CHAPTER 19
THE PUNISHER
‘FUCK!’ The words explode from me, raw and unfiltered as I hammer the steering wheel.
Sal hesitates, ‘And there’s more...’
I glare at him, the pause suffocating. ‘Spit it out!’
‘He found a brochure inside the house. It’s fake. No address.’
My jaw tightens, the pieces clicking into place. ‘Maribel’s back-up?’
‘And Carlos’s,’ Sal nods grimly. ‘It seems that way. Whoever we’re dealing with, they’ve managed to lure Tarran and her friends right into their trap.’
Sal shifts uneasy in his seat.
‘It’s a good job we’re here then,’ I answer, cold and detached. My eyes narrow as I glance out of the window towards Carlos who is staggering back to the masia . ‘Because knowing my uncle, he won’t be able to resist testing me again. And when he does, he’ll drag her right back here.’
Carlos thinks he’s pulling all the strings, but he doesn’t realise he’s already part of my design. Every move he makes only feeds into the trap I’m setting. He doesn’t see the monster in the mirror. But he will. Soon.
‘I hope you brought a clean suit, because after we’ve dealt with the Albanians, we’ve got an auction to attend.’
‘I want a gun,’ he demands, almost desperate.
I glance at him. ‘You’d do yourself more damage if you had a gun.’
‘I need protection,’ he insists, his voice wavering just enough to betray his nerves.
‘Since when?’ I ask. ‘You have me.’
He hesitates, ‘Yes, but I was thinking something small. Maybe a Desert Eagle 0.50.’
I scoff, ‘Small? You’d shoot your bollocks off with that.’
Sal nods, and I let the silence stretch. ‘Find out whom we’re up against, and I’ll think about it, and I want to know everything about Tarran Pineda.’
‘Everything?’
‘Everything,’ I repeat. ‘I want to know the last time she took a shit. Who she is, where her grandfather’s estate is. And I want it yesterday.’
Sal swallows hard, the gravity of my words sinking in. He knows I’m not asking – I’m commanding. And failure isn’t an option.
‘Boss?’
‘Yes, Sal?’
‘What is it about this girl? You can have anyone.’
‘I don’t know, Sal.’
And that’s just it. I can have anyone. But I want her.
Something has changed; her absence sparking a shift within me. It’s as if the walls around my heart are cracking, the last trace of humanity seeping through. I grapple with my newfound feelings. It’s disconcerting, but Tarran makes me feel alive. She makes me feel – something .
She’s able to see past the mask and into the depths of who I am, not because she’s naive or innocent, but because she carries her own shadows. Her darkness mirrors mine. It’s as if we share an unspoken language, forged in the fires of our own personal hells.
‘What about you, Sal? No lady friend?’
‘Me?’ he scoffs. ‘No time for that, boss. The last woman I made love to –’
‘Fucked, Sal…’
He nods and swallows, ‘The last lady I fucked was like a bucking bronco.’
‘That’s new…’
‘We were, erm…doing it doggy style, I think you call it, and I accidently yelled out another woman’s name. She went ape-shit, and I was hanging on like … a bucking bronco. That was ten years ago. Women are a dangerous sport.’
I smile.
‘Boss? Did you just smile?’
‘No,’ I lie.
‘Shame, because it suits you.’
My mum told me to smile more, it makes people comfortable. It also makes it easier for me to fit in, pretending I’m not a monster. She knew who I was, even then. Tarran will know me too. I don’t want to blend in with her.
If Tarran were to die, the world would be left in ruins, a desolate wasteland echoing with the screams of my shattered sanity.
I would unleash hell upon this earth, a relentless storm of fury and vengeance, leaving nothing but destruction in my wake.
Fury, I’m all too familiar with that emotion, it’s part of the little humanity I still have.
I hate that it’s there, living alongside the memory of my mother, and I don’t know why.
But fury is what keeps me sane. It keeps me grounded. Without it, I’m no different than your average serial killer, operating without emotional boundaries. For me, it’s about channelling my fury, ensuring my actions are cold, calculated but devoid of reckless anger that would lead to my downfall.
‘Just don’t get caught, and if you’re going to take justice into your own hands then gather irrefutable proof.’
It’s ironic really, the words of my father.
He’d put a bullet in someone for speaking out of turn.
But that kind of recklessness earned him enemies and a life spent looking over his shoulder.
It’s probably what got him killed. I suppose, he preferred me to have a successful hunt rather than end up in a prison cell.
Who would look after his empire, after all?
Indeed, Tarran’s presence seems to shroud any semblance of clear thinking. She’s like a fog that distorts reality, and makes it difficult to manage my dark urges. She reminds me of my monstrous nature lurking within, a nature, that as long as I have her, is kept in check.