He turned from the girl and strode to the two men, needing to get them off his tail.
“What can I get for this?” Colin asked, flashing cash between his fingers. The men seemed to relax at the sight of the money. One pulled out a rather large bag of marijuana and a smaller pouch of cocaine. Colin took the coke and handed over the money. “Thank you. Now I just need a woman and I’m all set. I’m quite enjoying my time in Thailand.”
One of them grinned with blackened teeth, probably relieved to think Colin was just a stupid tourist looking for a good time, and not a threat after all. They turned and left him alone. He’d flush the cocaine later.
Going back to the girl, he held out the money and picture. She stared down at them for a moment before slowly reaching for the money and whispering a street name.
“Kop kun,” he said. Thank you.
She quickly turned away and he walked the two blocks to the street she’d given. He followed the sound of voices down an alley. He wished he could read the Thai signs hanging. When he came to the first doorway where a drunken man and woman stood, he asked, “Suorsdei?” He was fairly certain that meant “hotel.”
The man pointed to the next entrance and Colin nodded. He walked to the open doorway and pushed a thick curtain aside. A thin man stood inside behind a desk, alert.
Colin pulled out his cash, a universal sign of fucking peace, and said, “One room.”
“How long?” the man asked.
“One hour.” He nodded and they exchanged the money. The man gave him a room number, but no key, which Colin assumed meant no locks on the doors. Fan-fucking-tastic for him. He took his time down the hall, listening to the squeaking of beds and panting grunts sounding from inside. Two people fucked so hard in one room that the wall shook. The woman screamed. Colin tried the doorknob, peeking into the crack, but it was a Thai couple who didn’t even notice him. He closed the door and kept going.
At the end of the hall he heard the muffled protests of a girl and low voice of a man without a Thai accent. He stepped closer to the door and his heart clenched at the sound of the girl’s crying followed by another stifled shout of her pain and his moan of ecstasy.
With a glance down the hall, Colin pulled out his gun and cracked the door.
Fuck, yes.
There was that handsome face used to lure women, rutting against a girl from behind, shoving her face hard into the mattress to quiet her pleas. When Colin stepped in and closed the door with a kick of his heel, Fernando sat up on his knees with a look of shock. There was blood on his hands and stomach—on the girl’s back and ass. It turned Colin’s stomach and he pointed the gun at the bastard’s face. The girl flipped over and scuttled back.
Fernando’s hands flew up and his eyes darted around the room. “Qué chingado! Quién es usted?” What the hell! Who are you?
That, Colin could understand. “I’m the man who killed your father. And the man who’s going to kill you.”
Fernando went deathly still for a moment, and then his wicked eyes lit up and he chuckled.
“My papa lives.”
Colin’s gut slickened with doubt. No. Was Marco alive? He couldn’t be. Fernando simply hadn’t heard the news yet.
“He’s dead, and so are you.”
Colin pulled the trigger and a light click sounded. He cursed. The fucking gun was faulty!
Fernando took that opportunity to launch himself from the bed at Colin, making him drop the useless gun. Fernando may have gotten in the first punch to Colin’s jaw, but that was all he’d get. Colin’s fists met Fernando’s torso in a rapid succession of hits, making the man fall back with an oomph. In the next breath Colin was straddling his chest, beating that pretty face to a bloody pulp as Fernando struggled uselessly to get out from under him.
All he could see was Angela’s face and all the other faceless women and families this man had haunted. He was glad the gun was broken. Killing him with his bare hands was far more satisfying.
Colin stopped long enough to take Fernando by the throat and lean close. “How’s it feel to be on the receiving end of a beating?”
The man arched his back and let out a pathetic, gurgled cry.
“Please, please, por favor…”
“Do you let women go when they beg you?” He squeezed tighter. “Do you? Because I know you didn’t give a fuck when Angela pleaded for you to get the fuck off her!”
Fernando’s wild eyes cleared and he gripped Colin’s wrists. “Angela? The American whore?” He slowly smiled. “She wanted it, Se?or. Trust me.”
Colin punched the fucker’s mouth so hard he had to fling his hand to clear the sting. Fernando spit blood and a chipped tooth through his swollen lips, groaning pitifully.