a national dialogue [ft. xanaphia & november]

[November]

Did Urbina know what he was losing, everything he was giving up? Sastre slammed a fist into the old man's liver. Urbina wasn't here, he was in much more pleasant circumstances, and so Sastre had to make do with what he had.

"This is all our fault." He waved a finger, and the finger passed over all three of the men that were in the room with you. "You wanted me to compromise. A national dialogue. New advisors, economic... what was it? Economic modernization." He snapped a couple of times, like his memory was firing on some fresh synapse. "That hasn't helped. Instead Urbina smelled blood in the water. Tanks driving down the capital unopposed, that's what your dialogue got me."

One of the men shrugged his shoulders. "Your father trusted him, your father thought he was a reasonable man."

That was the problem. Too reasonable. Too compromising. Too ready to sell him out, sell the country out. Sastre wrapped a hand around the old man's throat, pulling him off his feet for a half second before dragging him on his tip toes. "Well. We've got lots of his old friends down here, underneath the palace. I don't see any need to leave them here for him. What about this fuck."

He didn't remember the man's face, but he knew the name. He'd read the dossier. There were still loyal men in San Marcos.

"We have to let him go. We don't have time."

"Let him come down here and fucking kill me, the old milky-eyed fuck."

"We need to go. We don't know how much of the military supports you. He's already taken over both television stations proclaiming himself the new President. Our line to Russia's cut."

Sastre chucked the old man to the ground, smoothly making his way to behind his desk and finding a machete with a soft gold handle.

"Urbina really had a thing for you, old man." He closed the distance, wiping strands of black hair away from his head as his expression hardened. "So why not leave him a gift?"

The man started to say something - something about how he could still be useful, but by then he was already on top of him, burying the machete into his skull. Whatever bargaining instincts were left died out there, and the man tried to scramble away, but Antonio Sastre had always been a thick, burly man, and fast for his height. He grabbed him by the hair and slashed at his back, marveling at how much blood flew up in clean lines in response to his strikes. The man was still howling by the time he hacked into the neck, but the second or third wide, sweeping blow quieted him.

He let out a wordless, authoritative roar at the downed man, faintly aware of how unhinged he looked. But damn, even an old man in handcuffs felt like a victory tonight. And he needed those. The blood was pooling down at his shoes. He sighed and tossed the machete to the ground.

"I wanna kill all the prisoners we got down there."

"The Russians will be interested in some of them. The Americans -"

"I don't want to hear about the fucking Americans tonight."

"It's best to leave all of them alone."

He just scowled and walked over to the closet, looking for his blue military jacket. He needed to dress formally, look like the man that was still in charge, because who knew where he'd need to go tonight. He looked at the handful of medals on his chest. Not a gaudy array like his father had, hero of the revolution and all that... but he'd earned each of them. And that was something. "We'll talk about it later. Where is she?"

"On her way to the airport at Caudra. We're already talking to the government of -"

"I don't mean my wife."

 

[Xanaphia]

Everything went into her bag. Jewels, the good china, the fancy crystal, the designer dresses, the well aged alcohol. A couple bricks of cocaine. A 9 mm luger. Everything that fit. Maritza Pruja was still wearing the whisper thin silk robe, loosely tied over her nudity, its hem falling just under her ass. From the sounds of it, there wouldn’t be time for a shower, which was a shame, with her thighs still sticky from their earlier lovemaking.

She thought she had more time than this. Why hadn’t those pinche gringos warned her about the invasion? Wasn’t that the sort of thing she needed to know? She could only suppose that it was because this little assassination mission had dragged on for months, and the CIA was losing patience with her. Pinche gringo pendejos.

Antonio was angry. Scary angry. She peaked into the office where his last remaining loyal advisors tried to reason with him. Her eyes followed the glint of the machete, the sheen of the blade as he carved into the old man. That was how you killed a man. Wet heat pooled between her thighs, his animalistic frenzy always seeming to awaken something in her, but this was hardly the time.

The palace wasn’t hot, but she was drenched in sweat, and silk stuck to her skin. She went back to the bedroom, digging through the clothes she was going to have to leave behind, trying to find something she could wear. Pants preferably. Less temptation to slip back into bed with him that way. She settled on skin tight jeans and a tank top. No bra, no time. He might have looked like a leader, desperately clinging to a persona, but she looked every bit the 23 year old sex toy of the once powerful dictator.

Making her way to his bedroom, she heard him call for her.“Here, I’m right here,” She assured him, smirking to herself as he sought her out over his wife. The suitcase was heavy, but it was on wheels, so it didn’t matter. Her black hair was a thick mess of curls, tied behind her head in a semblance of order. Almost a foot shorter than him, she had always felt herself a tiny woman compared to him. “Where will we go, mi querido?”

 

[November]

The gloves? He lightly tossed them into the closet. Forget it. Dress was dress, but he was certain he'd be using his hands before the end of the night.

He'd been too nice about everything, over and over again. What about the generals, the men he was entrusting with his authority now, with his fucking life? He'd kept too many of the old guard around, all the people his father trusted, and all of them had gotten rich. Too rich. Now the squealed anytime he moved money around. There were too many competing priorities. And that went for running San Marcos and surviving this shitstorm.

Fernie was already talking about the situation, but he knew the lay of the land. Two radio stations, the embassies downtown, the airport (Russia, Venezuela, Ecuador, maybe China, maybe Cuba, and then the list got fuzzy), the military...

Martiza broke up his train of thought. She bounced in carrying a a huge suitcase, as if she was going on a long vacation. Something about the light, trusting confidence in her voice, and the way she was dressed made things feel like a vacation for a few fleeting seconds. He loved his wife, but it would have been a completely different situation - more tears, more questions about every detail of what they would do, as if her knowing about it made any difference to how it got done. He moved towards Maritza with a heavy, casual step over the dead man's body, his heel picking up still more of the blood as he slung the machete into the holster around his shoulder. "It doesn't matter. We're gonna be back here, standing over that man's body by sunrise. Ain't that right, Fernie?"

He wrapped a hand around her chin and pointed her upwards, letting out a small, approving gust of air through his nose before spreading his lips apart just a bit and pressing them into her. He'd only intended to kiss her the one time, but there was something about the way she tasted - familiar and intense all at the same time, that had him return to her, his tongue darting out for just a flash and running across the thick, polished texture of her lips. Fuck. Even now, his cock was swelling, hammering insistently against her thigh before he pulled away, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He pressed her against his chest, feeling good to have control over SOMETHING for a few moments.

Of course, his advisor wasn't there to be so reassuring. "Both Trujillo brothers are still with you, they're already gathering men to meet us a couple hours north of here. And by then we'll know where everybody stands, whether we should retake the city or make a run for it or... something else."

He casually traced his hands into Maritza's hair, not realizing until a few seconds too late that he still had blood drying on his fingertips. Not that it meant too much. Her Italian cars didn't come out of thin air. "There's passages under the palace."

Fernie shook his head. "Urbina knows about those passages."

"Doesn't know where they lead." Antonio squeezed her on the ass and raised his eyebrows, the faintest smile on his face as he lead them out. "Thank God my father didn't tell him everything, hm?"

 

[Xanaphia]

Was it too late, to kill him now? Was there any point? The CIA had already apparently given up on her. Of course his kiss sapped her resolve, as needy as it was forceful. Demanding and begging all at once. Even now, that false bravado was intoxicating. He was being forced from his home, and still he was making her promises. Bloody fingers stroking her hair, leaving her sticky with even more bodily fluids this evening. Damn, she really could have gone for a shower.

Regardless, they were already moving, making their way into the underground tunnels. They were…disgusting was putting it mildly. They really put the danger they were in back into context. Her thoughts went back to killing him. Leaving him to rot underground was far kinder than many of the deaths he inflicted.

But he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly as he prodded her long, a silent apology for the appalling conditions. No, this wasn’t her moment. Not yet. “Where do they lead?” She asked, trudging in the moist, soft dirt, wishing she would have chosen some boots instead, as mug splashed her feet. But all her boots were heeled, so it wasn’t certain the trade off would have been worth it.

“A safe house,” Fernie explained, glancing over the age-worn, hand-drawn map, “two kilometers that away. You would be safe there, while we rendezvous with the Trujillo’s.”

“You’re abandoning me now?” She asked, turning towards Antonio and not Fernie. Of course his advisor would urge against bringing his mistress to a war briefing. Still, his machismo was bigger than his common sense, and she could get what she wanted if she appealed to it. “If that’s the case you better take me to the airport as well. Maybe I can catch a flight with your wife.” Antonio would keep her safe; his ego would demand it now. Or he would die. Either worked for her, in reality.

 

[November]

Well, she was smart, wasn't she? Going right for the head of the snake. No matter which arguments were made, he was going to make the final decision, and she was at manipulating him. He chewed the inside of his cheek. He supposed everybody in his inner circle had to get SOME kind of talent for it.

"Why do you have to be so dramatic?" He shot Fernie an annoyed look. Why the fuck was he getting her worked up anyway? "Nobody putting you in a safe anything." What was the point of shashing anybody away in a situation like this, anyway? If he was getting deposed, Martiza would just be another loose end anyway. And if he wasn't - and he wasn't - it would all be an overreaction.

"You can come with me for this whole thing," he said smoothly. "See how we handle business."

"Can you afford that right now?" The smallest stress was coming into Fernie's voice.

"All of these..." He waved his hand back and forth in Maritza's general direction, as if looking for the perfect word to describe her, "distractions are what got you into trouble in the first place."

"Ferdinand, my patience is at the razor's edge right now."

"AND we're going to have to go through the prison on the way out, and the people there are going to remember her face." That was, what, his ace in the hole? He folded his arms and looked Maritza up and down before working the combination on a heavy metal door.

"We're past that shit now. This isn't a situation that can be walked back or forgotten about." Fucking national dialogue. He felt like a laughingstock even trying to make peace with the old guard. He heard a satisfying click and slowly pulled the door backwards. Sound came rushing in, echoing off the stone walls. The cells down here were alive with chatter, stomping, applause, jeering. Only about twenty cells, lining both sides of the walls, only a few of the most "high leverage" prisoners. And yet they'd heard about Urbina's move. He sneered. The rot was deeper than he thought.

"Just stay calm," Fernie said into his ear. "These people are going to try and get under your skin, especially since you pulled Juan out of the cell tonight. You don't have even a minute to spare on -"

And it was too late. He was in front of Simon Furriel before Fernie could even finish the sentence. Somehow, one of these guards had risked a bullet in the head to sneak him his old uniform, or something like it, worn out and frayed at the ends but still dignified because of the stiff-necked, beared man in front of him. His hair was silver with splotches of white, and his skin was wrinkled and splotched with too much sun in the wrong places at the wrong times... but his posture and vacant smile still brought to mind the international war criminal. The Butcher of Boquita Bay.

"This must be a happy day for you."

"It is," he said, nodding casually and leaning towards the bars. "Never set expectations too high. Whenever you outlive your enemies, it's a good day. I taught you that when you were, knee high."

His gaze flickered towards the girl.

"You ain't fucking outliving me. What if I take my pistol and blow your brains onto that wall behind you?"

He raised a finger. "I don't think you've got the time, my boy."

"I'm not your boy."

"Or the excess bullets." He kept looking at Martiza, bobbing his head up and down. Looking at her tits he guessed. Speaking of... it gave him a good idea. He grabbed Mariza by the shoulders and put her right between him and the prisoner.

"You just relax right here. See, this big bad butcher, he's not the kind of man who would ever put his hands on a woman." That was why he was in there, and Antonio was out here.

But no need to rub in that little tidbit.

 

[Xanaphia]

Terror filled Maritza’s features as she recognized the prisoner. Simon Furriel, who had recruited her alongside the CIA. There was no doubt he recognized her, not from the way his eyes looked her over. She could feel him questioning her without words. Why, why is Antonio still alive? Why are you standing here now, escaping with him instead of doing the damn job you were sent to do. A judgmental stare left her feeling particularly vulnerable.

“You’ve forgotten what you were taught,” Simon insisted, looking and speaking at Antonio. But the accusation fit her just as well, and as their eyes met, he knew that she knew it.

“You had morals once, didn’t you? Didn’t you believe in what we were doing? Was it worth it, to throw it all away for drugs and parties?” He didn’t stop. Lecturing her under the guise of lecturing Antonio. She couldn’t hide the way she trembled, could only hope she could pass it off as fear, by the way Antonio put her between himself and Simon. Would Simon out her to Antonio? No, there wasn’t a way that would sense. Clearly he still expected her to go through with the mission, still expected her to assassinate Antonio, and end this.

Fuck, she looked around the hall, looking at Fernie, who just seemed exasperated by now. She’d have to kill them both, if she tried now. Fernie was annoying, and enabled Antonio, but she wasn’t sure if that was worth his death. Besides, she still wasn’t sure she wanted to kill Antonio. Not if there was a chance he might retake the palace.

But if Simon was still alive when Urbina arrived, he would report to the CIA how she failed her mission. How she was in league with Antonio. She’d be disavowed, targeted for death alongside Antonio. Fuck, did she really want to die for this guy?

“Are you going to let him talk to you like that?” Maritza snapped, glaring daggers up at Simon. She would not be judged by this man. So what if she wanted the taste of luxury for just awhile. So what if she actually enjoyed fucking Antonio. “WE are running out of time, mi querido. Kill him, or not, we need to go, now.”

 

[November]

He bit the bottom of his lip, felt his eye rolling halfway through the speech. How many times had he heard about the ideals of the revolution and all that? His father had a certain brotherhood with the older generals and they made out like bandits. Well, time had changed, war had changed, they weren't as needed, and -

Antonio scoffed at the "true believer" here, briefly rubbing the side of Maritza's hip. "I didn't throw anything away. As evidenced by the fact... that I still have everything."

"Do you? It looks like you're losing everything right now."

He briefly mused about putting another pool of blood down here, but the fact was that if he killed everybody down here that deserved it, he'd have weeks of cleanup ahead of him and an empty prison. They were down here for a reason - they were leverage, a warning to people who could potentially cause trouble in the future. They represented power, and there was no need to throw that power away just because a few things were going to shit. "You tell Urbina not to get too comfortable here. All he did was show his hand and get a fucking house. San Marcos still belongs to me."

And so did Maritza. As least until the good times dried up. He led her through the prison, lightly covering her eyes - not that it solved anything. Everybody would know the two of them were together, which meant she'd be as hunted as he was for the time being. It was fine. Everything was fine. There were already guards opening the door from the other side when they arrived. "What are we, taking the bus? That's not exactly secure."

Fernie shrugged his shoulders. "Only going to last for a couple hours, and we want you to draw as little attention as possible. We don't know who's loyal in town." Antonio sighed and pulled himself onto the bus, a grey version of something slow children would take to school - only a few armed men and a tired looking driver who had a heavy black box underneath the seat. He had his suspicions about that box, but -

He passed the guards, passed a heavy block of radio equipment and briefcases and weapons, and took a seat in the very back row, pulling Maritza onto his lap. Well, it was almost seclusion. He hid his nervousness - aside from an armored car that would be following at a distance, he didn't have a great deal of protection. "I don't wanna hear you complaining about it being a bumpy ride." He rocked the girl up once on his lap, his voice taking on a teasing edge. "You fucking asked to be here, you little brat."

 

[Xanaphia]

It wasn’t the luxury she was used to. But It was just her and Antonio. Was this what she wanted? What did she even want anymore? She didn’t want the stress of making a decision, of running for her life, of hiding. All she could think of was the erection prodding her thighs and Simon Furriel’s disappointed glare.

Still, she smirked at Antonio, grinding against him, “You spoil me. That’s our thing.” She tried to kiss him, but the bus hit a pothole and their foreheads smacked against each others. “You’d think with all your money you could have at least paved the streets in your capital,” she whined, rubbing her head. Kissing him before he could protest or argue, she found herself working at her pants, swaying and shimmying to peel the skin tight jeans off.

You’d be a hero. She bit his lip before opening her mouth to his tongue. You’d be doing the entire country a favor. Her pants came off and his buckle followed soon behind. He’s the one who makes you live like this, while he’s living it up in his palace. Soft hands found his gloriously thick cock. “Fuck me,” she breathed against his ear, flattening breasts into his chest and stroking him rigid, “That’s our other thing.” The bus bounced again, his stiffness jabbing her as she came back down, “Fuck me, before an axle pops off and we crash and die.”

 

[November]

He let out a little frustrated burst of air through his nose when she teased him about the roads. There was this whole ugly issue that had stretched out for almost a year - but from the way Maritza was kissing him the moment the two of them got alone, she wasn't interested in hearing about it again. Fuck. They'd just done this an hour or so again, but his cock was already hammering against the front of his pants. Those jeans seemed wildly overmatched by Maritza's ass, clinging desperately to her curves as she ripped them down in spurts.

"This might not be the time," he said darkly, more for the prospect of teasing her than anything else. And there was something incredibly funny about having her sitting in the bus without any pants on, rocking up and down in his lap, meditating on what she wanted but couldn't have. It was just that amusement couldn't stand up to her feverish kiss, or the cool grip of her hands around him, unzipping his pants, pawing through his briefs, fishing out his cock - when she acted like this, every moment felt like they were fucking already, his brain was already there...

“Fuck me, before an axle pops off and we crash and die.”

What did he really get from drawing this out? He stifled a wry laugh as he grabbed her, his fingertips digging into her hips as he pushed her into the air, his cockhead brushing lightly against Maritza's bare thighs. He reached down to his shaft, and her hand was there too, both of them guiding him between her legs. He could feel the head of his dick penetrating the mouth of her sweltering cunt, another reminder of how things were, potholes and murder attempts and everything else. If he had girls like Maritza begging for him, their entire lives revolving around his moods and his happiness, he was still on top.

And that wasn't going to fucking change. It wasn't going to budge. People might have hated him and thought it was unfair, but he was playing a different game. He understood how things worked, how people worked. A week from now, this would be an embarrassing footnote - in fact, depending on how many of the snakes decided to reveal themselves tonight, he would have a tighter grip than ever on his country.

His length squeezed into the warmth of her pussy, stretching out for the heat and hardness of his tool.

"This needed to happen for a long time," he said, pulling his mouth down to the girl's soft lips. The bus jumped again, rocking and vibrating his cock inside her. He flexed his ass, pushing his hips just a little bit forward and barrelling himself into her with a calm smirk. "Mira, no me importa él. But you look close at everybody's faces right now. Who's scared and who's loyal and who isn't. Soon, they're going to say all this was nothing."

He didn't think he was just trying to convince himself. But what was the point of being scared now that it was happening. Antonio started drilling her, letting his cock work its magic, driving deeper and deeper into Martiza's box. Did she believe all that? Who cared?

 

[Xanaphia]

Again and again, she buried his cock inside her, his hard meat seeming to throb in time with the vibrations of the bus on the gravel. Need the distraction of rough, semi public sex to push the judgmental glare of Simon Furriel from her mind. To push the nagging fear that she would be put down alongside Antonio, wishing she could believe his words and bravado.

Pinche pendejos, what did they expect? They pimped her out to a dictator, without any concern of what he might do to her, or how she might be feel about being used like a whore. What did they think he was going to do to her? Did they care if he hurt her or violated her or treated her like a piece of meat? Or were they upset that he hadn’t treated her badly enough to warrant his execution. They passed her off like a sex hungry groupie, and not they were upset that’s what she became?

“Fóllame!” She growled, nails digging into his shoulders as she moved along his length. Her lips were rough on his as she kissed him, hungry for his aggression, for his fire. For the fire she saw in his eyes as he murdered that man with a machete. She didn’t know who he was or what exactly he had done to deserve such a brutal, bloody demise, but the memory stirred her. One hand moved from his shoulders to his throat and face, roughly cradling it while her other moved between them, teasing herself as she sought her own nirvana. If she was going to die tonight, she was going to fucking live first. “Fuck me, Antonio! Fuck me!”

 

[November]

The first thing he did was cram a couple of fingers into her mouth.

"Fuck. You do not have to be this fucking loud." He punctuated his last sentence with three hard, bullying thrusts into her body. He held the last one and let his cock throb violently inside of her. With every push forward, he seemed to be getting harder, harder and harder until it almost hurt. He bet there were people in his situation who would feel… lucky.

That might have sounded fucking strange to an inexperienced person but he’d seen enough of life’s horrors to know what men were like. Fucking animals who’d rip each other’s throat’s out for… a promotion at a job, or a few thousand dollars. When he was in the army he’d seen an officer blow a man’s brains out, right there in front of his friends. And for what? Over a woman. A secretary who probably went to sleep at night wishing she could live in somebody like Maritza’s body for a day.

He didn’t claim to be above that. Antonio was just a very talented animal.

But he didn’t feel lucky either. The feeling he felt right now as he wiggled himself further into her hot slit wasn’t luck or even happiness, it was just… rightness. This was destiny, it was where he was supposed to be. He gave her ass a little squeeze, testing it in his fingertips before grabbing it more firmly.

“Shake that fucking ass for me!”

So much for being quiet.

Of course... of course people knew what the fuck was going on back here, it was basically what she was here for. But there was something about giving people the luxury of pretending it was business as usual that he found polite somehow. Shit, he didn’t want to be staring out at this beaten ass road talking to the boys and pretending to be interested in his rifle while some other guy was popping a nut.

He bounced the girl on his lap, their chests grinding lewdly into each other. And feeling her so close and wanting it so badly made him lose all traces of self restraint. He threw his head back, thrusting his hips up as fast as he could.

“Your pussy is too good,” he said, and it was the kind of moan that sounded like a cross between disbelief and vague warning. “I’m gonna blast any fucking second.” He felt her hands everywhere, stroking his chest, running down the side of the neck, and there was something about her wild-eyed abandon that disturbed him. It kind of felt like she was giving him everything she had, on the off chance that one or both of them would be dead later.
It should have bothered him, but he was on the edge right now, and all hie could think of was that he should almost die more often.

He drove three more thrusts into her, pulling his aching cock all the way out and then digging in again. He could see the veins along the shaft and his flesh seemed like an angry red even in the moonlight. He hadn’t been this hard all day. And then he was cumming, spurt after warm spurt – he could almost feel it hitting the back of her pussy. At least for the first couple of seconds, and then the volume was fading, faster and faster. He was still hard inside her, but his balls suddenly felt crammed together. Shit. Made sense. He had a back of what, like an hour?

“You got a cigarette or a magazine or…” He trailed off and started to laugh. He almost wanted to ask for a phone but what were the chances on a night like this, right?

 

[Xanaphia]

Maritza laughed as she caught her breath, nibbling on the fingers he forced in her mouth. She rested against him for the time being, letting the adrenaline of the escape wind down. It had been fun, but where did it leave her now? Stinking of sex and still in need of a shower. And still, not sure what she was going to do. Not sure she could bring herself to kill him. Not because she cared him. It wasn’t some whirlwind romance between them. It wasn’t love, was barely affection. Almost purely physical between them. Lust. He was fun, and rich, and a fucking animal in bed and being with him made her feel alive.

Still, she curled into as they continued to travel towards the base. Outside the capitol, where those still loyal to him awaited. Resting against his chest, not asleep but in a dazed relaxed state. Once they knew the score, knew if there was any chance of retaking the palace. Then she’d make a move, make a choice. Nothing to do now but wait.

Within the hour they were at a safe house in Vallerta. An old plantation house, from when sugar was grown here. Now it housed the Trujillo Brothers. The shacks, that had once been for slaves, had been converted into barracks, to hold the loyal troops. Twenty five hundred here, crammed into every available space. As it was, Antonio and she were just given a bedroom on the first floor. Temporary, they had been assured, as they were going to leave again, to rendez-vous with more loyal generals. Or they were coming here. The whole thing was a clusterfuck.

Maritza didn’t care, not in the moment. She needed a shower, and she needed it three hours ago. Antonio was busy, getting the newest intel on the situation. It was good, get away from him for a minute, and figure things out. Face up to the facts she had been avoiding. Staying with Antonio was a losing bet. If the Americans were determined to depose him, he was as good as done. Oh sure, he might survive this attempt, but he wouldn’t hold power. Not for long. At best he’d be a beggar dictator in Russian, or Venezuela. Hiding out with him in some shithole wasn’t worth the risk. So that was it. She’d kill him tonight, maybe when he got back to the room. She still had the pills the CIA gave her, in her make-up bag. Arsenic or whatever. Mix it with the coke, and get him to snort a line. Simple, easy.

She was brushing through wet hair as she psyched herself up. Convincing herself she could do this. She could kill him. Better late than never. She almost believed it when she heard the door opening to the bedroom. She froze. Not Antonio, he would have called for her when he entered. The footsteps were quiet, moving carefully into the room. Someone looking to sneak in. Catch Antonio of guard, maybe?

She dug through the suitcase. Where was it? Fuck, all this junk she packed, wasn’t going to do her any good if she was dead! There, the Lugar. Already loaded, too. Turning off the safety, she pressed the door open, seeing movement in the bedroom. A young man, carrying a gun. Stupid bastard looked nervous, as he pulled open the closet door. What, did he think he would jump out, kill Antonio? The stupid idiot might end up shooting her, as twitchy as his finger was on the trigger. Hell, she’d be doing him a favor, shooting him, especially after what she had seen Antonio do with the machete earlier. So she stalked out of the bathroom, throwing the door open. That caught his attention, as he half stepped out of the closet to see what it was. BANG! The shot was off before they made eye contact, and his brains painted the closet walls red.