"She's going back to L.A.," Quinn said. "There's no other choice."

"I don't think the choice is actually yours," Orlando said. "You can try sending her back, but unless you're going with her and sitting on her lap, she's not going to stay."

"I'll hire someone to watch her."

"You do realize how intelligent your sister is, right? What do you think the chances are that she figures out a way to get free from whoever that might be?"

"I know the answer," Daeng said. "One hundred percent, right?"

"Shut up," Quinn told him.

"Oh, h.e.l.l, no. This is too much fun."

"You enjoy seeing me fight with my sister?"

"No, but I see the only path you can take," Daeng said. "You'll eventually find it yourself. It's just fun watching you get there."

"Oh, you can see the path, can you? What path would that be?"

"Best if you find it on your own."

"Go to h.e.l.l."

"This isn't helping," Orlando said.

"She's going back to L.A.," Quinn said. "If I have to, I'll have her locked in a room."

"And she'll never talk to you again. Is that really what you want?"

He seethed for a moment. "Better that than she gets killed. Look, I don't care if she gets free of whoever's watching her. By then we'll be gone and she won't be able to catch up."

"Think about it," she said. "What if she comes back to Mexico and starts nosing around? Maybe the people who have Nate won't know or care, but there are people here who could become concerned and would have reason to shut her up. Moreno, for one."

"He's in no condition to do anything."

"You're letting your overprotectiveness cloud reality. Moreno will have friends, and if he even gets a hint she's a.s.sociated with us, he'll be more than happy to take out his retribution on her. You know that. And there are so many other things she could stumble on, and you won't be there to help her."

"So, she stays with us? Is that what you're suggesting?"

"Do we really have a choice? This way we'll know where she is. I'm sure we can find some things for her to do."

"And when we find out where Nate is? What do we do with her then?"

"Hope that she's clear-minded enough to see that things will go smoother if she's out of our way."

"What if she doesn't?"

Orlando looked at him, her eyes softening. "I ask you again, what choice do we have?"

Quinn stared down at the ground and closed his eyes. "Dammit."

"So that's a yes?"

"It's not a yes."

"But it's not a no, either."

Quinn's eyelids parted, but he said nothing.

Daeng clapped him on the back. "See, I told you you'd find the path."

CHAPTER 37.

HARRIS TOOK HIS normal position by the window as the final prisoner was brought into his employer's office. Like him, the man was bald, but that's where the similarities ended. The prisoner was several inches shorter than Harris, and stocky. The prototypical human bulldog.

Ja.n.u.s shoved the man at the chair.

"I can walk," the prisoner growled.

Even though he was older than the others they had collected, he showed no signs of being more affected by the whipping.

The man took his seat.

As before, Harris's employer was watching a replay of the morning's whipping session on his tablet computer. A few minutes pa.s.sed before he turned it off and looked at his guest.

"I think you know who I am," Romero said.

"Sure," the prisoner said. "A discarded piece of s.h.i.t."

Harris could almost feel the temperature of the room increase.

"If there is anything discarded here, it's you! You see, I know who you are, too. I know what you did."

"Congratulations. Can I go back to my suite now? I have a ma.s.sage scheduled in a few minutes."

Romero began to shake with anger. As he tried to speak, he suddenly began to cough.

Moving quickly to his side, Harris could see that Romero's face was turning red as he continued to hack. Harris ran over to the water pitcher on the credenza, filled one of the gla.s.ses, and hurried back. "Drink this," he said, holding it to the old man's lips. "Ja.n.u.s!"

The big Ukrainian threw open the door and rushed into the room.

Harris shot a glance at the prisoner. "Take him back to his-"

"No," Romero croaked. He coughed again, and took another drink. "No. I'm not finished."

Ja.n.u.s looked at Harris, unsure of what to do.

"Maybe you can continue this later," Harris suggested.

Romero shook his head, no longer coughing. "No. Now."

"At least allow me to get your nurse."

"No!"

Through it all, the prisoner had watched the old man, his only movement a growing wry smile. "How much longer do you have?" he asked.

"Longer than you," the old man shot back.

The prisoner snickered, his smile unwavering.

Harris studied Romero for a moment longer, then took a step back and nodded at Ja.n.u.s. With a shrug, Ja.n.u.s walked back into the hallway and shut the door.

The old man locked eyes with the prisoner.

"I a.s.sume you also know why you are here," Romero said.

"A petty act of revenge?"

Harris eyed his boss, worried the old man was going to lose it again, but Romero seemed to be in control now.

"Petty is a matter of perspective. If you wish to think of it that way, be my guest. As long as you know why you're here, that is all that is important to me."

Romero paused, as if expecting some kind of retort, but the prisoner merely stared at him.

"One more thing before you return to your cell, something I want you to know and live with in the short time you have left. Since you were the one in charge and organized the...what do they call it?"

That was Harris's cue. "Termination," he said.

"Right. The one who organized the termination, you will be the last to die. That way, you can watch each of the men from the team you put together take their last breath, and know that you are the one who brought this on. You are the one killing them."

If the smile faltered on the prisoner's face, Harris didn't see it.

The old man leaned back. "Okay. Now I'm done."

"Ja.n.u.s!" Harris said.

As Ja.n.u.s reentered the room, the prisoner stood up. He gave the old man a slight nod, and did the same with Harris. As he rounded his chair, Ja.n.u.s latched on to his arm and guided him forcefully toward the door.

Before they could exit, the prisoner stopped and looked back. "One thing you should probably know."

Both Harris and the old man looked at him.

"You're wrong about which one of us is going to die first."

"Get him out of here!" Harris yelled at Ja.n.u.s.

Ja.n.u.s all but threw the prisoner into the hallway. Once the door was shut, Harris looked at Romero. The old man's head was bowed, his hands tightly clutching the edge of the desk.

"He's just trying to-"

Romero cut him off. "I want you to move up the start time of the next round."

"Of course. When would you like to begin?"

"Right now."

__________.

"WHAT NOW?" ONE of Nate's fellow prisoners whispered.

They had once again been hooded and led from their cells into the courtyard, but instead of being guided onto pedestals, they had been lined up next to each other and told not to move.

The cooling breeze bespoke the onset of evening, and would have felt good if not for the fact it kept blowing the new shirt Nate had been given against the untreated wounds on his back. But that was more of an annoyance. The true pain that continued radiating through his body at a steady, unrelenting pace needed no wind to aid it.

Thirty minutes pa.s.sed with no new instructions. Nate knew it was meant to weaken their minds, by allowing them to speculate what might be coming and letting their worst fears rise from their unconsciousness. But Nate-and the others, he was sure-had been too well trained for such a simple trick to work.

In the distance, he heard the whine of the same electric motor he'd heard that morning before the whippings occurred, and now knew it must be a wheelchair bearing the old man from the office.

This was obviously his show.

The noise grew until it was somewhere in front of them, and then stopped, silence filling the courtyard.

Nate expected either Harris or the man in the chair to lecture them on what was about to happen, but instead a sudden hum filled the air. Before he could even figure out what it might be, there was a loud, unmistakably electric crackle.

There was a pause, then another crackle, this time only a dozen feet in front of him, the air nearby tingling with the charge.

And yet another, a little farther away.

"Who would like to go first?" Harris asked.

No one said a word.

"No volunteers?"

Silence for several seconds, then the old man said, "Him."

The sound of bodies moving. Nate was jostled to the side, and the man who'd been standing next to him was grabbed and pulled forward.

"Hey!" the prisoner called out. It was Berkeley. "What are you doing?"