Page 98 of Four Cards Exposed

“Option two,” James repeated woodenly. “Tell me about it.”

“Your woman’s the prize. She will remain where she is, for everyone to see. And you will fight for her.”

“Fight for her? Tied down, like this?”

“Tsk, tsk. Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not barbarians. I will free you when the time is right.”

“Who will I fight?” James asked. He looked around, and Susan could see he was looking for the strongest fighter among them. Which was ridiculous, because so many of them looked like fighters.

“That’s the best part. My men will decide. You will fight as many of them as want to fight for her. And the winner—the winner gets to keep her. He gets to do anything he wants to, to her.”

Susan would have slid down to the floor, except James was there. James was still standing, and she knew she’d only make things more difficult for him if she lost it.

“What happens if I win?”

“If you beat all the men who want a turn at her,” Mendoza said carefully, “Then you get to take her away. Nobody will stop you.”

James nodded, his expression a calm, deadly mask. He didn’t look in her direction.

“When does this happen? Tomorrow?”

Mendoza laughed then, and so did some of his men. The ones who understood English.

Mendoza bared his teeth.

“It happens now.”

29

* * *

James

James didn’t look at Susan. He couldn’t look at Susan.

He’d gotten her into this. He’d miscalculated—hadn’t seen Miguel for who he really was. Hadn’t ever wondered about the informant who’d alerted them to Moore.

And now, now Susan could pay for his mistakes with her life.

Or with something worse than her life, if the twinkle in Mendoza’s eyes was anything to go by.

Any of these men would make her wish for death before they granted it.

James would do anything to stop that from happening—give up every last drop of his blood.

He wanted to communicate that to her, but at the same time, couldn’t afford to look at her. Because her fear could undo him.

“The rules are simple, Special Agent,” Mendoza continued. “Each fight is a fight to the death—or until one contender doesn’t get up. We will unlock your cuffs now. If you run, or if you try to fight anybody other than the next man facing you, we will shoot you and my men will share your woman here, in the courtyard. It’ll be the last thing you see while you bleed out on the ground. Do I make myself clear?”

James thought of the tracker inside of him, and of the sunglasses Mendoza’s man had stolen. Lorraine would come. His partner would never leave them here.

I just need to buy some time.

James flexed his muscles.

“Bring it on.”

Mendoza yelled something. Somebody brought him a hat, which he positioned face-up on the ground. The men whooped. One bronzed, tattooed giant stepped forward. He took off a ring and threw it in the hat. Another man—this one heavy-set, with a neck like a bull and scars on his face and wrists that spoke of incarceration in one of the country’s fine penitentiary institutions—stepped forward and threw something else in. It was too dark for James to see what it was exactly. Then a third man, and so on, until James realized those objects would determine the order in which the men got to fight him.