This shit was getting old fast. “I get it. You don’t need to repeat yourself. I’m not stupid. I’ve been doing this a long time. I know the score. I’ll never tell anyone you were here. We’ve never met before, yada, yada, yada. I know the routine.”

That’s the one thing Rubin used to get on me about – my temper. I have a tendency to let it get away from me. I’ve thought of taking anger management classes, I probably should.

Back in Colombia I gave poor Rubin hell. It started with the nudity thing, but I flipped it around on him. After the first three weeks, he ordered me to wear clothes. I refused. I stayed butt-naked for another three weeks, twenty-four seven. I answered Rubin’s door to receive the pizza delivery nude. I chatted up the cable repairman after a rainstorm messed up our lines. I met the Testigos de Jehovah–Jehovah’s Witnesses at the front door, they couldn’t leave fast enough. I even met his mother for the first time in my birthday suit.

Rubin learned a healthy respect for my temper after that episode. His mother trying to rip his ear off probably had something to do with it. A naked fourteen year old girl with an attitude can wield a terrible power.

Lia didn’t care for my attitude, either. She came at me again with that same monotone crap. “You will not remember our meeting. We have never met before. You will not remember that I bit you and tasted your blood.”

“Whatever. It was gross. But don’t worry about it. I’m not gonna say anything to anybody. It didn’t happen. This is our little secret. I respect your privacy. Actually … I was hoping you might want to see me again …”

I’d given this speech to dozens of cops, business men, politicians, even a priest. Everyone who’s someone of importance out in the community needs reassurance their freaky romp with an escort will remain confidential. I’m not into blackmail or extortion or anything stupid like that. It’s nasty business that never ends well. I have seen it done by the cartel to others less fortunate. Plus, being illegal, it wouldn’t be hard to get me deported.

She did not look pleased. I tried to put her at ease. “You already gave me a two hundred dollar tip, so I’m cool. And I really would like to see you again …”

She started looking at me funny, her head turned sideways, like I was the freak. I dug into her mind to see what the hell. She’d become extremely irritated over something.

“You’re a special kind of girl, aren’t you?”

She was trying to defocus her vision to see something else, off to the side of my head. Some kind of hazy color spectrum.

“Yes you are …” Her voice trailed off. She flipped like that into a raging-bull hatred. She pegged me with this totally wicked I-want-to kill-you-and-dance-on-your-corpse look. “You Bitch! You’re digging around in my head, you bitch!”

I caught it a split second before she hit me, and I reacted. I flinched away, stepped back out of her reach, except she hadn’t moved.

“Gotcha, didn’t I? I knew it.” Her lip curled into a snarl.

“What? What’s your problem?”

Then I finally understood. She had been trying to hypnotize me into ignorance. When she realized it wasn’t working, she began to suspect I had some kind of psychic sensitivity, a telepath, or clairvoyant. I had just proven her right by reacting to her thoughts rather than her actions.

Staring at me with her head cocked sideways, she recognized something about this weird color she thought she could see, something yellowish-gold in my aura. That decided it for her.

“You already know way too much about me don’t you.” She had this half-smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I think it’s time you should go.”

Her dilemma was this: if I couldn’t be hypnotized into forgetting, and I had read her mind, what to do with me? The thought entered her mind instantly. A toothy grin slid across her face. She would probably have to kill me to contain the situation.

* * * *

Chapter 3

“Okay. You’re creeping me out. This is over. It’s time to go now. And I changed my mind. I don’t want you to come back, ever.”

I pointed her towards the front door while I shoved her clothes into her hands. She kept giving me these peculiar looks as she slinked back into her underwear and clothing. I watched her slide into her skirt, buttoning up her blouse. She stared back, smirking.

Then I caught it. She was gonna break my nose as soon as she finished with her clothing. And she wanted to do it soooo badly. She wanted to see blood flying through the air as my head snapped back.

Three buttons left … two buttons left … last button. Ding. She twitched and I jumped back two paces, and nearly toppled back onto the bed.

“Gotcha again.”

She hadn’t done a thing other than a little twitch. Another test. I had failed miserably. And she wouldn’t leave.

I knew she was trouble, but my options were limited. I could probably kick her freaky little ass, but then I’d be in a world of shit with the cops. Probably end up deported. Being in the country illegally really put me at a severe disadvantage. Exactly the way Faustino wanted it. Great for him, shitty for me.

I could call Arana. But he always took twenty to thirty minutes to get here from his place in Corona. Overall that was probably the best solution. I hated being in this position, under Faustino’s thumb, but there were some side benefits to the arrangement. I could get the purest coke in NYC any time I wanted, and Arana dealt with anyone who threatened me.

I’d once seen Arana break a guy’s collar bone because he donkey punched me in the back of the head right in the middle of screwing me from behind. A star tennis player in college, guy thought his shit didn’t stink, thought he could beat on an escort and get away with it. Arana caught him on his way out the door. He scared the guy so bad he pissed himself. Arana had him down on his hands and knees begging my forgiveness. A broken collar bone is especially painful.

Arana got off on it. He’s only five foot seven, but he’s two hundred pounds of muscle and straight up psycho. It’s like flipping a switch. He goes into super evil mode. The guy really scares me sometimes. I’ve seen what he can do, and I do not mess with him. He could kill me with his bare hands, and would probably enjoy every second of it. Violence is his thing. I guess that’s the kind of man that does well in the cartels.

I didn’t want to hurt Lia, but the chick wasn’t quite right in the head. Crazy people can be dangerous, unpredictable. I hoped Arana would scare her off without any real confrontation. But I couldn’t be certain how far he’d go. Like an attack dog on a chain, there’s no way to be sure what he’ll do when he’s unleashed.

Hoping for the best, I grabbed my cell and sent Arana 911 text. Our problem code. Not exactly original, but it served the purpose. Since I didn’t send an address, he’d show up here at the apartment.

I barely hit the send button when I felt cold steel up against my left temple. From somewhere, I don’t know where, Lia had managed to pull a little black pistol. The gun was so small she could’ve had it up her ass. It happened in the blink of an eye, I never even saw the bitch move.

She snatched my cell from my hand and dashed it against the wall. It fell in pieces. In one move my whole life had been smashed to bits and laid out on the floor. Every connection I had on this continent was programmed into my cell phone.

The really scary part was how fast she moved. Hell, I didn’t see her move.

“It would be so convenient to kill you right now, right this second.” That ice-cold smile of hers was really freaking me out.

I needed to do something, she had that gun on me and she really wanted to use it. She suspected I’d called someone for help. She was furious. The situation had become uncontrollable, and she hated things she couldn’t control. She imagined tearing into me with her nails and teeth, bathing in my blood and entrails.

“I promise I won’t say a word to anyone, ever. You don’t have to do this.” The words tumbled out fast and urgent.

I’ve read a lot of strange people’s thoughts in my life. Perverts, weirdoes, idiots, pedophiles, all kinds of oddity and creepiness. But this woman had them all beat. I was so terrified, she had me literally shaking. No one had ever given me such a vivid vision of carnage so personal, my own mutilated body.

She smiled at me knowingly as she imagined the various ways she might filet my flesh. “Put your robe on if you want to live a few seconds longer.” She spoke of letting me live while contemplating my death.

Naturally, I did exactly as she ordered, without delay. I knew the girl meant business. She radiated a barely contained raw aggression, an unbelievably strong desire to hurt me. She flicked her gun towards the door. She wanted to leave before whoever I’d called showed up to complicate matters. I didn’t argue, but I snatched up my purse on the way out the door.

My life was in that purse: expired visa, five hundred in cash, bankcard, and a box of condoms. That about summed up my miserable life, an illegal immigrant taking money for sex.

I prayed silently for Arana to catch up with us on the way out. Fat chance of that happening, we moved way too fast. He’d probably miss us by several minutes.

“I’m not going to kill you … we need to see someone.” The gun never wavered, and neither did her intent to do me harm at some point in the very near future.

“Oh that’s such a relief.”

She stared hard, eyes filled with a feral hatred. Then I understood. She wanted to do it, but couldn’t. She needed permission from the Master. It almost felt like she had someone’s hand on her shoulder, physically restraining her from pulling that trigger. How weird is that?

At least I wasn’t going to be killed – yet. But what kind of sick cult-like group refers to the boss as the Master? That creeped me out even worse.

She led me to a limousine parked in the street, pistol at my back the whole way. Who the hell brings a limousine to Spanish Harlem? To the ghetto? It must have been sitting out there the entire time she was busy making me scream. All hope of escape flitted past the tinted windows as she locked the doors to the limo and sat across from me, pistol still pointed my way. Off we went, gone before Arana could even get into the neighborhood.