by Matt Rogers
Santiago seemed to sense something. He smiled. He relished the discomfort.
‘You really don’t like this, do you?’
‘I’ve been held at gunpoint before.’
‘No. You don’t want to know what I’m going to do to your friends. Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? You protect them. This makes you squirm. This makes you scared.’
Slater said nothing.
Which said everything.
Santiago’s smile widened. ‘Thiago. Is she secure?’
The small man — Thiago, obviously — nodded. ‘She’s not going anywhere.’
‘Get the other one.’
‘Her friends?’
‘No. The other girl. I want this guy to see I have another one. I want him to know how badly he failed.’
Thiago disappeared into one of the bunkers, and returned hauling a tall thin woman by her wrist.
Santiago put all his weight on the AR-15, driving it hard into Slater’s chest.
Slater lost his breath.
Santiago leered. ‘See? I’ll have my way with her too.’
He bent down, staring into Slater’s eyes, but Slater wasn’t returning the gaze. He was looking past the big man, watching the girl. Her amber eyes jolted around the clearing, taking in her surroundings, noticing all the corpses riddling the encampment. He saw the genuine fear in her expression, and figured she was another casualty to add to the list. An unfortunate soul, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Beautiful, too.
Slater noticed her features, and dread fell over him. He didn’t want to know what the two remaining men would do to her.
Santiago, and Thiago.
They would make it painful.
She’d just been released from her bindings. Raw skin ran rings around her wrists. Thiago must have unlocked her manacles in his haste to free her and present her to Slater. It didn’t mean anything. She was defenceless against them. Thiago was armed, and although she had a supple athletic frame, she was thin.
Then the fear on her face disappeared, replaced by dead calm and an icy awareness.
Slater froze.
34
What the…?
He’d never seen anything like it. An acting job for the ages. All her apprehension, all her tears and nerves.
All gone.
Right then and there.
Thiago wasn’t looking at her face, and Santiago kept his gaze locked on Slater. Neither of them noticed.
In that moment, Slater understood.
She wasn’t a prisoner.
She was here voluntarily.
For this.
She looked at Slater and smiled.
Something appeared in her palm, sliding down from the cuff of her baggy shirt. Something long and silver and shiny. Something resembling a stake. A cylindrical blade, without the hilt. She turned with muted resignation, twisting at the waist with dejection in her body language.
Thiago allowed it.
He faced her. Smiling. Salivating at the prospect of having his way with her.
Then she stared deep into his eyes and gently slid the blade into his throat.
He opened his mouth to scream, and she burst into motion. She wrenched her free hand out of his grasp and placed it firmly over his mouth, shutting him up on the spot. With her other hand, she took the blade out of his neck and put it in his stomach. Twisted it hard. Pulled it out again, and slashed it across his eyes. Killing him, and then blinding him for good measure.
Slater summed up all the willpower he had available and forced himself not to react.
This time, it worked.
Santiago tightened his grip on the trigger, oblivious to what was happening behind him.
35
No sound resonated across the clearing. She’d slaughtered Thiago with the utmost silence, lowering his corpse to the mud with enough strength and grace to indicate she had years of experience in this realm.
Slater couldn’t believe his goddamn eyes.
Almost playfully, she touched a finger to her lips. Her eyes seemed to burn with a golden hue, charged with energy.
She crept up on Santiago from behind.
The big man, still staring at Slater, smiled again and said, ‘How do you feel?’
Slater raised an eyebrow. ‘What?’
‘Knowing what I’m about to do to her. And your friends. Even the men. I go both ways, you know? I fancy myself both genders. If it makes you feel any better. I’m all about equality.’
‘That’s good to hear.’
‘I’ll make them suffer.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You’re confident for a man who’s outnumbered.’
‘I’m afraid you’re outnumbered now, my friend.’
He sensed it. Right away. Slater couldn’t hide his confidence any longer. Santiago reared up, tearing his gaze away, throwing a wild glance over his shoulder to check on how Thiago was faring. He spotted the woman, her hair draped over her face, now only feet away. Then the dilemma struck.
What was he to do?
Take the AR-15 off Slater’s chest, and risk an instantaneous reaction from a man who had proven himself more than capable of decimating anyone in his path. Or keep the gun skewered in place and risk death at the hands of this strange woman. He hadn’t seen her kill Thiago, and therefore he wasn’t aware of her abilities, so from his perspective she’d landed a lucky blow and managed to capitalise on it. In his eyes, Slater was the far more dangerous party.
He had no idea.
But he still made the right call.
He took the rifle off Slater’s chest, wheeling it around to face the girl.
Already too late.
He’d hesitated, and that was enough.
Slater could have exploded off the mark, launching up off his back and crash-tackling Santiago to the dirt. But he saw what was coming. He stayed in place. He didn’t have any inclination to get in the way of this woman.
This force.
In truth, he had no idea what he’d stumbled into.
The AR-15 came round in a tight arc, and the woman caught it by the barrel. She wrapped spindly fingers around the gunmetal and aimed it away from her bulk. Santiago had half a second to pull the trigger and let loose with a volley of rounds. It would achieve nothing save from burning her palm, but it was all he had to work with.
Even that proved too difficult a task.
He was still in shock at how rapidly the situation had descended into anarchy.
As soon as she had control of the rifle she plunged the blade into his forearm and tugged downward, her own muscles rippling underneath the baggy shirt. She severed the lower half of Santiago’s arm, tearing through flesh and muscle and bone without discriminating.
Santiago screamed.
She pulled on the AR-15, and it came toward her.
Because the hand attached to it no longer belonged to Santiago’s body.
She didn’t take hold of the weapon. She dropped it as Santiago took a knee, and followed up by plunging the stake into his chest.
Deliberately missing the heart.
He screamed again, a ghastly howl, and slumped to his knees. She cradled his face in both hands, and then delivered a colossal headbutt to the bridge of his nose. The fact that she weighed a hundred pounds less than him meant nothing. Sharp forehead to fragile nose. An equation that came out in favour of the forehead in every single altercation.
Slater heard the snap, and he winced.
Santiago screamed for a third time.
Blood pouring from his nose, he collapsed into the dirt, alone in the clearing.
Surrounded by his fallen comrades.
Now outnumbered.
He turned white as a sheet, and not from the pain.
Slater got his hands underneath him and backed away, slithering through the mud, distancing himself from the horrifying spectacle before him.
The girl straddled Santiago’s barrel chest, dropping a smooth tanned leg on either side of his bul
k, flattening him to the dirt. She cupped his face again, holding his head in place. Her back stooped and she brought her face to within a foot of his.
Slater watched.
Fascinated.
Stunned.
‘You like this?’ she whispered.
American, Slater noted.
Crimson streamed from both Santiago’s nostrils. His nose bent in a grotesquely misshapen fashion. Well and truly broken. Blood ran from his chest, too. His left arm ended in a grisly stump. It poured blood into the dirt. The night swallowed it up.
‘W-what the hell,’ the man stuttered. ‘My arm…’
‘What did you say you were going to do to me?’ the woman said.
Her eyes glistened with rage.
‘I…’
‘What was that?’
‘I wasn’t going to… please.’
‘Beg.’
‘W-what?’
‘Beg more. I like it.’
‘Please. Stop the bleeding. I’m going to—’
She touched a finger to his lips. Almost seductively. He was paling now. Blood was pouring out of him, seemingly from everywhere at once.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Slater muttered under his breath.
‘Russell Williams sends his regards,’ the woman said.
She kissed Santiago on the forehead, leaving an imprint of her lipstick on the pale skin.
Like crosshairs.
Then she fetched the stake out of the dirt and shoved it through the mark.
Destroying his brain.
Santiago went limp.
She spat on his corpse, and climbed off it.
She looked at Slater and said, ‘Less than he deserved.’
For the first time in his life, he was lost for words.
‘Do you talk?’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘Then don’t you agree? Less than he deserved?’
‘That name,’ Slater said.
‘What name?’
‘Russell Williams.’
She paused. ‘You know it?’
‘Yeah. I know it.’
‘We shouldn’t talk about that here.’
‘Uh…’
He couldn’t string a sentence together. It was all too much. She gracefully stepped over Santiago’s corpse and approached him, offering a smooth palm to help him to his feet.
He took it.
‘I’m Ruby,’ she said, her eyes sparkling.
‘I’m—’ Slater said, and then he trailed off again.
He stared at Santiago’s mutilated body.
He shook his head.
All he could think to say was, ‘What the fuck is going on?’
36
Second by second, the tension in the clearing began to dissipate.
The cartel had been eradicated — at least, this portion of it. Every hostile man in the encampment had met their untimely demise. Slater stood on shaky legs, surrounded by devastation, trying to comprehend what the hell had just happened. He couldn’t put it together. Not yet. But he didn’t need to.
His sole priority was taking care of Casey and her friends, and Ruby made that clear.
She pulled him aside, stepping in close, making sure she could speak without Casey overhearing. The girl was still duct-taped, wrists and ankles bound, lying on her stomach in the mud with her face pressed into the hot earth.
She had her eyes closed.
She’d opted to ignore what was going on around her. It was for the best. It was all too much for Slater. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like for someone unaccustomed to combat.
Still, he couldn’t find the right words.
He stared at Ruby, analysing her, and he came away more confused than when he started. She was roughly five foot ten, all slim tanned muscle, with a face that could have easily graced the cover of an international magazine. Amber eyes, a pronounced jawline, smooth thin lips, straight brown hair. Gorgeous, from head to toe.
But beyond that there was something utterly encapsulating about her. She carried herself with the poise of a warrior. Like this was nothing out of the ordinary. And that directly contrasted with the terrified hostage Thiago had hauled out of the bunker.
She was a world-class actor, on top of everything else.
A chameleon.
Slater didn’t know what to say.
She muttered to him, ‘We need to get the kids out of this hole. They need relief. And counselling. Can you help me with that? The first part, I mean. I’ll leave the professional advice to the shrinks.’
He paused. ‘Yeah.’
‘You’re capable, aren’t you?’
‘I’m good enough.’
‘Then it’s good to have a friend out here.’
He paused again. ‘Are you Black Force?’
‘What?’
‘Never mind.’
‘Don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.’
He pressed a pair of fingers into his eyeballs. Just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. They came away, and she was still there. Staring up at him. Head cocked to one side. Eyes piercing into his.
He nodded again. ‘Okay. Right. The college kids. Let’s do it.’
‘You’re scared,’ she noted. ‘This can be overwhelming. I get it. These are bad people around us. I don’t blame you. You got a friend called Russell Williams or something?’
He froze. ‘What?’
‘I thought you knew my guy at the start. But it must just be a coincidence. You okay? You need some water?’
He steeled himself. ‘I’m fine. The dead guys aren’t what’s worrying me.’
‘Oh?’
‘You’re worrying me.’
Something tantalising flashed in her eyes. ‘I like that. I like worrying people.’
‘Who are you?’
‘What happened to these guys? Who killed them?’
‘I did.’
She paused. ‘Ah. Maybe we do know the same Russell Williams, then.’
‘I think we do.’
‘Later,’ she whispered. ‘Let’s deal with these kids first.’
‘You keep calling them kids. But you look the same age as them. How old are you?’
‘Twenty-one.’
‘Jesus. We have a lot to discuss.’
‘Age isn’t always as straightforward as it seems,’ she said, and planted a soft kiss on his cheek.
Then she danced across the clearing toward the bunkers, the stake in her hand.
Slater stood rooted to the spot, dazed.
She severed Casey’s bindings and helped her to her feet. Slater ghosted forward a couple of steps, getting in range of the conversation. He was fairly certain both girls had materialised from the same bunker. Therefore Ruby would have been playing a part for Casey beforehand. He wanted to deduce how the conversation would go.
Casey said, ‘What just happened?’
We’re more similar than I thought, Slater thought.
Ruby said, ‘I’m not who you think I am.’
‘Clearly.’
‘Let’s get your friends.’
‘Hold on,’ Casey said, laying a hand on Ruby’s chest. ‘Who are you? You’re with him?’
Ruby glanced at Slater. ‘No. I’m not.’
‘So is this just a massive coincidence?’
‘I don’t know what it is.’
‘You’d better start explaining.’
Ruby cocked her head, and Slater sensed ice in her eyes.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I will.’
Casey’s eyes flared with rage. Maybe because of the circumstances. She was in a foreign country with nothing but the clothes on her back, only minutes separated from a fate worse than death. Slater pictured her adrenalin racing, her veins pumping, her vision wavering, her mind seeking answers that she’d never get.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Ruby said. ‘But you’re the luckiest bitch on the planet. You and your friends fucked up many, many times. This guy hel
ped you, obviously. And I just helped you now. Get out of rural Colombia and never wander into places you know you’re not safe. Learn from this experience. You don’t deserve to know who I am. Now let’s go find your friends and you can babysit them into one of the larger towns and forget any of this ever happened. And if you need help dealing with it, see a psychologist. That’s all I’ll say on the matter. You got it?’
Casey didn’t respond. She stared blankly at the girl in front of her, her entire perception shattered.
Then she mustered the capacity to respond with, ‘Got it.’
Ruby nodded, her eyes ablaze with intensity. ‘Good. Let’s go find your friends.’
Slater sat down in the dirt and wondered how his life had taken such a drastic turn.
37
Jake, Harvey, and Whitney emerged from one of the low concrete buildings a couple of minutes later, led by Casey. She was in shock, but maintaining her composure remarkably well. She led her friends into the centre of the clearing, and for the first time they saw the devastation all around them. They spun in tight circles, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, acting out the stereotypes of traumatised college kids.
Slater didn’t blame them.
He would react accordingly, if murder hadn’t been part of his life for as long as he could remember.
The shock started to wear off. He relished the feeling.
It was indescribable how radically his viewpoint had shifted.
From thinking all hope was lost, beginning to accept his own grisly death as well as the rapes and murders of five innocent people, to a reversal of fortune he still couldn’t quite believe. He stared at Ruby with palpable curiosity, assessing her every move. He came away with nothing.
She was a chameleon, alright.
Twenty-one years old, and unreadable.
Eventually he realised standing around gawking would achieve nothing, and opted to help as best he could.
He approached the five of them, meeting each of their gazes in turn, apart from Ruby’s. He would figure her out later.
Casey said, ‘Jesus, you’re hurt.’
‘You okay?’ Slater said.
‘We’re fine.’