Haunted

CHAPTER 18

CULEBRA CALLS RAMON TO JOIN US. “DÍGALE.”

Ramon looks at me, frowning. “¿Por qué? Ella no los ayuda.”

“Confíeen me. Tell her what you told me,” Culebra insists. “Tell her your story.”

Ramon shakes his head. His expression is stony, unconvinced by Culebra’s urging.

“Anna can help us,” Culebra says, more forcefully this time. “I want her to help us. You need to make her understand.”

Ramon locks eyes with Culebra. He says something in Spanish that I translate as asking how I, a woman, could help. It is said with the condescending air of a man who is not used to asking help from a woman. Who is downright adverse to the idea.

I look from Max to Culebra. Both are looking at me as if they expect me to try to convince him. By doing what? I’m not about to share my true nature, but I was a bounty hunter long before I was made vampire. Maybe if I show Ramon I can handle myself as well as any man, that I’m more than a pretty face, it would appease his macho sensibilities.

I stalk over to the pilot, hold out my hand for the rifle. Predictably, he straightens and pulls back, swinging the butt of the rifle toward me. Before he completes the arc, I’ve got both hands on the gun and with a twist of my hands, I’ve wrested it from his. He lunges toward me. I sidestep and he lands on the floor. With one foot on the small of his back, I toss the rifle onto the table.

For a moment, I think Ramon is still going to refuse. He’s glaring at the pilot, at Culebra, at me.

“Fine,” I snap, getting tired of the game. “If Ramon wants me to leave, I will.”

Culebra holds up a hand to stop me. “Ramon?”

The pilot is climbing to his feet, red-faced and angry, when Ramon finally gives in with a rush of breath. He tosses the rifle back to the pilot and tells him to go outside.

The pilot does, with a parting glare to me that makes it clear I haven’t made a new friend. Great. One more enemy to add to the list. I shoot Culebra a look that says this better be worth it.

When the door closes, Ramon parks his butt on the corner of the table and closes his eyes. For a moment. When he opens them again, they no longer focus on me but have that intent look of someone gazing inward to a place of shadow and pain.

He speaks, slowly, as if translating from his native language into English as he goes. “I had a son. Antonio. Only fifteen.”

I think he’s also speaking slowly because he’s choosing his words carefully, so I will understand. With an effort, I push away my suspicions, clear my mind to listen.

“He was a quiet boy. A good student. He attended the same school as many of the sons of government officials. One of these boys, Rójan, was a . . .” He pauses, looks to Culebra. “Matón.”

“Bully,” Culebra says.

I nod.

“One day he and several others found my son alone in the schoolyard. They told him he was to be their ‘bitch’ and knocked him to the ground. They opened their pants, urinated on him.” Ramon rubs a hand over his face. Refocuses to continue. “He tried to fight back, punching and kicking. But there were five of them. They said he needed to learn respect for his betters.”

Another quick intake of breath. “The other boys held my son, pulled his pants down while Rójan, the poquenõ bastardo, raped him.”

Ramon’s voice catches, then turns cold. “My son was humiliated, his self-esteem destroyed. He didn’t come to me. He knew Rójan was protected by his powerful family and would not suffer for his actions. So he withdrew. The shame built up inside him until he could no longer endure the pain. Within a month, he took his own life.”

Ramon draws a deep breath, wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “He left a note. Apologizing to us, his family, for what had been done to him. As if it had been his fault. As if he had shamed us. He apologized.” He spits the word, his face hardening with rage. “I knew I had to avenge my son. At first, I wanted to kill Rójan’s father. But then sino—” He looks to Culebra again.

“Fate,” Culebra replies.

“Sí. Fate intervened. A few weeks after we buried Antonio, I was walking in the woods near our home. I heard a young woman crying. I found a couple lying in the shade. The boy was on top, but they were not making love. The girl was fighting and sobbing and begging him to stop. Her blouse was torn, her skirt pushed up around her waist. She was being raped. When I realized who the boy was, I was consumed by a fury that turned my blood to fire. It was Rójan.”

Again he stops, composing himself, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, drawing deep breaths.

In spite of my suspicions, I am spellbound by his anguish. I understand it. I’ve lived it twice. Once, when I was made vampire through an act of rape. Again, when I found out my niece Trish was being abused by men who paid her mother to make videos of their sick acts, robbing a young girl of her innocence. All I could think about was exacting vengeance. I see the same hatred in Ramon’s eyes now.

Culebra reads the emotions running through my mind. His eyes catch and hold mine. This is what he wanted me to hear—to understand.

I glance away to Max. His face betrays no emotion. He has heard Ramon’s story or one like it many times before. I know in spite of the indifference he projects, his gut is churning the same as mine, the same as Culebra’s. I also know he will do everything he can to exact justice for Ramon and his son. I know it because in spite of how I feel about him personally, Max is a good man.

Culebra touches Ramon’s arm, nods at him to go on.

Ramon unfolds his arms, his shoulders relax a little, his back straightens. “I grabbed Rójan off the girl, held him while the girl got away. All the while, Rójan cursed me, threatening what his father could do to me, to my family. Threats I knew he could make good.

“It didn’t matter. I punched him until he had no fight left. I took his belt, and used mine to bind his hands and feet to a tree. Then I slapped his face to arouse him. I showed him my knife. I told him what he had done to my son cost Antonio his life. I told him he would never rape anyone again. He merely laughed.”

Ramon’s voice turns cold. “Until I stabbed him. I stabbed him and watched as the life slowly ebbed from his body. Then I left him to die.”

His eyes grow hard. “But it wasn’t enough. I wanted him humiliated in death the way he humiliated my son in life. I thought when they found him like this, tied to a tree and stuck like the pig he was, he would be denied the noble death that befitted the son of an important government minister.”

I find myself asking softly, “Someone found out that it was you that killed him? Is that why your family is in danger?”

“Sí.” He wipes at his eyes again. “A few days later, I saw an article in the local paper. The police found the body of a young girl in a garbage dump. I recognized the photo. It was the girl who had been with Rójan. She was killed to silence her. With no witness to challenge the facts of Rójan’s death, he was given a hero’s funeral. It was said he died in a plane crash.” Ramon spits at the ground. “He was called a hero.

“The girl must have told someone that Rójan had raped her. She may have even recognized me since I was often in town. I knew it was only a matter of time before the minister would seek his own revenge. I moved my family. But there is a price on their heads. I have to do something to save them. Get them out of the country.” He stares intently at Max. “I am willing to help your government if they will protect my family.”

Max exhales sharply, as if he’d been holding his breath during Ramon’s story. The first physical reaction he’s exhibited to Ramon’s story. “We’ll do what we can.”

Culebra looks at me. But there’s no question in his gaze. He knows my answer.

Shit. “I’m in.”

How could I not be? My attacker is dead. The men who attacked Trish are either dead or in jail. What happened to Ramon’s son had nothing to do with drugs and everything to do with human degradation. “Ramon, I am sorry for the loss of your son.”

For the first time, Ramon’s eyes are not full of uncertainty and disdain when they meet mine, but a glimmer of hope. He turns to the door. “Consigue el plano listo para ir.”

He walks outside to ready the plane for takeoff. I turn to Culebra. I picked up something in his thoughts while Ramon was relating his story that makes me peer into his eyes.

“You lost someone in the same way?”

He smiles, a sad, slow tilting of the lips. “Every village has its bullies like Rójan. When I was twelve, my sister was attacked. She didn’t survive.”

There’s more, I can tell by the way he’s protecting his thoughts, not letting me read them. He doesn’t give me a chance to ask about it, either, but with a pat on my arm leaves to join Ramon and the pilot.

Max is as quiet as I, lost in his thoughts the way I’m lost in mine. Culebra’s insistence that we help Ramon makes sense now. We—Culebra, Ramon and I—share a terrible, common experience. We’ve all seen loved ones hurt by another’s hand.

Max draws my attention with a wave of his hand, as if hit with a sudden thought.

“You’d better call Stephen before we take off,” he says, pointing to his watch. “It’s already late. Let him know—” He falters.

I sigh. “Yeah. Let him know what?” But I know Max is right. I dig my cell out of my pocket and ring Stephen. He picks up right away.

“Anna? Where are you? I’ve been worried.”

“Sorry, Stephen. The job is going to take longer than I expected. I’m going out of town. I wish I could tell you how long, but I’m not sure.”

“So, David and Tracey are going with you?”

Uh-oh. Something in his tone gives me pause. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re not with them, are you?”

Ice is forming through the phone lines. To make matters worse, I feel Max’s eyes on me. Fuck it. “No.”

“Well, at least this time you’re being honest. I talked to David an hour ago. Why would you lie to me? Why would you let me think you were with them?”

“I didn’t lie to you. And if you’ll recall, you hung up before I could tell you who I was with.”

As soon as I say it, I know I’ve sunk myself deeper into the pit. Sure enough, Stephen counters with, “Well, here’s your chance to set the record straight. Who are you with and what are you doing?”

From outside, the sound of the plane engine roars into life. I grab at it like a lifeline, an excuse to cut the conversation short. “I’m sorry, Stephen, I have to go. I’ll call you when I can.”

This time, before Stephen can respond, I disconnect. I look over at Max. He’s giving me one of those “I told you so” looks. I give him one of those “fuck you” looks and narrow my eyes. “Don’t say it. Not a fucking word.”