Fanfiction: I See Red - 22
Title: I See Red
Rating: R
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia
Spoilers: Post season finale
A/N - I am wayyyyy behind on my fic reading. So if any of you authors out there have been thinking, "why hasn't supercontenta commented on my fic yet? Does she hate me?!" The answer is no. I don't hate you. I love you! I've just been busy writing this little chapter. So, rest assured, I shall be reading and commenting soon. And of course *toes the ground shyly* it's always nice for me to receive comments as well. Just a thought... ;)
The clink of glasses and scratching of forks ring in my ears. The sounds hover around me like a whisper that I have no desire to answer.
How long has she been gone? Maybe minutes, hours, or even days, for all I know. The only thing I know for certain is that I am alone. Well and truly alone in this small dark space. My forehead rests against mildewed wood as my mind meanders between consciousness and unconsciousness. Despite this flux in lucidity, I continue to feel. That gaping hole within me pushing and expanding with every second that she's gone, threatening to swallow me up and consume me.
Breath stutters as it pulls through tight lungs. Eyelids flutter, weighted with tears. Am I crying? A weak hand rises up to gingerly touch my own cheek like a stranger. Moisture. I must be crying. Sorrow has seeped into me like black rays of sunshine making tears permanent fixtures on my face. Funny. I never cried as a child. Always had to be strong, never let my father see how weak he made me feel. Those walls I'd so carefully crafted as I grew are now weathered down to rubble. All because of her. I let her in closer than anyone, held on to her as tight as possible, because once I saw her again I realized that all those years without her I had been dead inside, and now I am dead once more...
"One last toast!"
El Gordo's voice booms, making me flinch in reaction. My head remains inert against the wall while my eyes lift to watch him laughing and waving off his family.
"Babbo, please! No more toasts!"
"Hush daughter! A father has the right to boast about his family, doesn't he?"
Smiles and shining faces are visible through a veil of moist eyelashes.
His Spanish is tainted by an Italian accent, but his words are eloquent enough as they tear at me like sandpaper. "My dear famiglia. It brings me great joy to see you all here today. And it brings me even greater joy to see the light of my life joined with one of the strongest men I know - Julio." He dips his red wine glass down and nods at the young man sitting beside him. "You are now my son. My family. And our countries are as one." His eyes rise up and stare straight into the heart of everyone in the room, branding them with his words. "From this point forward, when Julio speaks, it is my mouth that moves. If he strikes you down, it is my hand that delivers the blow. Let this union increase our strength as a whole. Strength is what carves our course to greatness. We, all of us, are bound by more than blood. We are bound by love, honor, and loyalty. To turn your back on your family is to turn your back on your own life."
As his words lay claim on all in the room, even I can feel the casual elation from a moment before transform into a cool resolve. Firm nods of head. Resolute jaws and steely eyes. The men look right at home, basking in their own fearsome power and unity, while the women look slightly ill at ease, as if they want to keep those darker truths well hidden from the light.
Finally, El Gordo breaks his heavy pause to conclude, "To famiglia." He drinks.
"TO FAMIGLIA!!" The men rise, shout, and drink.
As I watch the scene unfold before me, a hidden spectator to my own personal hell, I start to wonder if I still have a role to play in this cruel drama. I once had a plan, didn't I? A motive. To capture El Gordo. To bring his bloated carcass to justice. A plan that I had put before everything... even before Silvia.
That last thought stabs through me, slicing my pain open and cauterizing it with a newfound guilt.
Maybe if I'd stayed behind that wall...
Maybe if I'd left when Paco wanted to go...
Maybe if I'd stayed in Madrid...
Maybe then Silvia would still be here, with me...
The maybes eat away at me from the inside, their razor tongues lashing at me with desperate hunger. I clench my eyes shut as a new wave of anguish crashes into me.
"Now it's time to celebrate! I think we've kept the groom waiting for his bride long enough!"
"Babbo!!"
Laughter fills the hall and rumbles around me, echoing off the walls of my prison cell.
Nails dig into dead wood.
"It's about time I got some grandchildren. You can accommodate that, right Julio?"
"I would be happy to, Padre."
Loud smacks. Exaggerated kisses.
Hot blood starts to pump into numb extremities.
"Then out! Out everyone and over to the party. Music and dancing all night! You two, however... You two should make a stop off at your house first. Start your honeymoon early. I'm not getting any younger, you know..."
"Babbo, stop it! You're embarrassing me!"
"That's what father's do best! Isn't that right, princess?"
Princess...
I nearly growl. My teeth gnash together as I squeeze the handle of my gun and my eyes refocus on El Gordo like lasers.
This is the last time you're gonna smile, you murdering motherfucker...
The laughter dies down. Footsteps wander past as the crowd of revelers thins and my prey dawdles behind as though he's inviting me to rip a bullet through his brain. I rise up slowly, feeling like a caged animal with a sharp set of claws, ready to pounce at the first opportunity.
Patience, Pepa...
He grows closer, a few men still lingering around him, congratulating him. I lean to the left to get a better view as he draws near and accidentally brush against a broom handle.
Tap, Tap
It clicks against the wall in two short spurts before I silence it, and I watch intently to see if I've been discovered. The men chatting with El Gordo show no sign of recognition, but he, on the other hand... The slimy bastard's eyes flick my way, his stance turning rigid. He's too familiar with danger not to have noticed an unexpected sound like that.
He knows...
"Gentlemen, please, enough congratulating me. You're missing the party, which wasn't cheap! So don't let it go to waste. I expect to see you all drunk by the time I get over there."
Chuckling followed by hands slapping backs and firm handshakes.
He thinks I don't know that he's on to me. He thinks he has the element of surprise. Well, he's the one in for a fucking surprise...
The last few footsteps recede into the distance and he stands alone in his perfect little world: Flowers blooming throughout the room and candles casting shadows along the walls. With a little twist of imagination this wedding banquet could easily be a wake, and what better way to die than on the happiest day of your life? As far as I can see, I'm simply returning a favor. A debt that needs repaying.
He pulls out a cigar from his vest pocket and sniffs at it with satisfaction. Cuts off the end. Ignites the tip. One puff. Two. It's of the best quality, I have no doubt.
I watch his every movement like a hawk. He strolls closer and closer as he enjoys his finely rolled cigar, appearing relaxed as he weighs his options. What is he up against? Is it a mouse in that closet? A random noise from a slight jostling of the earth? Or perhaps an assassin waiting in the dark to kill him?
It's door number three, you son-of-a-bitch.
My body is ready - one hand resting on the door knob, the other raised with a loaded gun, breathing slow and deliberate and my vision as clear and cold as glacial water.
His feet cease their prowling right in front me, the pungent scent of his smoke drifting through the cracks. He makes as though he's searching for something on his person, but I know better. He's subtly reaching for his weapon, attempting to catch me off guard. Only he's the one who's in for a shock...
WHAM!
The door swings open, this time actually unhinging by the force of my body. I spin around behind him and pin him against the wall; his arm twisted against his spine, the muzzle of my gun digging into his temple and clicking in his ear.
"Don't you fucking move..." I hiss through clenched teeth. My hand trails around his middle and I feel the butt of his gun, release it from its holster, and tuck it into my belt.
"Whatever you're being paid, I'll double it." He wheezes while his meaty face is mashed against polished wood.
Black metal presses against his pulsing blood vessel, and I'm hypnotized by its throbbing rhythm. Why haven't I fired yet? I puzzle. Only silence meets my wordless inquiry before he offers up his wealth to me once more, and then gasps as I put further strain on his wrenched arm.
"I don't want your money. There is nothing you have that I want. Wait... I take that back. There is one thing I want from you..."
"Anything! Name it and I'll--" His quivering voice cuts off as I press the muzzle of my gun into his mouth and yank his wrist into an unnatural position, forcing his fingers to splay outward.
"I want your pain..." I snap two fingers like dried twigs, bending them into new, abstract angles; the barrel of my gun now rammed so far into his mouth his moans of agony are muffled beyond recognition. Sweat drips from his brow while his warped limb shakes beneath my capable hand. He cries against the steel, teeth clattering around it, tears pooling in his eyes, and I smile as I press my lips against his ear and whisper, "That was me being merciful. You should say 'thank you'."
The tip of my gun slowly retreats from his mouth and I reposition it under his chin; his eyes darting around like a frightened animal, trying to get a glimpse of his attacker. But I am out of his reach, free to make any demands I want and wield whatever revenge I see fit. For once I'm the one in control.
The only sound I hear break free from his lips is that of ragged breaths, and I'm not in a patient mood...
BAM!
Quick as lightning I whip the gun against the side of his face and shove it back under his gullet. "When I ask you to say something, you fucking say it. And when I ask you to do something, you fucking do it. Do we understand each other?"
Blood is now trickling into his eye, and he nods.
"Good. Now, be polite and say 'thank you' to a lady."
His jaw sets and he grits out, "Thank you."
Snap!
A third finger breaks backwards. His hand is starting to look like broken spokes on a wheel.
"What do you say?" I cock my head towards him, body pressing him tightly against the wall, and his fistful of pain helpless under my grip.
There's whimpering and more blood stained tears before he gives in to a susurrant whisper: "Th-thank you..."
"My God. It looks like fat, old, murdering bastards like yourself can treat a lady with respect. It's a hard lesson to learn, isn't it, El Fucko."
I pull my gun hand down and force his other arm behind his back, locking his wrists together and curling his arms so far out of shape they look like pretzels. He hisses from the torture as my voice cuts through the air like a knife. "I want you to remember this lesson. Remember it over the next few days while I'm pushing you through doorways and into backs of cars, dragging you back to justice, you slimy piece of shit. Remember that just this once I'm granting you the mercy you never gave me. Remember that from this moment on there is nothing in this world...nothing...that will stop me from pumping a round of bullets into your skull. Not one second of hesitation. Not one moment of regret. Do you understand me?!" I clench his broken hand in mine and squeeze.
"I understand! I do! I do!!"
My fist releases it's pressure. "You see, all I have left to live for is your pain, and if given a reason, I'll happily indulge that impulse. So don't move a fucking muscle and keep your mouth shut!" One hand holds the gun against his back as a warning while the other pulls rope from my belt. The closet supplied me with a length that is hopefully strong enough to keep this asshole in line until I can get some back up.
I slip a loop around one of his thick wrists and pull it tight, watching the blood in his veins choke against it. I quickly loop the other end of my makeshift handcuffs, careful to keep the pressure of my gun on his back. Once he's bound I'll find a back exit to this place and somehow get to a phone. The details of my plan are sketchy at best, but at this point it's all I've got...
"Babbo!! We've been waiting for you-- Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!"
A deafening scream, flash of white, and I'm slamming against a wall, head and body spinning. My hand is empty. Gun gone. Instinctively, I reach for my belt and grab El Gordo's weapon. Its weight tells me it's loaded. My thumb sets it, ready to fire.
My eyes fight to refocus amidst the scurry of motion. I expect bullets to fly my way, but none fire. Gray and white flutter in my blurred vision like dancing clouds and then the dust settles, and what I see surprises even the darkest part of my heart...
El Gordo's broken hand is clutching his daughter to him as a barrier while his other hand holds my gun firmly to her temple.
"F-Father...?" His daughter's panic question goes unnoticed as El Gordo's eyes bore into mine.
"So... My new friend is Agent Maria José Miranda."
"Don't call me that..." My voice stretches over the words like taught wire, my gun focused right between his eyes as a thundering of footfalls come storming through the church. Weapons are drawn, pulled from holsters and trained on me with deadly intent. My eyes never leave El Gordo's face. I don't have to survey the room to know who our new guests are: Men from the wedding party - El Gordo's loyal and trusted soldiers. From the sound of their entrance I'd guess ten of them, all pointing their guns at my head just waiting for me to give them a chance to pull the trigger.
"Call off your dogs, El Gordo, or I'll rip a bullet straight through your daughter and right into your fucking chest!!"
"You hurt her and you're DEAD!!" In my peripheral vision I see the shadow of a body, tall and strong, the barrel of his gun pointing at me like the Grim Reaper himself. Julio. The bridegroom. The terror in his voice sounding all too familiar to me, and for a moment I have pity for him.
El Gordo clings even tighter to his child, who is now crying, either from the pressure of a gun against her head or from pure horror.
"You know, you actually had me worried for a moment there, agent. I thought I was dealing with someone who had nothing to lose. No scruples. Someone who couldn't be bought--"
"You thought right!"
"Did I? Then why haven't you pulled that trigger? I'll tell you why, because of this." He crushes the bride to his chest and she whimpers and cries "father" once more. Julio shouts "No!!" to my right, but El Gordo hears none of it as he stares me down. "Because it's not just about vengeance anymore, is it, agent? What was it you warned me? A round of bullets in my head without a second of hesitation. Well, I've just called your bluff, haven't I? That's the difference between you and me - when I say I'm going to do something, I do it." He jerks his daughter hard against his body, obscuring my shot and grinding the point of my gun into her head. "And believe me, agent Miranda, I don't bluff. Now, put down your weapon and maybe I'll let you die quickly."
The core of me burns as my finger glides over the trigger with longing. What's to stop me from pulling it? It would be so easy... So fast to do things his way...
His way. Not your way. You are strong...
Silvia's voice floats through my memory, the words so recently spoken yet they feel like they're from another lifetime. My finger stills as I watch the young woman shake and sob beneath her father's learned hands. Helpless under the weight of his evil.
His way. Not my way.
A deep calm flows through me like a cleansing wind...
"I hunted you down and I found you, El Gordo. To kill you. What's one more life to add to my list? One more innocent body to throw onto the pile? Nothing to stand between me and my revenge, right? That's the way you see things. That's your way. A cowards way. Because that's what you are: A fucking coward who hides behind his daughter like a frightened child."
Loathing spills from his eyes like flames that can't burn me. His grip tightens in mute defiance, face twitching.
"You're right, El Gordo, I do have something to lose, and that is what separates you and me. I'm not like you. I'll never be like you..."
I toss my gun to the ground like a piece of trash.
"Pepa, NOOOO!!!"
A familiar voice. Arms release. She spins away. Eyes red with blood and fury...
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
Staccato shots. Blood splatters on pristine white. Screams. Shouts. Deep red oozes from his forehead, slowly dripping down to El Gordo's lips. It breaks free from skin and falls to the floor just as his legs give way, sending his lifeless body crumbling to the ground.
Julio clutches onto his bride, a still smoking gun clenched in his fist. She's screaming, crying, and he turns her head away from her dead father before spitting on the corpse. The other men lower their weapons looking betrayed, confused.
Smoke from gunfire fogs the room and I hear my name shouted from behind. "Pepa!"
I feel light-headed as Paco rushes into view. Now I know I'm dreaming...
"Paco? What are you doing here?"
"I followed you."
"I told you not to follow me, you stubborn oaf!" I punch him in the shoulder and then teeter, the room spinning. "...Paco?"
"Oh God, Pepa..."
I follow his eyes, looking down to find punctures in my gut open and pouring. Blood soaking my shirt and steeping my pants in a dark crimson glow. My legs collapse beneath me.
Paco catches me in his arms and lies me flat on my back. "Just hold on, Pepa. Hold on for me. I'm gonna go get help."
"No, Paco, don't..."
"YES, dammit! You aren't going to die! I won't let you!!"
"Just stay with me. Stay with me, Paco..." I see the struggle on his face, the desperation as he tries to stem the heavy flow of blood. "Please, brother... stay with me. Don't leave me..."
He runs blood-soaked hands through his hair, face crumpling in sorrow and defeat. Then he cradles my body against his chest and promises, "Pepa, I won't leave you. I won't leave you..."
I look up at his warm brown eyes and whisper, "He's dead. El Gordo's dead. It's over."
"Yes. It's over. It was you, Pepa. You stopped him."
"No... No, he stopped himself. You shouldn't fuck with someone's bride." My chuckle comes out wet and thick as blood fills my lungs. I glance to my right and see Julio's arms still wrapped around his sobbing wife, his face as hard as granite. No sympathy can be found in his eyes as he stares at me, nor hatred. He tosses his head to the side and all the men file out of the room one by one, some sparing a moment to look down at their former leader, others refusing to acknowledge him.
And then we are alone, and Paco holds me gently, moisture cascading down his face, and I wonder... "Paco, am I crying?"
"No, Pepa. You're not crying."
"Good." A weak nod. "I'm sick of crying."
"Does it hurt? Are you in pain?
"No. No pain. The pain's gone now." I smile. "I'll be with her soon."
"Yes. Y-yess you will." His tears flow down to my chest, his voice edged with emotion as rough and sweet as the whiskers on his face. "I-I shall miss y-you."
I wipe the wetness from his chin and cup his cheek.
"I love you, brother."
"I love you, sister."
And then I sense it, a warmth inside, growing from within; rising and blooming and breaking through the surface of me, and I feel like laughing at the pure joy that fills me from this one blissful thought...
"I can touch her now... I can touch her now..."
The light dims, darkens, and I'm gone.
Rating: R
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia
Spoilers: Post season finale
A/N - I am wayyyyy behind on my fic reading. So if any of you authors out there have been thinking, "why hasn't supercontenta commented on my fic yet? Does she hate me?!" The answer is no. I don't hate you. I love you! I've just been busy writing this little chapter. So, rest assured, I shall be reading and commenting soon. And of course *toes the ground shyly* it's always nice for me to receive comments as well. Just a thought... ;)
The clink of glasses and scratching of forks ring in my ears. The sounds hover around me like a whisper that I have no desire to answer.
How long has she been gone? Maybe minutes, hours, or even days, for all I know. The only thing I know for certain is that I am alone. Well and truly alone in this small dark space. My forehead rests against mildewed wood as my mind meanders between consciousness and unconsciousness. Despite this flux in lucidity, I continue to feel. That gaping hole within me pushing and expanding with every second that she's gone, threatening to swallow me up and consume me.
Breath stutters as it pulls through tight lungs. Eyelids flutter, weighted with tears. Am I crying? A weak hand rises up to gingerly touch my own cheek like a stranger. Moisture. I must be crying. Sorrow has seeped into me like black rays of sunshine making tears permanent fixtures on my face. Funny. I never cried as a child. Always had to be strong, never let my father see how weak he made me feel. Those walls I'd so carefully crafted as I grew are now weathered down to rubble. All because of her. I let her in closer than anyone, held on to her as tight as possible, because once I saw her again I realized that all those years without her I had been dead inside, and now I am dead once more...
"One last toast!"
El Gordo's voice booms, making me flinch in reaction. My head remains inert against the wall while my eyes lift to watch him laughing and waving off his family.
"Babbo, please! No more toasts!"
"Hush daughter! A father has the right to boast about his family, doesn't he?"
Smiles and shining faces are visible through a veil of moist eyelashes.
His Spanish is tainted by an Italian accent, but his words are eloquent enough as they tear at me like sandpaper. "My dear famiglia. It brings me great joy to see you all here today. And it brings me even greater joy to see the light of my life joined with one of the strongest men I know - Julio." He dips his red wine glass down and nods at the young man sitting beside him. "You are now my son. My family. And our countries are as one." His eyes rise up and stare straight into the heart of everyone in the room, branding them with his words. "From this point forward, when Julio speaks, it is my mouth that moves. If he strikes you down, it is my hand that delivers the blow. Let this union increase our strength as a whole. Strength is what carves our course to greatness. We, all of us, are bound by more than blood. We are bound by love, honor, and loyalty. To turn your back on your family is to turn your back on your own life."
As his words lay claim on all in the room, even I can feel the casual elation from a moment before transform into a cool resolve. Firm nods of head. Resolute jaws and steely eyes. The men look right at home, basking in their own fearsome power and unity, while the women look slightly ill at ease, as if they want to keep those darker truths well hidden from the light.
Finally, El Gordo breaks his heavy pause to conclude, "To famiglia." He drinks.
"TO FAMIGLIA!!" The men rise, shout, and drink.
As I watch the scene unfold before me, a hidden spectator to my own personal hell, I start to wonder if I still have a role to play in this cruel drama. I once had a plan, didn't I? A motive. To capture El Gordo. To bring his bloated carcass to justice. A plan that I had put before everything... even before Silvia.
That last thought stabs through me, slicing my pain open and cauterizing it with a newfound guilt.
Maybe if I'd stayed behind that wall...
Maybe if I'd left when Paco wanted to go...
Maybe if I'd stayed in Madrid...
Maybe then Silvia would still be here, with me...
The maybes eat away at me from the inside, their razor tongues lashing at me with desperate hunger. I clench my eyes shut as a new wave of anguish crashes into me.
"Now it's time to celebrate! I think we've kept the groom waiting for his bride long enough!"
"Babbo!!"
Laughter fills the hall and rumbles around me, echoing off the walls of my prison cell.
Nails dig into dead wood.
"It's about time I got some grandchildren. You can accommodate that, right Julio?"
"I would be happy to, Padre."
Loud smacks. Exaggerated kisses.
Hot blood starts to pump into numb extremities.
"Then out! Out everyone and over to the party. Music and dancing all night! You two, however... You two should make a stop off at your house first. Start your honeymoon early. I'm not getting any younger, you know..."
"Babbo, stop it! You're embarrassing me!"
"That's what father's do best! Isn't that right, princess?"
Princess...
I nearly growl. My teeth gnash together as I squeeze the handle of my gun and my eyes refocus on El Gordo like lasers.
This is the last time you're gonna smile, you murdering motherfucker...
The laughter dies down. Footsteps wander past as the crowd of revelers thins and my prey dawdles behind as though he's inviting me to rip a bullet through his brain. I rise up slowly, feeling like a caged animal with a sharp set of claws, ready to pounce at the first opportunity.
Patience, Pepa...
He grows closer, a few men still lingering around him, congratulating him. I lean to the left to get a better view as he draws near and accidentally brush against a broom handle.
Tap, Tap
It clicks against the wall in two short spurts before I silence it, and I watch intently to see if I've been discovered. The men chatting with El Gordo show no sign of recognition, but he, on the other hand... The slimy bastard's eyes flick my way, his stance turning rigid. He's too familiar with danger not to have noticed an unexpected sound like that.
He knows...
"Gentlemen, please, enough congratulating me. You're missing the party, which wasn't cheap! So don't let it go to waste. I expect to see you all drunk by the time I get over there."
Chuckling followed by hands slapping backs and firm handshakes.
He thinks I don't know that he's on to me. He thinks he has the element of surprise. Well, he's the one in for a fucking surprise...
The last few footsteps recede into the distance and he stands alone in his perfect little world: Flowers blooming throughout the room and candles casting shadows along the walls. With a little twist of imagination this wedding banquet could easily be a wake, and what better way to die than on the happiest day of your life? As far as I can see, I'm simply returning a favor. A debt that needs repaying.
He pulls out a cigar from his vest pocket and sniffs at it with satisfaction. Cuts off the end. Ignites the tip. One puff. Two. It's of the best quality, I have no doubt.
I watch his every movement like a hawk. He strolls closer and closer as he enjoys his finely rolled cigar, appearing relaxed as he weighs his options. What is he up against? Is it a mouse in that closet? A random noise from a slight jostling of the earth? Or perhaps an assassin waiting in the dark to kill him?
It's door number three, you son-of-a-bitch.
My body is ready - one hand resting on the door knob, the other raised with a loaded gun, breathing slow and deliberate and my vision as clear and cold as glacial water.
His feet cease their prowling right in front me, the pungent scent of his smoke drifting through the cracks. He makes as though he's searching for something on his person, but I know better. He's subtly reaching for his weapon, attempting to catch me off guard. Only he's the one who's in for a shock...
WHAM!
The door swings open, this time actually unhinging by the force of my body. I spin around behind him and pin him against the wall; his arm twisted against his spine, the muzzle of my gun digging into his temple and clicking in his ear.
"Don't you fucking move..." I hiss through clenched teeth. My hand trails around his middle and I feel the butt of his gun, release it from its holster, and tuck it into my belt.
"Whatever you're being paid, I'll double it." He wheezes while his meaty face is mashed against polished wood.
Black metal presses against his pulsing blood vessel, and I'm hypnotized by its throbbing rhythm. Why haven't I fired yet? I puzzle. Only silence meets my wordless inquiry before he offers up his wealth to me once more, and then gasps as I put further strain on his wrenched arm.
"I don't want your money. There is nothing you have that I want. Wait... I take that back. There is one thing I want from you..."
"Anything! Name it and I'll--" His quivering voice cuts off as I press the muzzle of my gun into his mouth and yank his wrist into an unnatural position, forcing his fingers to splay outward.
"I want your pain..." I snap two fingers like dried twigs, bending them into new, abstract angles; the barrel of my gun now rammed so far into his mouth his moans of agony are muffled beyond recognition. Sweat drips from his brow while his warped limb shakes beneath my capable hand. He cries against the steel, teeth clattering around it, tears pooling in his eyes, and I smile as I press my lips against his ear and whisper, "That was me being merciful. You should say 'thank you'."
The tip of my gun slowly retreats from his mouth and I reposition it under his chin; his eyes darting around like a frightened animal, trying to get a glimpse of his attacker. But I am out of his reach, free to make any demands I want and wield whatever revenge I see fit. For once I'm the one in control.
The only sound I hear break free from his lips is that of ragged breaths, and I'm not in a patient mood...
BAM!
Quick as lightning I whip the gun against the side of his face and shove it back under his gullet. "When I ask you to say something, you fucking say it. And when I ask you to do something, you fucking do it. Do we understand each other?"
Blood is now trickling into his eye, and he nods.
"Good. Now, be polite and say 'thank you' to a lady."
His jaw sets and he grits out, "Thank you."
Snap!
A third finger breaks backwards. His hand is starting to look like broken spokes on a wheel.
"What do you say?" I cock my head towards him, body pressing him tightly against the wall, and his fistful of pain helpless under my grip.
There's whimpering and more blood stained tears before he gives in to a susurrant whisper: "Th-thank you..."
"My God. It looks like fat, old, murdering bastards like yourself can treat a lady with respect. It's a hard lesson to learn, isn't it, El Fucko."
I pull my gun hand down and force his other arm behind his back, locking his wrists together and curling his arms so far out of shape they look like pretzels. He hisses from the torture as my voice cuts through the air like a knife. "I want you to remember this lesson. Remember it over the next few days while I'm pushing you through doorways and into backs of cars, dragging you back to justice, you slimy piece of shit. Remember that just this once I'm granting you the mercy you never gave me. Remember that from this moment on there is nothing in this world...nothing...that will stop me from pumping a round of bullets into your skull. Not one second of hesitation. Not one moment of regret. Do you understand me?!" I clench his broken hand in mine and squeeze.
"I understand! I do! I do!!"
My fist releases it's pressure. "You see, all I have left to live for is your pain, and if given a reason, I'll happily indulge that impulse. So don't move a fucking muscle and keep your mouth shut!" One hand holds the gun against his back as a warning while the other pulls rope from my belt. The closet supplied me with a length that is hopefully strong enough to keep this asshole in line until I can get some back up.
I slip a loop around one of his thick wrists and pull it tight, watching the blood in his veins choke against it. I quickly loop the other end of my makeshift handcuffs, careful to keep the pressure of my gun on his back. Once he's bound I'll find a back exit to this place and somehow get to a phone. The details of my plan are sketchy at best, but at this point it's all I've got...
"Babbo!! We've been waiting for you-- Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!"
A deafening scream, flash of white, and I'm slamming against a wall, head and body spinning. My hand is empty. Gun gone. Instinctively, I reach for my belt and grab El Gordo's weapon. Its weight tells me it's loaded. My thumb sets it, ready to fire.
My eyes fight to refocus amidst the scurry of motion. I expect bullets to fly my way, but none fire. Gray and white flutter in my blurred vision like dancing clouds and then the dust settles, and what I see surprises even the darkest part of my heart...
El Gordo's broken hand is clutching his daughter to him as a barrier while his other hand holds my gun firmly to her temple.
"F-Father...?" His daughter's panic question goes unnoticed as El Gordo's eyes bore into mine.
"So... My new friend is Agent Maria José Miranda."
"Don't call me that..." My voice stretches over the words like taught wire, my gun focused right between his eyes as a thundering of footfalls come storming through the church. Weapons are drawn, pulled from holsters and trained on me with deadly intent. My eyes never leave El Gordo's face. I don't have to survey the room to know who our new guests are: Men from the wedding party - El Gordo's loyal and trusted soldiers. From the sound of their entrance I'd guess ten of them, all pointing their guns at my head just waiting for me to give them a chance to pull the trigger.
"Call off your dogs, El Gordo, or I'll rip a bullet straight through your daughter and right into your fucking chest!!"
"You hurt her and you're DEAD!!" In my peripheral vision I see the shadow of a body, tall and strong, the barrel of his gun pointing at me like the Grim Reaper himself. Julio. The bridegroom. The terror in his voice sounding all too familiar to me, and for a moment I have pity for him.
El Gordo clings even tighter to his child, who is now crying, either from the pressure of a gun against her head or from pure horror.
"You know, you actually had me worried for a moment there, agent. I thought I was dealing with someone who had nothing to lose. No scruples. Someone who couldn't be bought--"
"You thought right!"
"Did I? Then why haven't you pulled that trigger? I'll tell you why, because of this." He crushes the bride to his chest and she whimpers and cries "father" once more. Julio shouts "No!!" to my right, but El Gordo hears none of it as he stares me down. "Because it's not just about vengeance anymore, is it, agent? What was it you warned me? A round of bullets in my head without a second of hesitation. Well, I've just called your bluff, haven't I? That's the difference between you and me - when I say I'm going to do something, I do it." He jerks his daughter hard against his body, obscuring my shot and grinding the point of my gun into her head. "And believe me, agent Miranda, I don't bluff. Now, put down your weapon and maybe I'll let you die quickly."
The core of me burns as my finger glides over the trigger with longing. What's to stop me from pulling it? It would be so easy... So fast to do things his way...
His way. Not your way. You are strong...
Silvia's voice floats through my memory, the words so recently spoken yet they feel like they're from another lifetime. My finger stills as I watch the young woman shake and sob beneath her father's learned hands. Helpless under the weight of his evil.
His way. Not my way.
A deep calm flows through me like a cleansing wind...
"I hunted you down and I found you, El Gordo. To kill you. What's one more life to add to my list? One more innocent body to throw onto the pile? Nothing to stand between me and my revenge, right? That's the way you see things. That's your way. A cowards way. Because that's what you are: A fucking coward who hides behind his daughter like a frightened child."
Loathing spills from his eyes like flames that can't burn me. His grip tightens in mute defiance, face twitching.
"You're right, El Gordo, I do have something to lose, and that is what separates you and me. I'm not like you. I'll never be like you..."
I toss my gun to the ground like a piece of trash.
"Pepa, NOOOO!!!"
A familiar voice. Arms release. She spins away. Eyes red with blood and fury...
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
Staccato shots. Blood splatters on pristine white. Screams. Shouts. Deep red oozes from his forehead, slowly dripping down to El Gordo's lips. It breaks free from skin and falls to the floor just as his legs give way, sending his lifeless body crumbling to the ground.
Julio clutches onto his bride, a still smoking gun clenched in his fist. She's screaming, crying, and he turns her head away from her dead father before spitting on the corpse. The other men lower their weapons looking betrayed, confused.
Smoke from gunfire fogs the room and I hear my name shouted from behind. "Pepa!"
I feel light-headed as Paco rushes into view. Now I know I'm dreaming...
"Paco? What are you doing here?"
"I followed you."
"I told you not to follow me, you stubborn oaf!" I punch him in the shoulder and then teeter, the room spinning. "...Paco?"
"Oh God, Pepa..."
I follow his eyes, looking down to find punctures in my gut open and pouring. Blood soaking my shirt and steeping my pants in a dark crimson glow. My legs collapse beneath me.
Paco catches me in his arms and lies me flat on my back. "Just hold on, Pepa. Hold on for me. I'm gonna go get help."
"No, Paco, don't..."
"YES, dammit! You aren't going to die! I won't let you!!"
"Just stay with me. Stay with me, Paco..." I see the struggle on his face, the desperation as he tries to stem the heavy flow of blood. "Please, brother... stay with me. Don't leave me..."
He runs blood-soaked hands through his hair, face crumpling in sorrow and defeat. Then he cradles my body against his chest and promises, "Pepa, I won't leave you. I won't leave you..."
I look up at his warm brown eyes and whisper, "He's dead. El Gordo's dead. It's over."
"Yes. It's over. It was you, Pepa. You stopped him."
"No... No, he stopped himself. You shouldn't fuck with someone's bride." My chuckle comes out wet and thick as blood fills my lungs. I glance to my right and see Julio's arms still wrapped around his sobbing wife, his face as hard as granite. No sympathy can be found in his eyes as he stares at me, nor hatred. He tosses his head to the side and all the men file out of the room one by one, some sparing a moment to look down at their former leader, others refusing to acknowledge him.
And then we are alone, and Paco holds me gently, moisture cascading down his face, and I wonder... "Paco, am I crying?"
"No, Pepa. You're not crying."
"Good." A weak nod. "I'm sick of crying."
"Does it hurt? Are you in pain?
"No. No pain. The pain's gone now." I smile. "I'll be with her soon."
"Yes. Y-yess you will." His tears flow down to my chest, his voice edged with emotion as rough and sweet as the whiskers on his face. "I-I shall miss y-you."
I wipe the wetness from his chin and cup his cheek.
"I love you, brother."
"I love you, sister."
And then I sense it, a warmth inside, growing from within; rising and blooming and breaking through the surface of me, and I feel like laughing at the pure joy that fills me from this one blissful thought...
"I can touch her now... I can touch her now..."
The light dims, darkens, and I'm gone.