Page 103 of H E R
“Lots of surprises.” I swallow back my sappiness. “I love you guys, but I have to go. We’re arriving.”
“Arriving where?”
“Bye!”
I tuck the phone away into my pocket and frown. Dylan pulls up to the rear entrance of an apartment building on a slope. The property is guarded by civilians with rifles strapped to their chests and immediately I turn to him in question.
“I have a surprise for you.”
“Here?”
Dylan steps out and motions to one of the men nearby. As if instructed, he moves to my door and opens it.
“Buenas tardes, señorita. Estamos a sus órdenes.”
What the… I exit the car and join Dylan, who’s waiting with an extended hand. Once I take it, he pulls me into him and drapes a possessive arm over me.
“What the hell is all this?” I whisper.
I know better than to ask, but I thought we were going to a local bar to grab drinks and some fucking appetizers. Not a makeshift prison. Surprise or not, I need a shot if I’m going to be entering a space that needs eight armed men right outside the rear entrance of a destitute and illicit establishment.
We walk up a flight of stairs and the man at the top hands Dylan a duffel bag and a handgun.
“Todo lo que pedí está adentro?”
“Si, señor.”
Shit,make that a double shot.
“Dylan–”
“We’ll go for drinksafter, fox. This takes precedence.”
The wooden door creaks when we push past into the dark room, and the first thing that hits me is the stench. It smells of sewage and waste mixed with sweat. I don’t gag, but I take small breaths between holding my respirations. Someone turns on the light and I gasp.
“You found him.” My voice is barely audible, but the man in the chair stirs, nonetheless.
“It took us some time, but we finally got him. He’s been holed up here for weeks.”
Vork lifts his head and his bloodshot eyes grow wide. Dylan drops the bag to the floor, and it makes a loud thump, startling our prisoner. He’s fucking huge, but somehow seems tiny and broken.
“I’m not sure why you thought you were finally free,” Dylan says.
He produces a long-bladed knife from the bag and slowly stalks toward Vork, who wriggles like a worm on a hook. He lines the tip of the blade with Vork’s wrist, then slowly drags it up his arm and finally stops when the knife is directly under his chin.
“You’re a wanted man. What do you say, Niki? Should we extradite or execute?”
Vork’s sunken cheeks tremble and his dry, crusted lips part. “Kill me. Just fucking end it already.”
“I have a better idea.”
Dylan’s black eyes glance at me questionably.
“Keep him here, just like this. Feed him a small meal once a day, give him water, but nothing else. Let him continue to rot until his last day.”
“Whatever you say.” Dylan retracts the knife, and he drops it into the bag. He bends down, forcing Vork to look at him. “Aquí te vas apodrir.”
We turn to leave, but I whip around and approach him slowly. Words from our first real face to face encounter flood my brain and I stifle a laugh. “Guess our business is finally settled.”