Somewhere in Spain
Kira was already growing used to being neither awake nor asleep, bobbing on the sea of her own semi-consciousness, fleeting Technicolor dreams.
Now the snap of the deadbolt pulled her back to the world. She saw Rodrigo’s outline in the doorway, just enough gray light for her to distinguish him.
With the light still out, he stepped in and closed the door.
“Kira?” His voice slurred, accent stronger than before.
She had the fleeting hope he meant to free her. But she knew better. He stank of weed and booze. Something sweet. Sangria, maybe. He had to be wasted if he was coming for her with the others in the house.
“You know what Jacques said.” No screaming. Persuade him to leave on his own.
“That puta just wants—”
Rodrigo broke off, leaving unanswered the question of what Jacques wanted.
“You’ll get us in trouble, Rodrigo.” Us. I’m on your side. Buddies. Best friends, see?
He stepped toward her. Put his hands on his hips as he considered his next move.
The light snapped on and she heard two quick steps. A pair of huge hands tethered themselves to Rodrigo’s shoulders and flung him against the wall. Jacques. Before Rodrigo could recover Jacques put a shoulder into his chest. The two men thrashed, arms and legs and grunts. Kira stood. She wondered if she could edge past and run, reach the front door, maybe this was the moment—
But she didn’t know who else was in the house.
Before she summoned the courage to move, Jacques had control. He wrapped his left arm around Rodrigo’s head, punched low with the right hand, one two three four, the blows landing hard, their smack echoing through the closet. Jacques stepped away and Rodrigo sagged against the wall. His eyes were pure animal hatred, but his hands were low at his sides.
“Not for you.” Jacques wasn’t even breathing hard.
A trickle of drool spun from Rodrigo’s mouth.
“Say it.”
“Not for me.” His voice a rasp.
“You think you sneak past me? You think I did this for you?” Jacques caught the Spaniard across the jaw with a right cross. So fast. Rodrigo’s head whipped sideways, and he went to a knee.
“Next time I kill you.” He turned to Kira. “And you, stop flirting. Egging him on.”
Are you joking? But she kept herself from arguing. Let Rodrigo think she was encouraging him. Jacques was practically a cyborg. Rodrigo was the weak link. He was dumb and drugged—and he wanted her. Let him think the feeling was mutual.
“Tell her you’re sorry,” Jacques said.
“Sorry.” Jacques pointed to the door and Rodrigo staggered out.
Just her and Jacques now. “This game you’re playing. You won’t like it if I leave him with you.”
Her kidnapper, accusing her of playing games? And he was right.
Then he was gone. The deadbolt slammed into place. She tried to make herself feel better by imagining the nail, plunging it into Jacques’s neck. Or Rodrigo’s. The vision had no power. They were too big, too strong.
She needed a better weapon. But she had no idea what that might be, much less how to find it.