The Goodbye Girl (Red Market Series Book 2) (3 page)

I laugh out loud, pushing my chest out and turning my head over to the side as I further embrace the act of losing my mind. It’s the only way I know how to survive.

“Sick. Sick like them!” he screams, slapping me across the face.

He takes my dirty matted hair into his hands, pushing it down into the once-dirt, now mud thanks to my piss, caking it over the side of my face.

“How you know that man?!” he yells at me again.

“You tell me now, perra! Now!” he screams, the whites of his eyes turning black.

I’m sure he is turning into a devil in the flesh as he screams at me, demanding to know the truth. You know what they say? The truth will set you free. Freedom is what I wish for, in the arms of my lover while holding onto memories of my forbidden one.

I smile, intent and manipulation dancing around in my mind. I learned from the best.

“These men that you speak of, you say their names are Mateo and Caesar?” I ask, surprised at how sane I sound.

His breathing slows as he lets go of my hair. I sit up on my elbows, staring at his face as his nostrils flare with utter abhorrence.

“Si,” his answer is simple, yet full of yearning. Yearning for the truth.

I laugh again, allowing the madness to course through my veins.

“How you say, familia, devil-man? Familia! Mi familia!” I shout to the rooftops, proud of my admission.

The devil-man clenches his jaw with disgust, taking a step back as he shakes his head no. I let my hands touch my breast through my dirty shirt, cupping it firmly just as they would while I thrust my hips into the air. I laugh again, shouting louder, “Mi familia! Mi familia!”

The devil-man bends down to his ankle, pulling up his khaki pant leg to show me a long hunting knife strapped to it. He withdraws it from its holster and steps closer to me as the blade shines beautifully in the most fucked up way. I smile again.

Welcome to the dog fight, devil. The lamb has officially turned into a lion and is ready for blood.

Peeling away the grime, one layer at a time.

Just when I
think I am capable of clinging on to decency, the shards of words roll off her tongue and pang me with despair.
Mi familia.
I had a family once. A little girl who used to be happy and full of life, but somewhere along the way, I lost her. Part of my mind went with Fatima when she fell into the dark ways of the streets, but as I watched her from afar like a silent protector, I felt like that was the only way that I could exist. I lost her. I lost who I was and what I believed in. I’m not even sure what I believe in anymore.

Last moments of my Fatima haunt me, making me teeter between the current and past times. My brain zaps to the whore of a girl before me who I used to have empathy for. Indignation fills me, alighting anger and filling the void that I wasn’t sure ever could be whole again. I grind my teeth together, unsure of my next movements. I want a swig of tequila and a smoke, because something in my hands tells me that my next acts will leave me winded and left with little energy.

The slut who declared her support for her familia is chained like the dog she is to the wall. I knew there was reason that I didn’t take it easy on her, denying her food for long periods of time and spilling five-gallon buckets of water over her head in an effort to make her speak evidence of where that awful man is. I grip my knife harder, remembering back to the words that I spoke to myself as I interacted with that scum watch-dog.

“Si Caésar tuviera hijos, yo les pelaria la piel de sus cuerpos de la manera mas dolorosa, aterradora y agonizante hasta que murieran lentamente ante mis ojos.”

If Caesar did have any kids, I would peel their skin away from their body, painfully, terrifyingly, and agonizingly so, until they died slowly before my eyes.

There’s something to be said for watching life leave someone as their eyes haze over into nothingness. They become a ghost in front of you, all because you decided their hell. Again, the torments of previous times entice me as the infuriated laugh from that bitch brings me back to my horrible reality. She’s yanking on her chains relentlessly as the filth from the brick particles whisks through the air deftly. Her crooked teeth are exposed as her lips are curled above, the cackle coming from her mouth is making my head ache and crave the liquid that helps me cope and forget the face that was the only way to a decent life.

Her dirty clothes hang from her body. She’s lost weight since she’s been here for three weeks now. Every day is getting harder not to take it one step further to make her talk, but now, now the whore has claimed them as hers and I can’t help but wonder what she would look like filleted alive and at my mercy.

Only then will she talk.

I take my free hand and backhand her across her face, her cheeks littered with grime and dirt. Her hollow face flings itself to the side. A hiss escapes her lungs. She’s a savage cunt. This might actually be fun if she puts up a fight. Her little 100-pound frame isn’t going to be much against me.

“Perra, is familia thicker than the water your belly want? You give up your life for them?” I murmur, dropping down as I attempt to pull her in with my look.

She doesn’t waver as she stares off into the corner of the cell, snickering and heckling like a demented wild animal, thrashing her head from side to side. I slap her again, trying to silence her. The stripping of her will and sanity will be sweeter with silence. I have to make her listen. I have to make her see the path of damage that Caesar Salguero has left. His kingdom is soon to be destroyed and I will leave a message for them all.

“How do you know Caesar, puta? How?” I urge further, surprised at my ability to sound so normal as I continue to gaze at the girl who is losing her mind before me.

The stench of piss and shit is overwhelming, hitting my nostrils and making my stomach tighten and further crave the alcohol that makes me human.

Her head stills as her greasy, disheveled strands hang by her face. She looks so haunting, a familiar one to me, as I remain conflicted. Part of me wants to torture and kill her, however the other part of me wishes to save her. I can’t. I have been waiting too long to make Caesar hurt. He took my girl. The only goodness my life had as I sat back and watched him woo her with his eyes. I let it happen. I can’t. I have to make him hurt.

My self-control wins as I grip the knife, pushing it to her petite throat. The girl with no name urges herself forward, daring me to slice her throat from ear to ear. Darkness invades her look, making my heart shudder and my skin crawl. I thought that this fight would be easy, but it’s at this second that I understand that this tiny fly beneath my blade is much more than that. She is a quiet spider who
can
and
will
hurt. She will bite, kill, and inject venom when you least expect it. I need to play my cards right.

I withdraw the blade from her throat, placing it back into its holster until I am ready for more. I need answers, but she is too smart to give them to me now. I have to know how to break her. I need to know what her weaknesses are. You see, the thing about lost little girls is this; they crave love, despite how much they don’t want to admit that. They also want trust, but they don’t believe that either. I need to make her have faith in both, in others, and have her lose it in Caesar.

But who is he to her?

I brush a dirty strand of hair away from her face. Her teeth clamp down onto the flesh of my forearm before I have time to comprehend what is occurring. I yelp out in pain, seeing her bite down on my skin as the red liquid escapes, staining her cracked lips. I swear for a second I am hallucinating as I see her lips drinking me up like a vampire who has found their food. I take my free hand down to my ankle again, pulling the blade away from its holster. I slice the first place it lands as her grip leaves me and she goes limp onto the piss-infested floor.

So much for Mr. Nice Guy. He doesn’t exist anyway.

I stabbed her
in the arm. It doesn’t appear to have hit a major artery because she isn’t bleeding out. After her teeth let me go, I kicked her in the head until she lost consciousness. Now, she is unchained and naked from the bottoms down before me, completely at my mercy. It’s time to get even.
It’s time for answers.

Part of me finds joy as her head lies next to a pile of her own shit. Again, the smell is unbearable as I await her to wake up from the force of my hard boot. The satisfaction wouldn’t be felt unless she is aware. I want her to be able to feel every cut. Every slice. Every piece of skin that I take from her once marred complexion, she will remember it because her familia’s kingdom is bad. It’s falling at my hands.

Her head stirs from side to side and her eyes open in a lazy manner. Her arms stay limp. I know girls like her. They are used to being the pity of other men as their bodies remain on display like useless pieces of trash to grapple at. The same pools that set the darkness to fear earlier is still there. Even through pain and abuse, she remains unchanged.

“Who is Caesar to you?” I ask, ensuring my tone remains even.

She opens her legs, exposing her pussy. My eyes can’t help but look. It’s not like others I have seen before. It’s scarred and ugly, but I still become affected by the pink flesh that is taunting me. I scrunch my jaw as my cock strains in my pants, my stare traveling over the scattered hair on her cunt. Burn marks are painted over her lips, showing an impressive delusion of immorality that draws me in.

“How do you say, padre,” she states evenly, her tiny hand dancing over her dirtied stomach until it finds her taut opening.

Again, instead of her being at my mercy, I am at hers. I swallow hard, the dryness of my throat making me sick as I come to the conclusion of what she has just said. If he is her father, then Mateo is her cousin? Is she his lover? Is this all part of the conspiracy to gain bodies? My head feels like it is about to explode, and I fear that I may lose my mind soon, but I can’t look away as she fingers her dirty cunt.

No. This isn’t right. I’m not supposed to feel this way. I can’t look at her like this as she touches herself. It’s a disgrace. I need to stay true to my cause. I need justice for my little girl. Realization that I don’t wish for greets me as my cock grows harder in my pants. I can’t handle this degradation, yet it still enfolds me tightly, making me suffocate.

“NO!” I shout, prancing on top of her while yanking her head up by her hair to make her look at me.

“Lies! Tell me you speak lies, puta!” I shout, spit spouting from my mouth into her face.

The girl remains calm, staring into me without fear.

“Padre. My Padre.”

She giggles and I can tell she isn’t lying. I grab her tiny breast, staring at her scarred body, and bring my killing blade to her skin. It’s time to skin her alive and make her feel as much pain as I have felt.

Peeling back grime, one layer at a time.

Her screams silence my insanity as I am bathed with red warmth. The face of Fatima greets me and hell squeezes me. I believe I’ve just met the devil, herself.