assured her.
Sonja slowly and cautiously placed a hand on Animal’s shoulder. She felt him tense, but eventually he loosened up under her touch. She leaned in close enough for her lips to brush his neck when she whispered, “Poppy, the streets of Old San Juan see how you give it up and the word will be spread. There’s nothing left to prove here.”
“This pussy tried to take my life, the scales gotta balance out,” Animal told her, pressing the knife into the thug’s throat again.
“And you have killed at least three of his, from what I can see. Too many bodies in the street lead to too many questions and I think we both know you don’t need that right now.” She slowly began pulling Animal away. “No more bloodshed today.”
Slowly, Animal eased back to the point where he was holding the thug at arm’s reach and glaring at him like a hungry tiger. The beast lurking inside Animal cried for more death, and though Sonja’s touch was soothing enough to bring about reason, there still needed to be compensation. “Your life is yours for today,” Animal told the thug, “but you will be forever reminded of my passing.” Animal dragged the knife down the thug’s cheek, opening him up.
* * *
At the west end of the island was the Fort San Felipe del Morro. It had originally been built to protect San Juan Bay and the city of Old San Juan from seaborne invaders but had long ago become more of a tourist attraction than an actual military base. People visiting Old San Juan would occasionally venture out to see the fort and its lighthouse, but with the rash of violence that had broken out in and around the village, few dared to venture out that far, which is why K-Dawg chose to make his base in the shadow of the ruined fort.
It was a large farmhouse with a few head of cattle that sat in the middle of nowhere so as to maintain his privacy, not that anyone would be foolish enough to breach the fence that encircled all ten acres of the farm. Vicious guard dogs, bred and raised by K-Dawg, roamed the grounds and would kill without hesitation to protect their master’s keep. K-Dawg had many secret hiding places like it, but the farmhouse was special to him because it had been his first real purchase when he was getting money in New York. While most of his comrades spent their money on guns and whores, K-Dawg had been planning for his future.
The farmhouse was safe haven to all members of Los Negros Muertes, but only those closest to K-Dawg actually lived there. When Animal had first arrived in Puerto Rico he’d been offered a place of honor in the farmhouse, but he had declined, opting to make his home in a smaller structure that sat a few yards off from the main house. The small building was said to have once been slave quarters, which struck Animal as ironic considering his current circumstances.
Animal’s room was a shadow of his home in Houston or even his apartment in Harlem for that matter. There were no big-screen televisions, no video games, and hardly any electronics at all except for a desk lamp and a satellite radio that sat on his nightstand. On the walls were maps of Puerto Rico and other Caribbean ports marked with red and green thumbtacks that formed strange patterns that only Animal understood. Stacked in corners and scattered on the floor were piles of newspapers and a few magazines. Most of them were New York Daily News es, as Animal liked to stay abreast of what was going on stateside. It was one of the few connections he had left to the home he’d been forced to flee.
“Shit, be careful with that thing,” Animal said. He was topless and lying on his side across his full-size bed. At his side, Red Sonja sat on a small stool beside the bed with what looked like a sewing needle pinched between her fingers.
“You cry more than a girl. Now quit fidgeting so I can finish,” she told him, adjusting the gooseneck lamp so she could see his wound better.
“That sounds familiar,” Animal
Sonja slowly and cautiously placed a hand on Animal’s shoulder. She felt him tense, but eventually he loosened up under her touch. She leaned in close enough for her lips to brush his neck when she whispered, “Poppy, the streets of Old San Juan see how you give it up and the word will be spread. There’s nothing left to prove here.”
“This pussy tried to take my life, the scales gotta balance out,” Animal told her, pressing the knife into the thug’s throat again.
“And you have killed at least three of his, from what I can see. Too many bodies in the street lead to too many questions and I think we both know you don’t need that right now.” She slowly began pulling Animal away. “No more bloodshed today.”
Slowly, Animal eased back to the point where he was holding the thug at arm’s reach and glaring at him like a hungry tiger. The beast lurking inside Animal cried for more death, and though Sonja’s touch was soothing enough to bring about reason, there still needed to be compensation. “Your life is yours for today,” Animal told the thug, “but you will be forever reminded of my passing.” Animal dragged the knife down the thug’s cheek, opening him up.
* * *
At the west end of the island was the Fort San Felipe del Morro. It had originally been built to protect San Juan Bay and the city of Old San Juan from seaborne invaders but had long ago become more of a tourist attraction than an actual military base. People visiting Old San Juan would occasionally venture out to see the fort and its lighthouse, but with the rash of violence that had broken out in and around the village, few dared to venture out that far, which is why K-Dawg chose to make his base in the shadow of the ruined fort.
It was a large farmhouse with a few head of cattle that sat in the middle of nowhere so as to maintain his privacy, not that anyone would be foolish enough to breach the fence that encircled all ten acres of the farm. Vicious guard dogs, bred and raised by K-Dawg, roamed the grounds and would kill without hesitation to protect their master’s keep. K-Dawg had many secret hiding places like it, but the farmhouse was special to him because it had been his first real purchase when he was getting money in New York. While most of his comrades spent their money on guns and whores, K-Dawg had been planning for his future.
The farmhouse was safe haven to all members of Los Negros Muertes, but only those closest to K-Dawg actually lived there. When Animal had first arrived in Puerto Rico he’d been offered a place of honor in the farmhouse, but he had declined, opting to make his home in a smaller structure that sat a few yards off from the main house. The small building was said to have once been slave quarters, which struck Animal as ironic considering his current circumstances.
Animal’s room was a shadow of his home in Houston or even his apartment in Harlem for that matter. There were no big-screen televisions, no video games, and hardly any electronics at all except for a desk lamp and a satellite radio that sat on his nightstand. On the walls were maps of Puerto Rico and other Caribbean ports marked with red and green thumbtacks that formed strange patterns that only Animal understood. Stacked in corners and scattered on the floor were piles of newspapers and a few magazines. Most of them were New York Daily News es, as Animal liked to stay abreast of what was going on stateside. It was one of the few connections he had left to the home he’d been forced to flee.
“Shit, be careful with that thing,” Animal said. He was topless and lying on his side across his full-size bed. At his side, Red Sonja sat on a small stool beside the bed with what looked like a sewing needle pinched between her fingers.
“You cry more than a girl. Now quit fidgeting so I can finish,” she told him, adjusting the gooseneck lamp so she could see his wound better.
“That sounds familiar,” Animal
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