Somewhere in Spain
Thump. Thump.
The footsteps came up the stairs, a heavy male tread. Rodrigo.
Kira pushed herself up against the wall. The tip of the nail dug into her waist. The bag with the acetone and lighter waited beside her hip. Not much of an arsenal, but it would have to do.
At the top of the stairs the steps stopped—
Turned around. Halfway down, a heavier thump as he stumbled. A muffled Spanish curse.
No. Kira could read Rodrigo’s drug-addled mind. Torn between his idiot lust and Jacques’s warnings.
A few minutes later she heard him on the steps again. More slowly this time. Again he stopped at the top.
Was she ready? If she failed he’d kill her. Even if she succeeded… if the others came home too soon… if they hadn’t left a car… if she couldn’t start it…
No.
She had to try. No excuses.
“Rodrigo! That you?”
“Sí.” The door muffled his voice.
“Come on then.”
The steps turned down the hall. Toward the closet. Toward her.
She reached for the lighter, flicked the little metal wheel—
Nothing. No. She tried again. This time the flame came up, bright and strong.
She slipped the lighter back in the plastic bag, next to the nail polish remover. The bottle cap was loose but still on. She didn’t think he’d notice the smell if she uncapped it, but she couldn’t risk it.
The deadbolt clapped back. Rodrigo stood in the doorway.
She had to stay in control. Make him listen. If he just jumped her, she’d lose both ways.
“Lilly made me take a shower. They’re selling me.”
He shrugged. She didn’t have to fake her shiver. “Do you have any coke?”
He nodded.
“Then come on, let’s do it. Time to party.”
He looked less enthusiastic than she’d expected. She feared he might leave. He ran his tongue over his upper lip nervously, came to her, offered her the bag of white powder. He’d showered too at some point but still stank of sweat. Was he so terrified of Jacques?
But then Jacques was terrifying.
“You first.”
He reached in with a dirty fingernail, snorted a bump, a big one. She followed. She kept the hit small. Still, she felt the drug’s power. Her heart chopped into another gear. A dry metal taste filled her mouth. Her blood sparkled. The world was brighter. Clearer. Even in here.
“That’s good.”
He did another hit. The coke seemed to give him courage. He leaned in to kiss her. No. She put a finger to his lips.
“Stand.”
Am I really doing this?
“Sí?”
“Stand.”
He stood. She pulled off the belt, unbuttoned his jeans, pushed them down halfway. His penis was half-hard. And uncircumcised. And thick but not very big. And smelled terrible. God no. She’d have to take antibiotics like her dumb suitemate Janice who’d gotten frisky in New Orleans—
Focus.
She took him in her mouth. His erection was fading. He was more flaccid than hard now and stank of stale sweat and something worse. She wanted to gag. But if she couldn’t make this happen—
“Coke dick,” he said.
Coke dick? Was that a thing? She spat on her hand, tugged at him. Looked up and gave him big good-girl doe eyes, I love giving head, being on my knees in front of a stranger, it’s soooo great, I wish I could do it 24/7, and she felt him respond immediately. Men. She used every trick she knew or had seen on YouPorn—
And finally got him as close to fully erect as he was going to get.
He wound his fingers into her hair and groaned. “Madre de Dios.” He tugged her hair, trying to get her into the rhythm that would send him to orgasm.
She pulled her head away. Wiped the back of her mouth with her hand. Retched a little. He didn’t notice.
He was still reaching for her head. She grabbed his hands, pulled him down.
“Lie down. On your back. I want to see you. I want to see your face when you come.”
I so don’t.
But he lay on his back as she’d asked. He had the placid look of a man having the best dream of his life. She straddled him, pushed up her skirt, but left her panties on. He reached for them.
“Wait. I want to play a little.”
She rubbed herself against him. She was still sore from the polish bottle, and each time she touched him through her panties a wave of pain ran through her. But she didn’t stop.
He grunted with pleasure, reached up for her. She pushed his arms down.
Time.
“Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Close them.”
“Be good, okay.” He closed his eyes.
She rubbed her hips against him, Keep the rhythm, keep him entertained. She pulled the bottle and lighter from the bag, shifted the bottle to her left hand, held the lighter in her right. Keep moving, keep moving.
He groaned happily.
She flicked off the bottle cap and it skittered down.
Now, now, if he sees he’ll kill you—
He opened his eyes.
Grunted in surprise.
She felt his orgasm begin beneath her—
As he began to sit up she dumped the liquid in the bottle onto his face and flicked the lighter and
The flame at the tip of the lighter caught the acetone and—
Up it went.
Onto Rodrigo’s face. And his eyes.
The flame danced. And his eyes burned.
He screamed, high, frightened. He clapped his hands to his face, slapping at the flame, but too late. In sitting up he had made himself a perfect target. His eyes were black in their sockets, retinas gone, the eyelids burned, only bloody pulp left. For a moment he sat back against the wall.
The horror of what she’d done stunned her. She didn’t move.
His scream deepened into rage. He sat up, knocking her backward, and swiped blindly for her.
She dodged, turned, stood. Before her the door, the hallway, freedom. She ran.
He swept his legs sideways. They tangled hers. She went down, landed hard on her left elbow. A flash of pain shot up her arm into her shoulder. He grabbed her ankle, pulled her in. She kicked at him but he was so strong.
She found the nail in her waistband. It nearly slipped through her fingers but she held it tight.
He reeled her in, clamping his hands to her calf knee thigh. His fingernails tore her skin. She jabbed at his legs with the nail, but he didn’t notice.
He put an arm around her waist and squeezed. She tried to scream but only gurgled. If he could reach her throat he could choke her out even blind.
Live or die.
His erection had withered, his cock lay flaccid, semen dripping—
And she knew what she had to do.
She made a fist around the nail. As his fingers touched her shoulders, reached for her throat, she jammed it through his soft sac and into the meat inside—
He screamed.
She flattened her palm, drove the nail deep into his testicle.
His scream rose and he let go of her to reach for the nail.
She scrambled away on hands and knees.
Stood, ran out. He crawled for her, blind, groaning, blundering for the door. She slammed it shut and leaned against it. She heard him stand as she snapped the deadbolt into place.
The door shook as he ran against it, fierce, helpless.
The lock held. He stopped. He slumped against the door, sobbing now.
“Por favor, por favor, please, it hurts, it hurts—”
Coke-adrenalized rage rose in her, at herself for hurting him, what she’d done, at him for giving her no choice, his poisoned semen sticky on her legs.
“How do you like it, Rodrigo? How do you like it, how do you like it—” She heard a car in the distance, the engine rumbling, revving.
She was wasting time, she needed to run.
She ran.