Soundproofing must have cost a fortune in this place because I’m instantly assaulted by the sound of heavy metal music playing loudly. In the front room, the music is lighter, something the girls can dance to. I close the door behind me.
The downstairs room is large, open. Dark like the corridor. A set of stairs leads up to the second floor. I hear a man’s laughter coming from the bedroom with the door ajar, followed by the sound of footsteps above. Whoever is descending won’t see us before we see them but it’s not Marcus. These men are speaking Spanish.
As soon as they get downstairs, my soldiers grab them from behind, guns to their temples. One is wearing a dirty tank top, the other a white T-shirt stained and stretched tight over his gigantic gut.
The two are surprised. Again, I wonder if Marcus is stupid or if this is a trap Felix set. I smile, put my finger to my lips as my men easily take hold of them and move them out the door.
I walk up the stairs, pistol at my side. I’m oddly calm. My heartbeat under control. My mind razor sharp and focused.
I hear a woman then. A woman’s scream. It’s muffled quickly and just for a moment, I have to stop because it takes me back. Takes me to my mom’s screams. He didn’t try to muffle those.
The bedroom door is open a crack and the large bed is across the room. A woman is lying on her back, arms stretched out to the sides, held by soldiers. They watch as Marcus, his hand over her mouth, has his way with her. I’m not sure if he paid for the act or if he’s taking what he wants.
She’s the first to see me. I know because her eyes go from wide to panicked.
Marcus’s ugly ass bobs in my line of vision and it takes all I have to stay focused. To stay here. Because if I go back to the night of the massacre, I’ll be powerless. I may as well be lying in a pool of my own blood again.
Without a word, I lift my weapon and point it between the eyes of the man to the woman’s right.
Bang!
The woman screams but Marcus presses his hand harder against her mouth, unaware why she’s screaming over the too loud music.
The man falls to the wall, drops into a chair there.
Marcus laughs the high-pitched insane laughter of the stoned.
The other soldier turns from his fallen colleague to me. I fire in the same instant his mouth opens. Bang! Red splatters against the wall behind him.
I see Marcus’s head shoot up. He looks at the wall, then at the second man I killed. He shifts his gaze to the first one. His ugly ass has finally stopped its in out motion.
“What the—”
“Get up,” I say.
He turns slowly to me and the woman beneath him scrambles off the bed. She falls to the floor, scurrying to collect her things, then runs out of the room and down the stairs.
“Keep her inside,” I call out to the soldiers downstairs. I don’t want her alerting anyone.
“Fuck!” Marcus scrambles too. Falling over the edge of the bed as I make my way around it. I know what he wants. The gun on top of his jeans. The idiot still has his T-shirt on but he’s bare-assed.
“Move. Opposite wall.” I point to the one farthest from the gun.
“My men are outside,” he threatens.
“No, they’re not,” I say, taking his pistol and unloading it. I toss his jeans to him. “Get dressed. I don’t need to see your dick.”
He snorts, gives me a one-sided grin. I’m not sure if he’s high or drunk or both. Maybe just plain old stupid. Which only reaffirms that he was not the brains of the operation that took down my family.
“Your mom sure liked my dick.”
I breathe.
Slow. Steady. Deep.
Calm.
Stay calm.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I can’t rush this. Can’t kill him without finding out what he said. He’s dying tonight. That’s non-negotiable.
I keep my eyes on his as I raise my pistol to aim it at his now-limp dick.
“You want me to shoot it off before we get started?”
He puts up both hands, palms to me. His pupils are dilated. The fucker is stoned and stupid.
“Get fucking dressed.”
He bends down to pick up his jeans and I watch him try to balance as he pulls them on. I see how dirty they are. How dirty the T-shirt is.
He’s barefoot but I don’t care about that. As soon as he’s got his jeans on, I empty my gun of bullets and toss it aside, pocketing the ammunition.
Marcus looks confused.
I approach him but he doesn’t move. Not at first. He’s still looking at the discarded gun.
“I’m going to kill you with my hands,” I tell him.