Chapter 4 My Name Is Jakob #2
"What you must know is that she was trained from the time she could walk to be a killer.
" I glance at Inez, and she gives me a small nod to continue.
"She was her father's executioner when she was as young as sixteen or seventeen.
I mean that literally. She was, and is, as competent an operator as any of your men. "
"I gave birth," Ine says, taking over. "It was long, agonizing, and traumatic. I was…broken. Mentally, physically, emotionally. After I gave birth, I…had a mental break. And I…” A sigh, a touch of her hand to mine for courage.
"I went on a rampage and killed everyone who worked on the estate compound owned by my husband, formerly belonging to my father.
Everyone. Innocent people. Women. Teenage boys. Everyone."
Silence once more.
Slowly, the red-haired woman levers to her feet, snags her cane from the back of the couch, and crosses to Inez. She pauses a foot or so away, leaning on her cane, and then gently, gingerly gathers Inez into her embrace. Inez is stiff, arms at her sides, eyes closed as the woman embraces her.
Naomi moves in, next, and then the others, one by one. I move out of the way as the women, all seven of them, surround Inez in a huddle.
No one says anything. I hear a sniffle, a shuddery breath—Inez fighting for calm.
"Let—let me go," she hisses. "I can't—I…let me go. Let me go."
A soft voice whispers something I can't make out.
"No—I can't—I can't," Inez says. "I won't be able to—"
Another whisper.
"NO!" This is a ragged screech from Inez.
I can't see her inside the huddle of women, only a flash of black hair.
Abruptly, the whole cluster seems to sag, and then collapse as Inez crumples and the women catch her, help her settle onto the floor.
Her shoulders are shaking. Six heads angle toward hers, arms wrap around shoulders.
A scream rips out of Inez's throat, and this is a primal sound of raw agony, grief and horror, rage, and sorrow.
This is a scream long denied finally emerging.
It becomes a wail, shuddering and awful, and my heart breaks all over again for her.
The wail tapers off into a sob, and I hear murmurs from the other women, whispering support, encouragement, understanding.
I can only watch, and feel as if I’m somehow intruding on something sacred, viewing an ancient ritual of feminine trauma at the hands of men.
I do not belong here; I should not be watching this.
I turn away, find a doorway with stairs leading up. The door at the top of the stairs opens into a large, open, dark room—the main nightclub. It's silent and empty. I find a nearby bar, pull out a stool, and sit.
I lean my forearms on the edge of the bar, wishing I had a drink.
That scream…it still shudders in my soul. It is a sound I will not soon forget.
I hear footsteps approaching, feel a presence nearby. "Lorenzo." The voice is deep, dark, smooth, and powerful.
I frown in the direction of the voice. "You have the advantage," I say. “You know me, it appears."
"I am…a friend of Inez's."
I snort. "No, you are her mysterious employer, I think."
The answering silence is confirmation enough.
"Why are you up here?" he asks me.
"Inez and the women." I shrug. “They're…talking. I was in the way."
"Talking, are they?" His tone suggests he knows more than he's saying.
I peer into shadows, but all I can make out is a vague outline—tall, broad-shouldered. "Yes. Talking."
"You are careful. I like that."
"Imagine my relief." It's more than a little sarcastic.
He huffs a laugh. "I care about her," he says after a moment. "And I respect her."
"Good."
"What are they talking about?" he asks. "Rafael?"
If he knows that name, then he probably knows everything.
"Among other things," I respond. "She's giving them…context."
"It's good she's opening up to them. I have often wished she could have done it much sooner, but she had to find the courage to do so on her own."
The shadow moves, and I hear glass clinking, liquid pouring. Glass thunks on the bar and slides to me. "Na zdravi," he says.
Dim light reflects off of glass.
I take the glass in front of me, sniff—excellent scotch. "Saúde!" I say in answer, touching my glass to his.
I sip—the scotch is world-class, very, very expensive. "Thank you."
"Don't give up on her, Lorenzo," he says, after a few moments of sipping in relatively companionable silence—as companionable as it can be when you are both in shadow. "She needs you. She loves you. She just…doesn't know how."
"It sounds like you know her well," I say, instead of answering his statement.
"I do. As well as anyone can, perhaps. She was the first, you know."
"First what?"
I see a long arm slide through shadows, gesturing in an expansive sweep. "All of this. The Broken Arrows. She was the first."
"I don't know much about it. There is a brand. They cannot kill. They live here. They're all operators."
"It's not important at the moment," he says. “Only that I have known Inez for many years. We built this together, she and I."
"You love her." It's not a question.
A long pause—the longest yet. "Yes. As…a sister, perhaps. Not as you love her."
"She is difficult to love."
A bark of laughter. “Yes, that is very true. But you must not give up."
"Give up? Senhor, I do not know your name.
I don't care what it is. But if you know Inez as well as you say, then you at least know of me.
And if you know anything about me at all, you know I will not give up on that woman.
Not ever. I have loved her since I was eighteen years old.
I have loved her across the years in which I thought she was dead.
I have fought for her. I have bled for her and killed for her. "
Another lengthy silence, broken by the sounds of sipping and swallowing.
"Those women down there. They've all been through hell. Worse than hell."
"I sensed as much. The one named Naomi in particular."
"Indeed." His accent is impossible to define. There is a vaguely Eastern European hint to it, at times. Other times, it is almost accentless—educated, sophisticated, articulate, and blank of origin.
"Rafael and Pugli must not be allowed to harm them."
"I would die first."
"Good. But better you lived. Inez needs your love."
"Getting her to let me is proving difficult, as I said. And with reason, as I'm sure you're aware."
"Quite aware. Those reasons are exactly why she needs you."
"You say nothing I do not already know."
"Sometimes the obvious bears stating."
A digital chime cuts through the moment—it sounded like it came from a watch. A small swath of light illuminates sharp, hard, masculine features and dark, quick eyes. "They approach." Those eyes find me. "Go. Toro, Taj, and Fonz will assist."
I toss back the last swallow of the syrupy scotch. "And you?"
"I will be tracking our quarry. I came to meet you in person. A man who could claim the heart of Sophia Silva de Santos? I had to see you with my own eyes."
"Your name? Since you know mine?"
A pause; I hear him swallow, the hollow echo of a breath captured in the bottom of a raised glass. "My name is Jakob."