Killing Sarai

“I still want the hit on Guzmán carried out for the price we agreed on, but I will give you another one million American to also kill Sarai.”

Kill her? I did not expect my communication with Javier would cause me surprise. This is very interesting, indeed.

“Why would you want her dead?” I ask.

“That doesn’t matter,” he says. “The reasons never matter in this business. You should know that.”

I do know that, and this is the first time I’ve ever asked why a client wanted a mark killed.

“I have a better offer for you,” I a

I don’t have to hear Niklas comment to know that he is in complete disagreement with this, but he remains quiet.

“You mean Guzmán’s daughter,” Javier probes, knowing. “Am I right?”

“Yes,” I say. “If it isn’t already obvious, Guzmán paid to have her returned to him.”

Javier laughs. “And all this time I thought he was trying to have me killed!” He pulls himself from his humorous revelation. “You are good,” he says. “I give you that. Knock out two contracts at once. Show Guzmán his daughter, take the money for bringing her to him then turn around and kill him and take the money I paid to have him killed.” He laughs again.

I remain calm and unemotional.

“Is it a deal, or not?”

“So then you’re passing on the contract to kill Sarai?” he asks.

“Right now,” I begin, “she is my only leverage. Once I do what you paid me to do and I give her back to you, do what you want with her. It is not of my concern.”

Niklas ends the call after we have come to another agreement. He calls me back once he knows that Javier’s line has been disco

“Victor, you ca

“What are Vo

I glance through the window to see the girl still sitting anxiously in the hotel lobby.

“He has not given them yet,” Niklas says. “You are not permitted to agree to such deals, only to enforce them.”

“Then tell Vo

Niklas remains quiet. I believe he holds this fact against me, that the Order trusts me, yet they have never given him the same luxury.

“Very well,” Niklas agrees. “I will tell Vo

“Niklas,” I say to him carefully as my brother and not my liaison, “I thank you for your discretion. Now, will you do something for me?”

“When have I ever refused?”

I leave Niklas, tucking the phone back in my pocket and I head inside to find the girl.

She had been pacing the floor and when she notices me, she stops and her arms come uncrossed and fall to her sides, a look of question heavy on her face.

“Come with me,” I say, taking her by the elbow.

“Where are we going?” She follows alongside me without question or argument.

“To Green Valley.”

“But why, Victor? What’s going on?”

I glance over at her momentarily and tug on her arm as we round the corner at the top of the stairs.

“I will tell you soon,” I say, “but first, there are some things that you need to tell me.”

We make our way down the hallway and stand in front of the door at our room as I fish around inside my pocket for the card key.

The girl looks bewildered.

“You need to tell me why Javier Ruiz would want you dead.”

Her expression falls under a veil of shock.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sarai

Victor walks quickly, but casually over to get the mattress and box springs lifted. With one arm holding them up, he reaches in and grabs each bag, one by one and sets them aside.

“I don’t understand,” I say, crossing my arms and rubbing them with the opposite hands, up and down as if there’s a chill in the air. “Did he say he was going to kill me?”

Victor unzips the duffle bag on the tabletop and sifts through the contents.

“No, he offered me one million to kill you for him.”

I blink back the stun and just stand here in disbelief, more goose bumps breaking out all over my body.

Victor comes up in front of me and places both hands on my shoulders. He pushes me gently down on the edge of the bed where I sit willingly. Then he takes a seat in one of the chairs underneath the table, turning it around fully so that he can face me.

“Why would Javier want you dead enough to pay that much to have you killed?”

Absently, I raise my eyes to look up at him, still a bit lost in my thoughts.

“I-I don’t know,” I stutter.

“Yes you do,” he insists. “Perhaps not directly, but something tells me that deep down a part of you has some idea—think.”

I look away from his eyes, trying to recall my time at the compound, searching for what could be the answer. When many long seconds pass and I’ve found nothing, Victor lifts his bottom from the chair long enough to scoot it closer to me. That gets my attention again.

“I need you to tell me everything,” Victor says with gentle intent. “Tell me about your relationship with Javier. You said he believes he is in love with you.”

I nod in a slow, rapid motion. “Yes. He told me once that he was in love with me, but I know better. He’s crazy. Possessive. But he protected me from the things the other girls had to go through.”

I don’t like to think about these things, much less talk openly about them. I am ashamed and I hate myself for what they endured.

“He protected you?” Victor asks, needing more information.

“Yes. I was off-limits to Javier’s men. And Izel, well, Javier nearly killed her when she hit me in the face once. After that, she wasn’t allowed to touch me. And I was allowed luxuries the other girls weren’t, too. Hot showers and good food and I got to see places outside of the compound. I even flew on a small plane with him several times. Javier would rarely let me out of his sight. Izel hated me for it, accused Javier of ‘going soft’, falling for a ‘stupid American girl’.”

A spark of intrigue passes over Victor’s features.

“What kind of places were you taken?”

I shrug softly and let my hands fall in-between my thighs, my fingers curling nervously around one another.

“Sometimes,” I begin, “he’d take me with him to other rich men’s houses, with sparkling blue pools shaped like horseshoes and other strange things. Javier said it was just to mingle but I knew we were there for drug deals. And girls. Sometimes we came back with a new one. He would dress up in a nice suit and shiny black shoes just like yours.” I glance down at Victor’s shoes briefly. “He didn’t look like the scumbag you saw the other day, living in filth. He is rich, despite what you saw.”

“I gathered that much.”

I go on:

“And of course he’d make me dress up, too.”

I lower my eyes shamefully, mostly because sometimes I enjoyed it, dressing up and being treated like a princess. That was how I always thought of it: a princess, as disturbing as the circumstances were.