“She has one and since she gave me this number, I assume she has at least two.”
“I’ll give you another ten seconds to tell me who this is, or I’m hanging up.”
“My name is Charlie, and―”
“That’s all I needed.” The voice went from one of indignation to concern. “I’m Fletcher, second in command of Sin’s unit. She told me if she ever got into a jam, I might hear from you. What has the little spitfire gone and done now?”
Hearing that it was someone from Sin’s unit worried Charlie. He thought they were with her. “She went after Veloz.”
“Alone!”
“She told me her unit was meeting her in Choluteca.”
“I’m her point man. I never heard from her. Listen mate, let’s cut to the chase. How can I help?”
“I need you in Key West by tomorrow morning. Is that possible?”
“I owe that spitfire my life. The whole unit does. We will all be there. Tell me when and where to meet you.”
34
The smell of diesel fuel was beginning to make Sin nauseous as she lay in the bottom of the fishing boat. Opening her eyes, her vision was blurry from the hit she took on the back of her head.
She tried to roll over and felt a jackhammer go off in her head. “Damn,” she groaned. “My head hurts like hell.” Ignoring the pain, she rolled onto her back and saw six pairs of eyes staring back at her. Each pair attached to a scared little girl. “If I didn’t know better,” she mumbled, “I’d swear I woke up in the middle of a scene from Little Orphan Annie.”
“How long have I been unconscious?” Sin asked in Spanish.
No one answered, they just looked confused.
Let me try that again, Sin thought. “How many times have you been fed on the boat?”
“Four.”
More than twenty-four hours. Sin squinted and tried to focus in on the girl who answered. “What is your name?”
“Ximena.”
“Ximena,” Sin said, “there was a young girl with me at the dock, did you see her?”
“She ran to you when you were hit. The man who hit you grabbed her and carried her on the boat.”
“Where is she?”
All the girls started to mumble and Ximena shrugged.
“Can you help me sit up?” Sin asked.
Shaking off the cobwebs, she began to move her arms and legs as best she could to assess her injuries. The ties cut into her flesh, but nothing seemed broken. My face feels bruised. Sin dragged her tongue over her dry lips and tasted blood. “Did anyone hit me?” she asked Ximena.
“Not since we have been in here, but your face is swollen and black and blue.”
Sin opened her mouth wide and moved her jaw from side to side. That explains a lot.
Suddenly, a thought came to Sin. “Ximena, did you see any of the men touch me in any other way?”
“Si, every time the men come down here, they give you a shot.”
A shot. No wonder I’ve been out for almost two days.
Sin contracted the muscles in her chest, trying to see if she felt anything between her breasts. Nothing. “Are you sure no one touched me?”
Ximena nodded. “They threw you down here when we first came on the ship.”
Sin smiled. “I need you to pull the bottom of my shirt out of my pants.”
When the girl did, Sin expected to see her straight-edged razor fall out of her shirt, but nothing was there.
Suddenly, the door to the hold opened up and familiar face glared back at Sin. He had an uncanny resemblance to Veloz.
“You’re an ugly fuck,” Sin said. “You have a name?”
The face sneered back with broken teeth. “You may call me El Diablo.”
“The devil, how original.”
Sin watched his eyes as they went from her face to the bottom of her shirt which was hanging in front of her jeans.
A lecherous laugh bellowed from his lips. “Did you think I left you with your blade?” He held her pearl-handled razor in his hand. “I’m going to enjoy cutting you.” He looked over his shoulder and yelled. “Grab the puta and bring her to my quarters.”
Two men grabbed her and cut the ties around her ankles.
First mistake, she thought.
Sin was brought—dragged—through the ship. She tripped twice in order to get a better look at the boat and to try to ascertain how many men were on board.
She was shoved through the door to the main cabin and fell on the hardwood floor.
The door behind her slammed shut and the room went dark.
“Fuck, that hurts,” she said.
She could sense the presence of another person in the room. “Who else is in here?”
She heard footsteps and the click of a light switch. Tia was standing by the switch.
“Thank god you’re all right, Sin sighed.
Tia ran to where Sin was sprawled, wrapped her frail arms around her neck, and bawled like a baby.
“Isn’t that sweet.” Sarcasm bled through the words.
Sin moved her eyes from Tia to the man standing at the door—El Diablo.
He moved like a man in charge. Sin couldn’t help notice that her pearl-handled revolvers were strapped to his waist.
“Nice guns,” she said.
He sat on a leather couch, opened a humidor, and pulled out a cigar, sliding it under his nose and inhaling deep. “They say Cuba make best cigars,” he said in broken English. “I think Nicaragua.” He pulled Sin’s razor out of his pocket, flicked it open, and cut the end off the cigar. “You have good taste in weapons.” He lit the cigar with her pearl embossed lighter and slowly let the smoke trail from his lips.
His voice took on an evil tone as the smoke blurred out his beady eyes. “I can’t wait to use them on you.”
Sin whispered to Tia who then scooted away from her.
“So, ‘El Diablo,’ do you have a name, or do I just call you dickhead?”
He slammed the lighter down on a table, leaned forward in his seat, and flicked his ash on Sin. “I am the man who is going to take your life,
