Sweet Collateral

Una strides forward like death personified, not a trace of hesitation to be found. When she reaches the doors, she turns and cocks a brow at me. Seconds pass, and she doesn’t move. She’s waiting for me to make the decision because this is for me. Not her. Una is the assassin, but this is my kill, and we both know it. I need to do this. I know it down to the fragmented depths of my soul.

With every step I take towards her, my heart beats harder, thrumming against my ribcage. Vile memories blink through my mind like a faulty film reel, depicting all the times before that I was lead to this exact door. Una slips a gun from a thigh holster, screwing a silencer to the end. I expect her to walk straight in there, but instead, she places the gun in my hand then drops to one knee and picks the lock. Then she takes a knife from her other thigh and silently pushes the door handle down.

The distinctive scent of wood polish and cologne hits me as soon as the door opens. The room is illuminated by the dim light of the bedside lamps, bathing everything in a soft glow. At first glance, the room looks lavish, but all I see is a torture chamber. It hasn’t changed one bit from when I was last here, six years ago. I still remember that last time because it was the worst, the parting gift The Master gave me before he sold me to the Sinaloa like unwanted cattle.

The sound of the shower running can be heard through the en-suite door, and the anticipation is eating away at me, waiting for him to step out here.

Stepping inside, I round the bottom of the monstrous four-poster bed and still. There, lying on her side on the floor is a girl- and she is just a girl- naked and bleeding. I rush to her, all thoughts of the mission, or the kill temporarily forgotten. Haunted sapphire eyes meet mine through the curtain of golden blonde hair hanging in her face. That singular look drags me right back to that place, this place. I feel her pain, her sorrow, and her absolute desolation. We share it because what’s hers is mine and what’s mine is hers. We are both two lost souls that the world forgot about and abandoned. My eyes drop to the gold collar fastened around her throat, blood tainting the metal as it cuts into her neck. I know well what it means. It marks her as his favorite. Just like I was. To be his favorite is to live a fate worse than death. She’s chained to the bed frame by the collar around her neck, the chain only a few inches long. When I brush hair away from her face, she flinches, and it’s then that I really see just how young she is. Thirteen maybe. Her body is covered in scars, some I recognize all too well, and some that must be a new form of torture he’s devised.

“She’s just a child,” Una whispers from somewhere behind me.

I glance at my sister. “Yes.”

Her jaw ticks and I see a rare hint of emotion from Una before she slowly stands. “We have to take care of him. You need to focus,” she says, her eyes tracing over the girls trembling form. I know she’s right. One thing at a time. I want to help this girl, but I can’t do that while he still breathes.

I move to stand near Una, next to the bathroom door. “You can do this, Anna.”

“What if I can’t?” I whisper. This is like facing the monster under the bed, confronting all your worst and most debilitating fears, but as I glance at the abused girl, I know this isn’t just about me.

Una lifts her face, the curtain of white-blonde hair falling away to reveal those violet eyes. “You can and you will.”

The shower cuts off and Una shifts, placing herself beside the doorway to the bathroom. She takes what looks like a piece of string and clutches it in her fist. Her eyes lock with mine and time seems to stand still as the doorknob twists, steam billowing through the gap and temporarily blurring the figure in the doorway. And then the steam clears, revealing the monster himself. Alexandru Dalca. Even thinking his real name has me nervously cringing. The Master. He will always be The Master, no matter how much I know that this man deserves no such respect or subservience from me.

He stills, and I lift the gun in my hand. It trembles as I point it at him, and he narrows those cold blue eyes on me. He looks older and yet just as I remember.

“Amado,” he breathes, and I freeze. My mind blanks, my tongue feels thick in my mouth, and my lungs seize until I feel as though I’m voluntarily drowning. He takes a step towards me, and then Una moves, shifting behind him and pulling what I thought was string across the front of his throat, but as it bites into his skin, I realize its wire. A thin red line wells instantly, pooling down his neck.