No.
Tears streaming down her face, Jess strained, scrabbled her legs against the wall. She pulled with all her might. Up an inch, then two. Her right foot found a flake, and she pushed on it. Gulping lungfuls of air, she pressed herself against the wall and used her left hand to find another crack. Another few feet and she swung her right foot out to the terrace’s railing, then pulled herself onto it.
She collapsed onto the cold stone floor, her chest heaving to pull in oxygen.
Giving herself a minute to recover, she wiped the sweat from her brow with her left hand and grabbed on to the railing to get to her feet. She flexed her right hand, tested her fingers—nothing dislocated or broken, despite the intense pain. Leaning forward, she stole a look inside through the terrace door window.
The young guard sat in a chair by the door of her room, his eyes closed. She glanced to her right. Stairs led off the terrace, down past the rocks. From there she could walk through the trees to the dock.
Run away.
No.
Jess straightened up and exhaled, took a moment to tousle her hair and roll her shoulders back. She unbuttoned her shirt all the way down, exposing her bra and torso, and unbuttoned the top of her jeans. Taking a deep breath, she opened the terrace door and crept inside. She walked up to the guard.
“Aberto,” Jess whispered.
The guard opened his eyes with a start, looking back and forth before seeing Jess standing in front of him.
“Aberto,” Jess repeated. “Enzo wants to speak with you.” She flicked her chin toward the open terrace door.
Frowning, Aberto’s puzzled eyes were unable to keep from wandering to Jess’s open shirt.
“Out there,” Jess whispered, pointing out the door.
Hooking his right thumb under the strap of his rifle, Aberto stood, glanced at Jess’s breasts again, then peered onto the balcony. Jess took a step past him. Aberto craned his neck to look out the door, and Jess slipped behind him, brought her right arm around his neck and jammed it locked with her left.
He barely outweighed her, and was no match for her wiry strength. The rear naked chokehold, one of the most basic martial maneuvers to swiftly disable an opponent. The goal wasn’t to deprive the victim of air—it was to stop the flow of blood into the brain. Done just right, it closed off both carotid arteries and the jugular in one motion, induced cerebral hypoxia and unconsciousness in as little as three seconds.
Jess pulled Aberto back into the chair, wrapping her right leg around his waist. Confused, he clawed at her, trying to yell through his closed windpipe. Nothing came out, not even a wheeze. His body jerked back and forth, the chair rocking beneath them.
Jess held on. It was a move they practiced over and over in her martial arts courses in the Marines. They even choked out each other, just to experience it. Jess’s instructor had done it to her. Just a momentary panic before sleep descended. She felt Aberto’s body stiffen. Five seconds. Six. His body relaxed. Eight seconds. Nine.
If she let go now, in ten seconds or so he’d regain consciousness. Hold on for a few more seconds, and it might take a minute for him to come back, and another minute or two for him to regain his senses from what felt like a deep sleep. Jess knew how it worked. Fifteen seconds, she counted. Sixteen.
But never—she heard her martial arts instructor’s words in her head—never hold more than thirty seconds, never past when you feel the body start to twitch.
From that point is brain damage.
Death.
He was just a boy, really. Maybe nineteen. A teenager. Jess had no argument with him, not really. He was probably dragged into this, offered a job; he might have had no idea what was going on. He had a sweet face. He was somebody’s little boy.
Tears came to Jess’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into Aberto’s ear as she felt his body twitch and shudder. “I’m sorry, Aberto.”
Thirty seconds. Forty. At a minute, Jess released her hold on his neck, slid out from under him, took his keys from his pocket, and arranged him on the chair. He looked peaceful. Asleep. But he wasn’t. He was dead. She brushed his hair back from his eyes and kissed his forehead, tears in her eyes.
She had killed two people in the space of ten minutes. When she was in boot camp, she’d heard that you never knew if you’d be able to do it—kill someone—if the time came. Some people just couldn’t kill.
Apparently Jess could.