The Goodbye Girl (Red Market Series Book 2) (7 page)

She shed the skins of her past gloriously, all while having murder on her mind.

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust
.
After so long, it’s as if these movements are what soothe my sensitive heart. Pain is what I have come to require. As much as I want to drown in my silent screams and the discomfort, it’s useless. I’d be running back to it. Instead of flying through it disconnected, I need to sharpen my claws and make my lovers proud.

I need to fucking kill to survive.

“Such a tight cunt for a whore,” Arturo pants.

His chants make me sick, but it’s my role. I need to gather my strength to get out of here. I take a deep breath to fill my lungs with air I will soon need. I let out a growl, not a cry, but a fucking growl like a tiger that is about to feast on its meal. The power I have wished for finds me as I clutch onto the dirt-filled floor, the mud caking itself underneath the nails I have left. I feel nothing but the thudding of my heart through every cell of my body. I haven’t been more prepared to fight in my life.

Maybe the men who saved me in different ways did teach me a thing or two.

I push my heel backwards with all my might, convinced it is enough to inflict damage. Clearly I am mistaken. My reflexes must still be slothful from my injuries. I feel a grip around my ankle and an immediate slap over my face, making my cheek whip to the side. I can’t help but laugh out loud again. I know I am losing my mind. Shit, maybe I’ve never really had it. My eyes make their way to the devil-man before me, his small cock exposed as his chest heaves from his uninvited prods.

His lips turn down in disapproval, but he needs to understand that I am in this for the long haul. I grasp a hold of loose dirt in my left hand, letting the roughened grains tickle my palm. Again, I am reminded of the touch from my forbidden lover. Caesar, my fucking escape from the nasty world and the first person to show me what love was
. Fuck it all
. I still love him. I can’t help it. Let my maddened mind slip back into blackness, thinking that instead of dirt, it is his hands that I am holding. My hips betray me during this fight as my pussy becomes wet recalling how he touched me in the most delicious of ways.

A hard jab to my cunt brings me out of my daydream and I cough wildly, grasping onto the dirt tighter until my fingers feel like they are going to break. My lungs burn and I feel an intense throbbing between my legs. That isn’t anything compared to getting your twat lit on fire. Stupid man doesn’t know the things I have been through. This is like a cakewalk compared to my history.

He relaxes back on his heels staring at me like he, too, is contemplating his next movements.
Fucking idiot.
That’s the worst thing you can do in a situation like this. He is overconfident, thinking that he has me where he wants me, but that will prove to be his greatest mistake. I have survived the harshest situations of the world for the past seventeen, almost eighteen years. That realization makes me smile as my chest start to calm.

My leg moves swiftly, catching his chin. He yelps out as his head yanks to the side. He instantly moves his hand to guard his wounded jaw
. Mistake number two
. I keep staring at him, noting that his hands are trembling slightly. I can’t help but feel an immense amount of pride for having such an effect on this son-of-a-bitch. His hands move lower and his eyes open, showing an outpouring of hatred. I see that he has murder on his mind.

“You deserve to die!” Arturo yells, spitting disgustingly my way.

I react, tossing the dirt into his eyes as my heel makes contact with his throat. I hear an awful gurgling sound as he hobbles back onto his bare ass, guarding his throat as he makes the universal choking symbol with his hands. I stand abruptly, looking down at him as he attempts to catch his breath, but it seems that it is too difficult for him. His face starts to turn ashen, and I stand there admiring my little foot’s handiwork. Who would have ever guessed that my tiny foot could have been capable of crushing a man’s wind-pipe?

I stand, allowing my muscles to amend for a few moments, still not letting my eyes waiver from the sick fuck before me. One of his hands reaches out for me, a nonverbal sign that he wants my help. In that second, I lose it further. I pounce on him, letting the teeth that have been buried beneath the surface of abuse and heartache free. I claw, bite, and punch him everywhere that I can. His pleas are useless and weak. Due to the lack of oxygen that his body is getting, he will soon die anyway, and he isn’t sustaining enough energy. I could have let him go peacefully, but with one gesture, he proved that I am not a creature capable of decency.

Gone is the weak little lamb.

Perhaps I do belong with Mateo. Maybe I was born to kill. Born to fuck things up. My vision goes red with rage as my arms flail to their own madness, scratching and hitting everywhere that they can. I hiss and growl, like the animal that I have transformed into, and before I understand what I am doing, I feel a gush of warmth into my mouth. The taste of something salty, like sweat, and metallic assaults my taste buds and empty stomach. The redness dissolves as soon as it happened and the grisly scene greets me. I should be stunned, but part of me is pleased with the results that are in front of me.

Blood drips from my lips as I see an open wound on Arturo’s neck. His skin is blue, his limbs are flaccid, and his eyes are open. Death is final. I know what it looks like, what it feels like beneath my hands. I remember it so well, after all, it was my first memory. My brain hurts as I remember my mother at just four-years-old. I hate myself in this moment, or my mind for that matter. It is spiraling out of control with each passing moment. I wanted nothing more than to fix her messy blonde curls and wash the red out of them.

But she was a dolly I could never fix. That was the day I was delivered to evil, to live with it for thirteen years until I fell into the embers of love. That is what love does to you. It burns you alive. It’s unfair. It hurts. It’s a goddamn burden because good things never last. People always leave. That’s what happened to me. I had it all, but now it’s gone and I don’t know what to do as I sit in this shit-hole, naked and mutilated with no clothes or home.

I’m back at square one.

Life, again, proves to be unfair. It is what it is. My look focuses on the dead man beneath me, and for a brief instant, I have inappropriate thoughts about maiming his body and throwing it to the alley rats that are sure to be scurrying around and searching for food behind this building.

Get your shit together, Svetlana…
I chant it to myself over and over again. My eyes cast dark and I turn the survival switch on. I rummage around in Arturo’s pants pockets until I feel a set of keys. I scold myself for not remembering the landscape of where the flat was. I know that there were kids running around amuck and gangsters everywhere. Fuck, who am I kidding? I am probably still in the middle of Mexico City and getting back to the place where things looked familiar will be harder than scoring a warm place to stay during wintertime in Hunts Point.

I look down at my feet, noting how terrible I look with mud and shit caked on most every inch of my skin. Fuck it. I attempt to walk, noting how much effort it is taking me to make a step. I hope whatever I do doesn’t require running, because I don’t think my legs will move that quickly. I walk down a small passageway until a short metal door greets me. I take several keys out, trying a few until I find one that unlocks the door. The brutal sunlight shines down on my face, blinding my eyes and making it difficult to see. I nearly fall back onto my naked ass, taking a second to balance myself and let the unwavering heat warm my broken body. I place my arms out like I am being victimized alive, letting my bare nipples feel the hot temperature. I was never sure of God before, merely hearing the crazy people panhandling the streets talking about how they found Jesus. I think this is about as close to heaven as I will ever get, feeling the liberation of being free on my own accord. I close my eyes, reveling in this moment that I have. The very first time in my life that I have fought for something.

And won.

I was not saved this time. No. I made the bad guy pay. I killed him and sent him to his own hell where he is paying for the terrible things he has done. I let a smile grace my battered face as these thoughts swarm my mind. Thoughts that are as close to heaven as I will get. I hear nothing in the background except pure peace, something that I have never experienced before. My ears are fulfilled as magic surrounds me, letting me know that I am the one in control of my own destiny.

The cards I have been dealt are not the way that my life has to go.

Life can change in a fraction of a second. Moments of decency can be murdered by another beast set on sucking the only amount of life you have left.

“Oye pequeña, deja te ayudó.” A thick Spanish accent calls out to me.

Hey little girl, let me help.

I open my eyes to see a handsome, twenty-something year-old Hispanic man dressed in slacks and a short-sleeved black dress top that buttons down the middle. His hair is short, almost bald, and his features are rough. Both arms are covered in tattoos, making me remember Mateo.
Oh, Mateo. Where are you and why won’t you save me
? He smiles at me, but it isn’t a friendly smile. The type of grin he just offered tells me that he is about to take something of mine, even if I don’t want to give it up. I want so badly to offer him a return, but something has my tongue muted, and I don’t think it is my weakness or the elements I have just suffered. He gives me another wider smug smile, looking my body up and down as if he is studying it for his next experiment. He moves his black shirt up to expose a silver, shiny gun and my heart drops.

So much for thinking I could save myself.

He pulls a cellphone out of his pocket, all while I remain still. Running would be stupid and make my situation much worse. I can spot the bad guys from miles away. They like little girls who play by the rules, and I am making the decision to do that…

For now.

“Se ve como de dieciséis, sucia asta la chingada y huele a mierda. Necesitrará un buen baño y afeitada.” The unknown man spouts off in Spanish. I wish I knew what the hell he was saying. I know it’s about me.

She looks about sixteen, dirty as fuck and smells like shit. She’ll need a bath and a good shave.

He smiles to me as the person on the other end of the line speak back to him. He hangs up, taking a step closer to inspect, from what I can see, my tits because his eyes are set on them. I gulp hard, trying to understand what is about to happen. Based on my knowledge from the city life back home, it’s something that I am not willing to come to terms with. I am about to be taken by this asshole, and more than likely pimped out.

The unknown man takes a step back, bringing his hand to his nose. If I wasn’t so used to that gesture from my previous times in Hunts Point, I would be offended, but when you are locked up in a cell for God knows how long, what else do you expect?

A beat up white van comes up behind him. I have the urge to scream, but something is stopping me. My tongue belongs to the unknown man in front of me. How is it that I can go from vengeful and willing to fight, to weak and ready to surrender in two fucking seconds? Is that what girls like me were trained to do?

Three men jump out of the van as the handsome Hispanic man walks away down the sidewalk littered with trash. I want to tell him to come back to me, but I have no time as the group of assailants puts a black hood over my head, throws me into the back of the van, and knocks me out until I see nothing.