Delgano: The Intro - Page 96

Lee, who he realized had entered with a bowl, stirred the contents. “I guess I do understand your point, mate. Carry on.”

Trevor grimaced. “Don’t do that.”

The man’s voice changed from laced with fear to a snake moving through dirt during monsoon season. The words that left his mouth had clearly switched from Arabic to a Slavic-sounding language, likely Russian.

Trevor’s expression changed. “He knows who Hannah is.”

Adrían yanked the third woman from the bed, slit her throat, and tossed her aside. “How does he know who Hannah is?”

“He claims there’s a list.” Trevor frowned. “What the fuck does that mean? What list?”

The man then added something that made Trevor raise his gun, aim it at the remaining woman’s head, and pull the trigger. The man screamed as the woman slumped against him, then shoved her off as he scrambled out of bed, his flaccid penis dangling just underneath his belly.

“Mate, his cucumber’s showing. Why didn’t you tell us he was naked?”

“Please do not ruin oi muchim and oi bokkeum for me, Mason,” Lee pleaded. “Please.”

“Just say what they are,” Trevor pleaded. “No one but you knows what you’re talking about.”

“What was that last thing he said?” Adrían asked.

“He said I sound like I’m from Australia and asked if my family was the one who was slaughtered. But I don’t have brothers, my mother’s dead, and I never knew my father. I didn’t like the way he used the word ‘slaughtered.’”

Adrían handed his gun over to Trevor.

Gripping the hunting knife like it would fly away if he slackened his hold, he made his way across the room, the man’s eyes widening at his approach. For Sayeda, he would pay whatever sum he needed to pay to set her up in a new life. For the rest of his life, and thereafter, he would make sure she would never have to worry about anyone barging in and threatening her, or worse.

The man raised his hands, and when he spoke, Adrían stopped in his tracks.

“You have the wrong person,” the man said, in near-perfect English. “Killing me will be a waste of your time.”

Adrían, snorting, continued. “Well, it’s a good thing I have a few seconds to waste.”

One arm went around the naked man’s neck, tucking the man’s windpipe against his elbow. With the other, he sank the blade into the man’s chest, to the left of his sternum, slowly, to make sure the man’s heart didn’t stop too quickly and send him peacefully into eternal slumber. If he found out Sayeda was on some list and slated for assassination, he would end this man’s lineage.

He buried the knife to the handle.

When the man stopped twitching, he removed the blade and cleaned it as best he could using the white sheets. Lee was the first to leave, and Trevor followed, tossing the last piece of his flatbread into his mouth.

On the way down, he found himself trying to default to his usual response to pain—detachment. Usually, whenever he saw Sayeda’s face, he shoved it away. However, when it returned this time, he let it stay as he descended the steps.

He thought about their trips to the market. Catching lizards with Ahmed and Qasim. The way he would miss her when she was gone. How badly he didn’t want her to go.

“I’m taking some of this stuff to go,” Lee called from the kitchen. “You guys want anything?”

“I’ll come help you,” Trevor said. “We’ll just take whatever we can carry.”

Adrían waited in the middle of the main room, head down, his hair hanging in front of his face. “What do you think, Mama?” he quietly asked, in Portuguese. “It’s not much better, but it’s different, right? I know I have always been what you wanted, but I know I didn’t turn out the way you hoped. It’s because I miss you. Never, not even once, did I think I would be this age and not have you. I thought I would see you as an old woman, happy as you played with your grandchildren.” Tears filled his eyes. “I love you, okay? I do. Forever and always.”

He looked up.

Trevor and Lee stood watching, arms filled with containers. Embarrassment needled his skin.

“While you’re at it,” Lee said, walking past him, “can you ask your mother to remind my sister that my birthday’s on the fifteenth, not the sixteenth?”

“You understand Portuguese?” he asked, headed for the front door. “How’d you know I was talking to my mother?”

Lee shrugged. “Because that’s how I talk to Ha-won. Plus, I can’t think of any more words mamae might mean.”