Vice

by Callie Hart

  My finger eases off the trigger. The guy breathes out slowly, his hands twitching by his sides, eyes narrowed into slits. I can tell he wants to be the one to do it. He wants to be the one who kills me. No matter what happens here today, I won’t be giving him the satisfaction, though. I’ll bury a bullet between his eyes before that happens, or I’ll kill him with my bare fucking hands. A man like him will never best a guy like me.

  Plato grabs hold of me by the arm and drags me back, hissing under his breath. “Come on. You have to get out of here.” He’s managed to get his boxers on, which I’m more than pleased about. He shoves me backward, and then he’s dragging me toward the door.

  Persephone gets to her feet, tits wobbling everywhere; she holds a hand out, grasping at thin air, shock all over her face. “Don’t! Don’t open the door!”

  Plato casts a troubled look over his shoulder. He shrugs. “I don’t think it’ll be that bad.” And then he’s opening the door and pulling me through, slamming it shut behind us.

  I stand in the long, empty, beautifully decorated hallway, staring at the now closed door. “That thing’s been open the whole fucking time? What the hell, man?”

  Plato pants, out of breath, like he just ran across the finish line of an uphill marathon. I recognize the fear painted across his face. I recognize the wide-eyed look of panic in his eyes. “Once you walk through that door, you stay in that room until he tells you otherwise,” he says.

  “What? Why?”

  “Because Fernando’s a psycho. He has rules, and those rules can’t be broken, no matter how stupid they are.”

  “And if you don’t stay inside?”

  “Then Fernando feeds you to his wolves.” He says this so matter-of-factly that I think he’s joking for a second. But Plato isn’t laughing. His face is pale, and a thin sheen of sweat has broken out across his forehead.

  “I don’t suppose that’s a metaphor for a severe beating?” I ask.

  Plato shakes his head. “No, man. That’s about as literal as it gets.”

  “How do you know?”

  “How do you think, asshole? He waits until nightfall and then drags us out of there onto the front lawn. He makes us watch.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AN APOLOGY

  I consider leaving, just bolting from the house and taking Plato with me, but the man violently shakes his head when I make the suggestion. “We wouldn’t make it a hundred feet from the house. The forest’s full of booby traps. Fernando’s obsessed with hunting and trapping. He’d fucking love to come back to the house later to find the two of us staked through on metal spikes. And believe me, that’s exactly what would happen. Plenty of people have tried to run before. And every single one of them has died.”

  “Then what?”

  “We stay here, and we wait.”

  “No way. That asshole back there won’t wait long before he comes out and tries to rip my head from my body. Loitering here is just asking for it.”

  Plato laughs a stony, cold laugh. “You don’t get it, man. No one apart from Ocho can come and go without being dealt the same hand. Player or Servicio, it doesn’t matter. Once you’re through the blue door, you do not leave. The players love the restriction most of the time. It feeds into their fantasies. They have an alpha pool running between them—who can own and dominate the most girls…or guys…while they’re trapped inside the room.” He looks away, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “Why did you do it, man? Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone? Now you’ve probably gone and gotten us both killed. And for what? A newbie chick that’s probably getting fucked by eight guys already now that she doesn’t have her sponsor in there to protect her?”

  “That guy was not protecting her.”

  “He was. If a guy brings a girl here and he’s sponsoring her, training her, then no one else can touch her. He might fuck her. He might punish her if she doesn’t do what she’s told, but none of the other sick fuckers in there can lay a finger on her. It’s one of Fernando’s laws.”

  I just look at him. None of this is making any sense to me, but then again I’ve seen and heard plenty in my life that hasn’t made a lick of sense. It’s just…Fernando? Seriously? The guy I just met at the bunker was quiet and reserved. Nervous, almost. He didn’t seem like he’d have the mettle to feed a living, breathing human being to a pack of wolves, that’s for sure. What kind of guy has a room like this in his house, where his law is enough to keep grown ass men and women trembling behind an unlocked door?

  Plato leans back against the wall, his bare skin resting against the plasterwork, and he sighs heavily. “This is highly inconvenient, y’know? I was planning on killing myself next week. I’ve been stashing toothpicks under a floorboard in my room. I was going to swallow them and eviscerate myself from the inside out. Now all of my scheming is totally wasted. ”

  “Evisceration is any better than being eaten?”

  “I’m a selfish person, my friend. I don’t give anything without deeply resenting it. So yeah…another animal consuming my body really isn’t going to sit well with me.”

  I consider asking him how that ties in with the fact that he’s constantly giving away a part of himself when he fucks the people in the room we just left, but I decide that pointing this out isn’t going to help either one of us, so I button my lip. “Just go back inside, man,” I tell him. “I won’t say a word. Fernando will never know that you snuck out for five seconds.”

  Plato pulls a face. “Of course he will. Look.” He points up at a small, white, inconspicuous camera that’s mounted high on the wall in front of us; it’s tiny, and exactly the same color as the paintwork, but I should have noticed it. It should have been the first thing I saw when I walked down here with Ocho, but I’m so spun out and turned around that it slipped my attention.

  “Ahh.”

  “There are five of them inside the room as well.” Plato waggles his eyebrows in an ironic fashion. “Fernando likes to keep an eye on things from his office. Wherever he is right now, he already knows about this. It’s too late. So heading back inside is pointless. It’ll only make him madder. Better to stay here and hope he’s in a good mood when he gets back.”

  Natalia said as much when we were on our way to meet him earlier—that he was in a good mood. Hopefully this incident won’t sour that. I’m not holding my breath, though. I’ve had a lot of experience with cartel bosses, and I can’t say any of them have ever taken kindly to me killing their guests.

  Shit. This is going to be terrible.

  I pull my cell phone out of my pocket. I could call the club. I’d only need to ask once, and Jamie would be on a plane in a heartbeat, bringing the full force of the Widow Makers MC along with him. I stare at the cell phone screen, trying to construct the request in my head:

  I’m sorry, man. I fucked up. Big time.

  Hey, Jamie. I used your name to get into a cartel boss’s house, and then I killed someone. Now it looks like I’m gonna be fed to a bunch of wolves.

  Hi, Jay. Remember when you said not to make a scene down here? Well…

  I put my phone back into my pocket. How many times has Jamie put himself on the line for this? How many guns have been pointed at his head already? The answer is too many. I’m going to have to figure this one out on my own.

  And if I can’t?

  Well, then.

  So be it.

  ******

  It doesn’t take long for the head of the Villalobos cartel to show up. Plato tenses at the sound of tires crunching on gravel, and then he turns white as an over-bleached sheet when the front door of the building opens and the sound of people arguing floats up to us on the second floor.

  I strain to listen, but the shouted words aren’t in English and none it makes sense. I recognize the voices, though—Fernando and his daughter. She sounds upset, anger spiking in her words. Fernando’s side of the argument is less heated, clipped and cold, which is somehow far more worrying than if he were yelling.

  “Oh,
god,” Plato groans.

  Footsteps on the stairs, and then Fernando appears in the hallway, back ramrod straight, shoulders drawn back, marching toward us with steel in his eyes. Behind him, Ocho follows with his headphones still glued to his ears, and his assault rifle primed in his hands. Natalia brings up the rear, her brows banked together in a severe frown, and two twin spots of color reddening her cheeks.

  “Father,” she snaps. Fernando stops in the middle of the hallway and turns to her. He glares at her, and she seems to lose her fire. She bows her head, and sucks in a deep, shaky breath. “Father, I ask that you—”

  “You do not ask anything of me, child. You are obedient, and you behave as a lady would behave. Now go back downstairs and find Arissa. She needs help unloading the supplies, I am sure.”

  She glances quickly down the hallway in our direction. Shuffling her feet, she looks like she wants to stay, to say something more, but she wears her fear openly. She doesn’t want to disobey her father. More than that, she is afraid to.

  She stares at the floor a second longer, and then she turns, hurrying away with her hands curled tightly into fists. Fernando watches her go, and then he slowly turns toward us. Plato huffs. He sounds resigned now, and I can’t help but feel as if his lost hope might have chased mine away with it.

  “You have been in my house for less than two hours, Mr. Garrett, and it seems as though you’ve already caused quite a scene. Can you explain yourself?”

  Clearing my throat, I crack the knuckle of my index finger, smiling. “I apologize. I wasn’t aware of your house rules until I’d already broken a few of them. Had I known you frowned upon homicide and people freely roaming around your home, I would have refrained from both.”

  Fernando doesn’t look all that pleased by my attitude. His expression is similar to my father’s when I told him I planned on joining the military. I’ve only known this guy for a few hours, so it’s kind of impressive that I’ve let him down so spectacularly already.

  “Ocho is a mute, Mr. Garrett. He has no tongue to speak with. If he had, he would have explained everything a little more efficiently. In these situations, I normally like to go over my rules personally, but I didn’t have time earlier. Can you please tell me how this came about? Why did you kill that man?”

  Fuck. I can’t tell him I was incensed by the way that bastard was treating the girl at his feet. I’m supposed to be into fucking women and treating them like they are my possessions. If I tell him I took offence to how that asshole was talking to the girl, it will look very strange indeed. “He wouldn’t share,” I say. “I wanted the girl he was with, and he was being a cunt about it.”

  I’m praying to god the cameras inside that room don’t have sound. I didn’t exchange a single word with that William guy before I shot him dead. If I was meant to be arguing with him over that girl, then the fact that I simply took out my gun and pulled the trigger will seem highly irregular, too.

  Fernando tuts. “We are very respectful here, Mr. Garrett. If one of the players inside that room has claimed a girl, she is his until he is finished with her, or he invites someone else to join him. Is that clear?”

  “Seems very civilized now, when you put it like that.” I can’t seem to keep the disgust out of my voice.

  Fernando scratches his face in a nervous, twitchy manner. “As you were unaware of the rules, I will accept a sincere apology from you in this instance, and you may wait downstairs for me.” He looks at me expectantly.

  “What about him?” I point a thumb at Plato. He looks like he’s about to keel over and pass out.

  “Him?” Fernando steps toward me and places a hand on my shoulder. His fingernails are perfectly manicured and trimmed, with a tiny crescent of white rimming each nail. It looks like he actually spends time shaping and cleaning them. His hands aren’t manly in the slightest. “Plato knows better. I’m afraid, where he is concerned, a simply apology is not going to be sufficient.”

  “He was helping me. He shouldn’t be punished.”

  Fernando tips his head to one side. “Are you telling me how to run my household, Mr. Garrett? Because, rest assured, that would be very ill advised.”

  “I’m merely pleading his case. What kind of a man would I be if I let someone help me at the risk of their own safety, and then I did nothing to preserve theirs?”

  Fernando considers this. “Very noble. I shall think on the matter. In the meantime, I’d like to have a word with Plato in private.”

  “It’s okay, man. Just go,” Plato hisses. “This is the best possible outcome, believe me.” It doesn’t look like the best possible outcome from where I’m standing, but hell. I don’t think I’m going to accomplish anything standing here, forcing the point. Plato looks at me with wide, urgent eyes, and I make a vow to myself. This poor bastard is not being fed to any animal, be it a pig, a wolf or a fucking monkey. I’ll work it out. I’ll make sure he’s safe.

  “All right, then. I’ll be downstairs.”

  “I think you are forgetting something,” Fernando says quietly. “Your apology?”

  “Oh. Of course.” I can’t remember the last time I apologized to anyone, let alone for something like this. Do I feel bad that I killed that sick fucker? Nope. Do I feel like I should be scraping and bowing because he’s dead? Abso-fucking-lutely not. But the situation will spiral out of control if I don’t. I angle my head to the floor, averting my eyes. “I’m sorry, Fernando. Please accept my humble apologies. I should have respected your hospitality, and I let my own anger get the better of me. I promise, it won’t happen again.”

  With cold, dead eyes Fernando stares straight through me for a moment. “Your apology is accepted, Mr. Garrett. I’ll be will you shortly. For now, Ocho will show you where to wait for me.”

  And just like that, I am dismissed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  BEND OVER

  “One hundred kilos. That is the smallest amount that we deal in, Mr. Garrett. We find this sorts the chaff from the wheat. Only serious buyers come to us, and buying our cocaine in these quantities demonstrates your intent.”

  We’re sitting in a poorly lit, barely furnished office much like the one back at the bunker, and I’m beginning to feel like I’m in way over my head. There’s a large, round, black button mounted on the wall behind his head; will I be ditched out of my chair, through a trapdoor, into a tank of shark infested water below, à la James Bond, if he hits the thing?

  “In case you were wondering, that is a cost to you of two million American dollars. Do you have that amount with you?” He knows I don’t have two million dollars just sitting in my back pocket. He’s being an asshole, but I can’t call him out on it. I have to play ball. I smile confidently.

  “Carrying that amount of money around with me in a foreign country wouldn’t be very smart now, would it? I have fifty thousand. That’s what I can give you as a show of good faith.”

  I don’t want to buy any coke, but if I don’t keep up this pretence, I’m gonna be in serious shit. If handing over every single last dollar I have with me means I buy his trust, even for a couple of days, then it will be worth it, though. Despite my apology, Fernando is obviously still not happy with me. He sits back in his chair, his face falling into shadow, and for the first time he looks sinister and evil enough to be the head of this cartel. “Fifty thousand. Okay. And you will have the rest of the money for me in three days’ time. And your boss will bring it here, yes? You are his right hand man, but I would prefer to forge our business deal with the man in charge.”

  “That won’t be a problem.” It will be a problem. It’s gonna be a huge problem. Jamie knows I’m probably going to be using his New York cover, but he has no idea that I’m promising away two million fucking dollars, or that he is now expected to show up. Nothing to be done about it now, though; the lie will have to hold water for the time being.

  “Okay, Mr. Garrett.” Fernando holds out his hand for me to shake. “We have ourselves a deal. But know this. I am stil
l waiting to hear from my friends in America. If they tell me anything about you or your employer that might give me cause for concern, there will be consequences. I will leave that to your imagination.”

  He gets up, splaying his fingers out on his desk as he leans forward on it. “Now. My rules. If you go through the blue door, you may not leave that room until I give my express permission. We both know you have discovered this rule already, so there will be no excuses now. Second rule. You may not kill any of my guests without my express permission. Lucky for you, the man you killed, William, owed me a great deal of money and wasn’t planning on paying it to me any time soon. If you had killed one of my wealthier clients who pay on time, I would not have been so lenient.”

  “I understand. No more killing people. Promise.”

  Fernando shakes his head slowly. “There is only one more rule, Mr. Garrett, and it’s a simple one to follow. I do not allow anybody in this household to interact with my daughter on a romantic, flirtatious or sexual level. She is a brilliant and smart woman, but she is not worldly wise. She does not realize people here would take advantage of her given half the chance. This is why I must insist that you only speak with her if Ocho is present, or some other member of the household staff.”

  Damn. No speaking to Natalia without a chaperone? I mean, he’s filled this bizarre mansion out in the middle of the forest with twenty to thirty sexual deviants and criminals. He needs to warn them off his daughter, especially when those motherfuckers are the kind of guys to take what they want without asking. I get that. But she’s a grown-ass woman. She’s twenty-six or twenty-seven. She should be able to make her own decisions for herself. This is my liberal American brain talking, though. And Natalia has not grown up in a liberal American environment.