“Oh, I think you’re the one that just got fucked, sunshine.” My Spanish is better than okay, but I can’t make out what he says in response to this, either because the language is too colorful, or his jaw is shattered. “Okay,” I tell him, nodding. “I’m gonna pretend like I caught that and move on. Since we’re here, y’know, chatting, I have a question for you.”
The guy starts laughing, though it looks like it really hurts. He spits blood out of his mouth. “I ain’t…answering no questions for you, cabron.”
I tighten the grip I have on his hair, yanking his head back a little farther. Leaning down, I shove my face into his. “You will if you ever wanna see out of your right eye again.”
Both his left and right eyes swivel to look at me, so wide I can see the whites. “What you gonna do?” he snaps, bravado in his voice. “You ain’t gonna do nothing.”
I give him the same sour smile I used to give my grandmother when she made me eat her famous rabbit stew—the woman was a saint, but she couldn’t fucking cook to save her life. “Shall we find out?” I glance around, trying to find a rock the right size and shape for my purpose, but then I see something even better, far more suited to the task at hand. On the ground a few feet away lies a smouldering cigarette—the very same cigarette the guy lit when he got out of his car, I assume. How ironic. I reach over and pick it up, holding it in the air for my new friend to see.
“Do you think this would hurt?” I ask. Hovering it close to his face so he can feel the heat, I give him a closer look at what I’m going to be stubbing out into his eyeball if he doesn’t play along. “I think it would. But that’s just me.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” the guy spits. “Ramirez won’t stand for it. He’ll wipe out your whole club if you even touch—”
I do more than touch him with it. I roll the brightly burning cherry of the cigarette onto his skin, right on his cheekbone, leaving it there long enough to make him whimper in pain. A stream of Spanish comes pouring out of his mouth, but once again I have no idea what the hell he’s saying. His eyes are watering, rivers of tears running down his face. “Yep. That really looked like it hurt,” I say. Putting the other end of the smoke into my mouth, I pull on it, dragging the fumes down into my lungs. “So, yeah. I think I’ll aim a little higher next time.”
“Fuck you. I don’t even know anything. I’m just a fucking driver, man!”
I tut, giving him my disappointed face. “You knew who I was just fine. I’m confident you’ll be able to answer this question for me.”
The guy glares up at me hatefully. “Ask your fucking question then, and let me fucking go.”
I almost laugh at his indignant tone. “All right, all right. Your boss has been gone for five days. He just came back from...where?”
My captive scowls. “Who knows? I don’t have a fucking clue.”
“That’s a shame. And there you were, telling me your were a driver a moment ago. Drivers usually know where they’re driving to.” I roll the cigarette on his face again, grimacing—you forget after a while what human flesh smells like when it’s cooking. This reminder is unpleasant to say the least. Ramirez’s guy howls as I leave the burning ember on his skin for longer this time.
“Fine, fine! Fuck! He was in Seattle. He was in Seattle.”
I take the cigarette and put it back in my mouth. Seattle? That’s a little too coincidental. Too much has gone down in Seattle in the last six months for that to be a fluke. Ryan was killed there, after all. That was where Ramirez was due to be tried for murder. And it was in Seattle that I first laid eyes on Sophia. “What was he doing there?” I ask.
“He was looking for someone. Some old guy.”
“And he obviously found him. I just saw him being hauled inside the farmhouse back there.” I draw on the cigarette and blow a smoke ring, thinking. “Who is he? And what does Ramirez want with him?”
“I don’t fucking know what he wants with him!” the guy hisses. “I don’t get to question every single fucking thing Ramirez does. He says point and shoot, and I point I shoot. I don’t know why, man. All I know is that he’s some doctor. Some dude who makes sure people are put to sleep when they’re operated on or some shit.”
“An anaesthesiologist?”
“Yeah! Yeah, one of those.”
The cigarette is burning down to the butt. I only have another minute before it’s spent and I have to find something equally as effective to play with. “And his name?” I say. “I’m sure you know his name.”
“Alan. Alan Romera,” he says, spitting the information out quickly. “The guy’s name is Doctor Alan Romera. There! Are you happy now? Fuck you, man. Let me fucking go.”
CHAPTER ONE
SOPHIA