, Lily. He’s playing with you. You’re a toy, and when you don’t amuse him anymore, you’ll be dead.”
She glances at me. “What happened?”
“When it w
as time to end our apprenticeship we were each given a mission. Separate. Yet we were given the same target.”
“What?”
“Same target, different methods. It was a game to him, you see, and it was rigged. Only one of us could win. I don’t even remember why the guy had a price on his head, he was nobody, but I was standing over his corpse when Sam came in the room through another door amped up to kill this guy, and it was then I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“What he’d do to the loser. That was the purpose of that final test, to break the ‘winner’ completely. To make them like him. He didn’t care who it was. I told Sam to run. I begged and pleaded with her to flee, told her I’d cover for her, but she went back anyway. We went back together. Then do you know what happened?”
“No, what?”
“Santiago said to Samantha, ‘You were not ready. It was a mistake to send you alone.’ She actually looked relieved. She never saw it coming. He shot her in the back of the head and told me, ‘You killed her, Quentin, by besting her. I was only the instrument. This is a life where only the strong survive.’”
Lily swallows. I can see her throat bobbing.
“He didn’t send you to kill me, you dumb bitch. He sent for you to be killed. That would be his finest act, make me break my rule against killing women. When we get back where we’re going he’s going to kill you and tell me it’s my fault and that you were dead once you stepped into that bar to meet me, and whether it was by my hand or his, it’s my fault because I angered my employers and damaged the reputation of Santiago de la Rosa. Those’ll be his exact fucking words, Lily. I know how he thinks.”
“Be quiet,” she says, but her voice is shaky, panicky.
“I will. Gotta say one more thing. If you want to make it out of this alive, you can help me get my girls back. I am not Santiago. I won’t kill you after you’ve outlived your usefulness. Or you can hand me over to that creature and let him play some sick game with me before he kills us all. He won’t even save you for last.”
I sigh sadly. “This isn’t even about you. You’re set dressing. You’re a prop in someone else’s play, Lily. Is that what you want to be?”
20
Rose
“What?”
Santiago sighs. “It is not often I repeat myself. Which of your children do you love most?”
I swallow. “I…”
“Perhaps I ask because I intend to shoot one right now.”
He lifts the gun from his lap and aims it square at Karen’s chest. Karen whimpers and draws her legs up, as if she can hide. She presses against me and looks like she’s five years old again, trying to hide under my blanket from monsters. Kelly starts to cry.
“Yes, I think I might do that. Make you choose. I don’t think we need both.”
“No.”
“Choose!”
“No. Shoot me instead.”
“Mom!” Karen screams. “Don’t, pick me, pick me, don’t let him hurt Kelly—”
Santiago swings the barrel away from her and aims at Kelly. She just sits there, staring, like she doesn’t get all of this, like it isn’t real. Maybe she thinks she’s dreaming.
“I can see which one we all love most. Yet my friends downstairs would be angered if I damaged their goods.”
“Goods?” I say, my throat going dry.
“Yes. All three of you will be sold. You, Rose, I am afraid, are not of much value. Too old, too worn, too many children. You will be sent to entertain construction workers and other such lower strata of humanity. It will be unpleasant but will probably not last long. Since you are cheap chattel your new owners will not much care for you, and abuse or infection will be your end.”
He looks at Karen. “This one, though, will fetch a high price. She must be a virgin, I think. She has that look. They will check, of course, and it will be unpleasant. Then she will be auctioned off. The little one, well, my friends below have no scruples and the young ones fetch the highest prices of all, for demand is high and supply low. Basic economics. Do you have a boyfriend, Karen?”
“Don’t listen to him,” I tell her. I try to cover their ears, but I only have two hands.
“Answer me, pretty girl. They can still sell you if I shoot you in the kneecap.”
“No,” Karen chirps.
“That is good. The more innocent you are, the more some cruel man will enjoy breaking you. Forcing upon you acts that your innocent little mind cannot imagine. It perpetually amazes me how creative human beings can be in inflicting suffering on one another, though there is no master of misery greater than Santiago de la Rosa.”
He looks at me. “You should have answered my question, Rose. Whichever one you love more I would shoot, and spare this life.”
“You’re lying,” I rasp. “You’d shoot the one I picked and tell the other one I didn’t love them as much.”
Santiago de la Rosa laughs at me. “You’re good at this. Yes, that is what I would do. It would be a sweeter suffering.”
There’s a knock at the door.
It’s one of the thugs from outside. “Your associate called. They’re on their way. Slight delay.”
“Time?”
“Half hour.” He shrugs.
“Good, let’s move down to the floor. Did you clean up that unfortunate from before?”
“Yeah.”
“Very well. Ladies, on your feet. Now. Walk or be carried.”
I stand up, though I barely have the strength in my legs. This goes from bad to worse every second. They lead us out and that smell hits me again. The girls in the cages are on their feet huddled in front of the chain link, grasping it in sore, dirty fingers, watching us. Every one of their faces is Karen and Kelly and it makes me want to throw up all over Santiago’s shoes.
More chairs. They sit us down. There are people arriving, not Quentin, others. Men in suits. I try not to look at their faces, willing them not to notice me. One of them walks over, a heavy man in a dark suit.
He touches Kelly’s hair.
“This the traitor’s bitches?”
“Yes,” Santiago says amiably.
“Good merchandise. So-so on the old one.”
“Free merchandise is the best merchandise.” Santiago shrugs.
He looks at me. “My original plan was to have you all fucked right here by the lowest bidder, but if I did, someone would bid a penny right away and then what would we do? All the tension would be gone. The more time you have to contemplate your fate, the sweeter your suffering will be.”
I sit there trying to think. I’m not tied down, but I’m not running anywhere. God, all those women in the cages are looking at me. They’re all watching this. There must be fifty here. Where did they all come from?
“They’re here,” one of the thugs announces.
In walks Quentin.
He flinches when he looks at me. He’s not tied up, whatever that means. There’s a blonde woman walking behind him, escorting him. Once Quentin is well and truly surrounded he raises his hands and two men pat him down, and to my surprise they find nothing.
“I said unarmed,” Santiago says, “and you came unarmed. I don’t know whether to be pleased you’ve learned to keep your word or disappointed that you ignored my lessons. Never go into a room without the plans and means to slaughter everyone inside.”
“I have all the means I need to slaughter you, you twisted son of a bitch,” Quentin snaps.
Santiago steps behind me and rests his hands on my children’s shoulders. I freeze up.
“We’re going to play a game, Quentin. It will work like this. Your lovely Rose has refused to play, and so you must. Defeat me in single combat and you may choose one of these three to go free, one to become a slave, and one to die. What will you do, Quentin? Will you let the mother die that the daughters may live? Will you free the youngest or the eldest? Perhaps kill one of the daughters, to spare her, and free the mother? She’ll lose her will to live for a time, I suspect, but one thing I’ve not
iced about common sluts like this one is that they’ll just rut and have more.”
“If I defeat you in single combat, I’m going to kill you,” Quentin says calmly.
“You have no chance of winning. It is only a game. That glimmer of hope will make you take the chance anyway, because if you don’t, all three will be slaves. The mother will be dead before long anyway, it’s these two that will endure and suffer, cursing the day you entered their lives.”
“You want me to fight you,” Quentin says. “Gladly. Let’s go.”
“No brawling. I had something more elegant in mind. Lily.”
That must be the blonde woman’s name, Lily. She steps away and returns with a long case. What are they going to do, duel? No, they’re not guns inside.
They’re swords, resting in scabbards. Freaking swords. Medieval broadswords. Santiago takes one and draws it from the scabbard with a flourish. It may look like an antique but it’s brand new, the edge so sharp it blurs in the light.
I realize that Santiago’s guests are forming a wide circle, to watch this.
Quentin takes the other one. He draws it and throws the scabbard aside, tests the weight of the blade in his hands, and then finally touches the edge with his thumb.
“This sword is blunt.”
“I know,” Santiago says, and lunges at him.
I can tell from the haphazard way he swings it that Quentin has no experience with that weapon, only strength, speed, and reflexes on his side.
Santiago has all of those and the skill. It’s like watching a ten-year-old jumping on a trampoline next to an Olympic gymnast. The difference is visible, inescapable.
The woman, Lily, walks behind us.
She leans just a little and whispers.
“Wait for me. I’m going to get you out of here.”
I stiffen. What did she say?
She doesn’t repeat herself. I replay it in my head, over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. Did she really say that? Am I losing my mind?
Santiago is toying with Quentin, who barely parries or dodges his swings and thrusts, and whose own are lazily batted aside. His sword is useless for cuts and he knows it, so he swings with power, trying to use it as a bludgeon. Santiago meets power with speed and grace, and the first cut appears on Quentin’s arm, trailing blood down his skin.
His Princess (A Royal Romance) Page 40
