“Fuck. You’re not serious. You’re telling me—”
She spins around, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Enough. This isn’t about me. It was about Laura. Now, it’s about you leaving here before my father realizes who you are and has you killed.”
I am rocked, numb to the core. I don’t know what to say to her. It’s obvious that she doesn’t want me to say anything at all, but… god. His own daughter? How can that sit right even in his warped, fucked-up mind?
Natalia’s shoulders are shaking, hitching up and down; she’s crying. I want to get up and go to her, comfort her in some way, but who the fuck am I to be doing such a thing? I have no right. I don’t have the first fucking clue how to make her feel better. I don’t have the first fucking clue how to help her, either.
Natalia’s soft crying fills the cavernous kitchen, and for the first time in a long time I feel truly dead inside. My hope, the one thing that’s been fuelling me for so long, is now gone. Extinguished in a heartbeat. The suspicious part of me would be doubting what Natalia’s saying is true, that she’s lying to protect her father in some way, but that can’t be the case. If it were, she would never have told me Laura was here in the first place. She would have kept her mouth shut and let Fernando kill me whenever the fuck he felt like it. But no, she tried to warn me, and she knows things about Laura. She described her to me. She told me things about her only someone close to her would know.
And now she’s sobbing, trying not to, struggling to keep her shit together, and I can’t think of a single thing to say to her to make it better, because it’s fucked. It’s all fucked, and I am a hollow, empty, treacherous thing that can’t be trusted. I didn’t save Laura. I didn’t fucking save her, and now I can’t be expected to do anything about Natalia. If I even try to help her, it’ll probably end in disaster, with both of us dead.
She turns around and her cheeks are streaked and wet, but she looks angry again. “Don’t you feel sorry for me, asshole. I don’t want your pity. I don’t need it.”
Of course she doesn’t need it. Pity isn’t going to help her; it’s only going to make her feel like shit. “I don’t pity you. I’m angry for you. I’m going to kill that son of a bitch for what he’s done to my sister. I’ll twist the knife that little bit deeper now, knowing what he’s done to you, too.”
“You can’t. Don’t you think people have tried before? He’s insane. Harrison and his men protect him all day, every day.”
“I can take care of Harrison just fine.”
Natalia slumps against the wall, looking miserable. “No. Seriously. Laura is gone, and the people here are already too damaged to put back together. Why lose your life over so many lost causes?”
“Lost causes are my specialty.” I stand, watching her. She’s the most stunning, graceful, breathtaking thing I’ve ever seen, even in her misery. In another life, one where we are both different people, I might have pursued her. I can imagine how she would fit perfectly into my arms. I can picture all too well what she looks like covered in sweat, naked, panting my name as she rides my cock. These are dangerous daydreams that simply aren’t practical here in this terrible, dangerous place, though. I slide my hands into my pockets, digging my short fingernails into my palms.
“Good night, Natalia.”
She stops me just before I leave the kitchen. “You’re not going to leave?” she whispers.
“No. I told you. I’m going to murder your father. I’m going to wait for the most perfect opportunity, when the time is exactly right, and I’m going to take his pride and his dignity from him, before I take his life.” I pause, and then ask her one simple question. “Would you like to watch?”
She doesn’t even hesitate.
“Yes. Yes, I would.”
CHAPTER NINE
AND THEN, THE RAIN
Two days pass, and I don’t see Natalia again. I don’t see Plato, and I don’t see Fernando. The only person I interact with is Ocho, who brings me my meals, and who, being mute, is zero fucking fun to talk to. I stay in my room watching bad Ecuadorian television in a language I don’t understand, and I do push ups. That is my entire existence: Ecuadorian Days of Our Lives, and a thousand push ups a day.
On the third day of what appears to be my solitary confinement, Fernando shows up with Harrison on his heels. Fernando looks pissed beyond measure; Harrison, on the other hand, looks gleeful, like a kid on Christmas morning.
“We agreed that your Mr. Aubertin would be here today, Kechu. Please, can you explain to me where he is?” Fernando’s furious, his voice clipped, his hands shaking by his sides as he addresses me. I frown, looking over his shoulder at Harrison.
“I couldn’t tell him to come,” I say. “Harrison took my phone. And I’ve been locked away in this fucking room for days. I tried to explain to Ocho, but I don’t think he understands English.”