“I’m sure these hands could improve me.”
Midas studied her. “I think we’d better continue this conversation in private.”
She followed him up the stairs to the office and made herself comfortable on a purple velvet sofa. He went to his private bar, returned with two glasses, and settled next to her.
She accepted the drink and took a sip. “Lemon, ginger ale, gin, and”—she took another sip—“cucumber?”
“Hendrick’s is infused with rose petals and cucumber.” He raised his glass in a toast. “You have a discerning palate.”
“My flavor is even better than my taste.” She pushed her hair back, baring her face and neck, wary but clearly interested.
Midas leaned into her and extended one arm along the sofa behind her head. “I hear you don’t beat around the bush. And you’re good at charming generous tips from my patrons.”
L tossed her head back and leaned against his arm. She lifted a finger to her lips and deliberately licked it. She touched her neck, and then her hand slipped across the bare flesh above her bulging breasts. “They’re not exactly paying me for my charming conversation.”
Midas took her into his arms and kissed her passionately. She closed her eyes and gave a little moan. His hand disappeared beneath her dress. He pushed aside her thong.
“Wait.” She held his wrist and slid toward the other end of the sofa. “I don’t want any misunderstandings here. We haven’t discussed the price.”
“The price?” Midas scoffed. “Don’t I pay you enough?”
“Sure. For singing.”
“And how much does fucking cost?”
“It’s a sliding scale. Depends on the client. For you, it’s not going to be cheap.”
“That’s okay. I can afford it.”
He kissed her again and put his hand between her legs. This time, his fingers didn’t stop at her thong; they pushed much farther. L groaned and returned his kisses with equal intensity. He positioned her on the sofa with her face to the wall. Then he dropped his trousers, held her by the neck, and jammed himself into her like a beast. L grunted at each thrust, surrendered to the sensation, and enjoyed doing what she was best at. Midas couldn’t restrain himself; he came almost immediately. He sagged against her for a moment and then pulled out.
“I hear you’re selling something else, as well.”
“You’ve been misinformed.”
“I don’t think so. I heard it from some artist friends. I’ve seen their work before and after they took your potion. I don’t know if it’s magic or what, but when they’re high, their work is exponentially better.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I want to try it. They call it V?”
L made him wait several long seconds.
“W,” she said at last. “All right, but that’ll cost you extra.”
“No problem. One other thing. If you’re with me, you’re with me only. Understand?”
“Who the hell said that I’m with you?”
Midas grinned and grabbed his cock as it began to swell again. “You’re with me till I tell you otherwise.” He came close and slid himself into her pussy. “We’ll take it slow this time.”
L reached down and rubbed herself in anticipation. This time, she was going to come too.
She stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Midas lay completely limp, sprawled naked across the gold-colored sheets now stained and sweaty. They had fantastic chemistry, and the sex had just gotten better and better the longer they knew each other. No taboos, no constraints. They indulged themselves and did whatever came to mind.
Midas stared up at the ceiling. “I want more.”
L looked at his limp dick curled lifeless against his right leg. “I don’t think that little soldier is up to it.”
“I’m not talking about that.” Midas lifted himself on one elbow and looked at her. “I want more W.”
“You know very well I can’t give you more. It’s dangerous.” L dropped the towel and began to dress. Stockings first, then garter belt, thong, and bra.
“Yeah, yeah, you’ve told me. One hit a day.” Midas got to his feet, annoyed. “That drug is incredible. It’s completely changed my approach to art. It brings out the real me, my deepest instincts; it makes me forget everything I’ve ever been taught. All the pressure is gone, and I can ignore other artists. I feel free and safe. I’m not just imagining it. The critics have stopped bad-mouthing me. They can’t praise my new work enough.”
“Then what more could you ask for?”
“I keep wondering what effect a bigger dose of your miracle potion would have. If a single dose brings me to my full artistic potential, wouldn’t a stronger hit take me to a completely different level? I could become my own work of art.”
“I already told you, it doesn’t work like that. One dose is all you need. Taking more adds nothing. And it would be dangerous.”
Midas lunged at her and grabbed her by the throat. “I’ll be the judge of that. I told you I want more.”
L fought for breath. “Okay, okay!”
Midas released her and sat on the edge of the bed. “Sorry.”
She rubbed her aching neck, then picked up her purse. She took out a tube of dark liquid and gave it to him.
He snatched off the stopper and drank it down. “That’s more like it. I feel it! I feel its power!” Midas tossed away the vial and rose to his feet. “It’s marvelous. And you didn’t want me to try it!”
He stopped and looked at his hands, clenched his fists, opened and closed them again and again. He crossed to the door and slammed his fist into it. It splintered, and his arm broke through the heavy wood all the way up to his shoulder. Midas extracted his hand and examined it. It was red from the impact, yet unharmed.
He turned to her. “And you were telling me it was dangerous? Said I wouldn’t get anything from it?”
“Nothing for your art. Not what you were expecting.”
“But this is even better. I feel good; I feel alive and strong. I’m a superman.” He came back to her. “Give me more.”
This time, L didn’t resist. She handed over another plastic vial.
Midas eagerly swallowed the contents. The vial fell from his hand. He swayed suddenly, staggered backward, and dropped with a thump on the edge of the bed.
“What did you give me?”
“What you asked for. W.”
“That . . . that can’t be.” His voice was thick now, and his tongue was heavy. “Wha’ the . . . hell . . . was dat . . . you sch—slut? I’m dyin’ . . . here . . .”
He collapsed. His eyes rolled up into his skull, and his head thrashed from side to side. L sat down next to him.
“I told you it was dangerous.” She patted him on the cheek. “Any more and you’d be comatose. Now let’s change the subject. I want you to tell me about the bishop.”
“Wha—?”
“I know you work for him. I want to know what his habits are. Where we can meet him. How we can kill him.”
45
THOU SHALT NOT KILL.
He couldn’t breathe. He must be having a heart attack. He raised his fist and hammered his chest several times, forcing in great, irregular gasps. Then he doubled over, racked with sobs. Suddenly, he punched his head with terrific force. Again. And yet again, as if his fist had taken on a life of its own. After the fifth blow, he managed to regain control. Little by little, his frantic gasps subsided.
He had to think this through.
At first, his thoughts were only of L. She hadn’t betrayed him. Alfredo must have done something to her. Now Caridad was dead. And L probably was as well.
But he could test that. He went to the bedroom, picked up his wife’s phone from the rug, and began typing.
Elías will be here soon. Worried. Is our problem solved?
He sat on the bed and waited for an eternity. At least two minutes. A checkmark popped into view. A blue one, so Alfredo was writing. At las
t, the message arrived.
All ok. Don’t worry. Won’t find her even if they search 100 years. My men took care of everything.
And then an emoji: a winking eye.
Elías threw the phone against the wall. It shattered.
My men took care of everything. Did that mean L was dead? His men were the black-suited goons. Midas’s men.
Won’t find her even if they search 100 years. And Elías knew exactly how they got rid of people.
He rose from the bed and returned to the living room. He no longer felt remorse. Now he was filled with rage, and it gave him the strength to do what had to be done.
At the entrance to the mine, he parked next to an SUV. Elías knew he’d violated the most important commandment, the fundamental prohibition both human and divine: Thou shalt not kill. If there was divine justice, he’d just earned eternal damnation. The flames of hell would devour his flesh forever.
He bent over and vomited his guts out. Then he wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve. He mustn’t think about what he’d done. He had to concentrate on locating L before . . . His eyes filled with tears, and he prayed silently that he wouldn’t find her floating in those acid waters.
The padlock hung open. He groped his way forward into the dark mine, trying to remember the layout. Before long, he caught a glimmer of light in the distance. Elías crept toward it, careful not to make a sound. He peered around a large rock and saw one of Midas’s thugs sitting in a chair by the lake. L dangled before him, suspended from a rope attached to the ceiling. Her hands were bound, and only her head and arms were visible above the foul red water; the rest of her was submerged. His heart froze at the sight. Had Midas assigned some lackey to goad her into a last-minute confession? Or was the thug there only to watch her slow and painful death? It didn’t matter; the important thing was that she was alive.
Elías picked up a large rock and edged up behind the guard. He’d almost reached him when his foot dislodged a pebble. The man whipped around in surprise, and Elías smashed the rock into his face. The thug pushed himself to his feet, dazed and fumbling for his pistol. Elías laid him out with a kick, instantly sprang upon him, and bashed the rock against his face again and again. Blood gushed from the man’s mouth, and a couple of teeth came loose. He threw Elías off and struggled to his feet, but Elías kept hammering his head as he tried to scramble away. Another blow sent the man reeling backward, gasping for air through the bloody mess of his face. Elías raised the rock again and dislocated the man’s jaw, leaving it hanging, toothless, held only by shreds of skin. The guard was stunned and helpless, but by some miracle, he stayed on his feet. Elías’s last, decisive blow drove the bone behind the man’s nose up into his brain and sent him backward into the pool of acid.
Elías scooped up the pistol the man had dropped and pocketed it. He swiftly untied the rope from which L was suspended and brought her to shore. She was blistered all over. The skin on parts of her chest, back, and legs had been burned away by acid, leaving a welter of raw flesh. He wrapped his coat around her and took her in his arms.
She opened her eyes. “Thanks,” she said faintly. And closed her eyes again.
“I’m so sorry; it was my fault. They found your note. But it’s okay now. I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“No, no hospital,” she said vehemently. “To the golf course. We’ll be safe there.”
“The golf course?”
“A client has a house there. I know where his keys are.”
“But these burns have to be treated. They might get infected.”
“I said no hospital. There’s aloe in the garden.”
She curled up in his arms and shut her eyes again. Elías made his way back through the tunnels, holding her tight against his chest and feeling her warmth, the only welcome sensation he’d felt all day. He laid her gently in the back seat.
He still had one job left. He opened the trunk, pulled out the rolled-up carpet, and hefted it to his shoulder. It was all he could do to get it to the acid pool. He heaved it into the water.
That was when he knew there was no turning back. The deed was done.
What have I become?
He got out of that accursed cemetery as fast as he could and went back to the car. When he opened the door, L was passed out in the back, breathing normally. Elías drove along the road toward Portmán, taking the twists and turns as gently as he could. Soon, he caught sight of the vast neighborhood of vacation villas owned by German, English, and Russian investors. These people had their own private beach and golf course, plus top-quality hotels with cafés and restaurants. It was an oasis of greenery and absurdity in the midst of the Cartagena countryside.
L struggled up to point out the house. He parked. They retrieved the key from a flowerpot and went inside. The small apartment was filled with pine furniture upholstered in light colors. Elías located the bathroom and sponged L’s body with a damp cloth. Then he carried her into the master bedroom and put her in bed.
“It’s cold here,” said L.
“I’ll light a fire.”
“Wood’s in the living room.”
Soon, a roaring fire was warming the room. Elías went out to the garden with a knife and cut fistfuls of aloe leaves, then returned and sat next to her. He squeezed the leaves and dribbled the juice onto the perfect body that was now so red and disfigured. L gave little gasps as Elías silently spread the cooling liquid. His hands caressed her neck and glided across her breasts, her belly, and her legs. His guts clenched at the sight of shallow slashes along her abdomen. Even in this terrible moment, he couldn’t help feeling aroused at the touch of her soft, lovely flesh. She turned over, and he anointed her shoulders. His hands descended to her rear, where they lingered, before descending along her thighs and down to her feet. She opened her legs to him.
“You forgot the best part,” she whispered.
Elías took the aloe leaves and ran them across her buttocks. His fingers felt for her anus, but she pushed them away. “I hope you’re going to use something better than that.”
Elías was shocked at that suggestion. He couldn’t imagine her wanting to have sex. “Your skin’s a mess. The pain must be unbearable. I’ll go find some aspirin or something.”
“No, pain is good. It tells me that I’m still alive.” She looked up at him. “Fuck me, Elías. Don’t make me beg for it.”
Elías thought of Caridad. He knew this woman had brought catastrophe upon them both. And yet, he was obsessed with her. He undressed and lowered himself onto her. He penetrated her gently. She gave a groan, perhaps of pain, perhaps of arousal. He began rocking faster.
“Fuck me in the ass,” she commanded, and he obeyed. “Harder. I want it to hurt; I want your cock to make me feel alive.”
Elías grabbed her by the hair as he thrust faster and faster, each push more intense, eliciting rhythmic grunts from both of them.
“Faster. Harder!”
Elías was in ecstasy, leaning on her with all his weight and pushing her face into the pillow. This was pure euphoria, sensory overload that transformed him into an unthinking animal. In that dizzy instant, nothing mattered but his own pleasure. At last, he spasmed in orgasm and collapsed on top of her, conscious only of her body heat and the sticky mix of aloe and blood from her injuries. He let go of her hair, but she didn’t react.
She lay completely inert. She didn’t move her head to breathe. Her body offered him no resistance.
My God, I’ve killed her.
He got up, took her by the shoulders, and turned her over. Her eyes were shut, but she was smiling. Suddenly, L’s lids fluttered and she looked into his eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He burst into tears like a baby. She hugged him without a word, and he sank into the comfort of her arms.
They both slept.
When they awoke the next morning, they were still in each other’s arms.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Well, I’m still a
live,” she said with the faintest hint of sarcasm.
“I’ll look for some aspirin.”
“No, I told you, I need the pain right now.” She sat up and tried to conceal an involuntary wince. “I’d rather have a drink. Holger’s bar is always well stocked. You don’t look so hot yourself.”
Elías touched his face and realized it was still swollen from the beating. Still naked, he went to the living room to look for booze and more firewood.
He came back with a bottle of vodka. “Want a glass?” She shook her head. “This Holger isn’t going to drop in unexpectedly, is he?”
She shrugged and took a swig. “Who knows?”
“And if he does?”
“We’ll have a threesome,” she said in a droll little voice.
Elías couldn’t help laughing. He arranged the logs in the fireplace, and soon the flames blazed up. He sat on the bed next to L. In keeping with the place’s Scandinavian style, there were no blinds in the room, only thin translucent curtains that let in the comforting morning light. Elías felt somehow at home—not because of the apartment, the light through the window, the furniture, the fire, but because here, in this snug hideaway, he knew his place was by L’s side. He wanted to stay forever.
He went to the chilly kitchen to look for coffee but found only tea. He realized he’d had nothing to eat since that pastry in the Navarra hotel, so he went through the cupboards. Nothing but a package of crispbread and jars of tiny pickles well past their expiration dates. He cursed the heedless Swede or Norwegian for not having a mother who’d taught him to keep extra supplies of food in case visitors dropped in.
He returned to the bedroom and shut the door to keep the heat in. He delivered a steaming cup of tea to L, who sipped it cautiously. The vodka bottle, its contents notably reduced, lay next to the bed.
“I like the smell of tea.”
“My wife found the note you gave me,” Elías said as if from afar. “It was my fault they found you.”
“Never mind. Things happen for a reason.”
The Dark Circus Page 26