Domingo Ramirez smelled yucky.
Well, his place smelled like shit anyway. Literally. Like there were no functioning toilets in the cesspool that Domingo was passing off as a home these days. Given his penchant toward ickiness, Katie was willing to bet the man himself smelled equally bad.
“This is so far beneath me,” Katie lamented, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
With a sigh of disgust, she pulled on her leather gloves, more to protect her delicate hands than out of worry for leaving fingerprints, and set about finding her prize. She allowed herself the occasional grumbling complaint as she sorted through the dirty clothes, broken furniture and gag-worthy amounts of empty booze bottles that littered the entire hovel. She reminded herself repeatedly as she searched that if everything went according to plan she could go back to breaking into gorgeous penthouses, castles and chateaus while leaving this disgusting little shanty a one-time deal.
While she was crouched, sorting through a plastic bag full of empty liquor bottles, a book shifted and slid off a table to her left, causing Katie to shriek and fall on her ass. Wide eyed, she watched in horror as some kind of rodent scurried out and ran into a trash pile. She tried to determine if she was more surprised by what she suspected was a rat or the fact that Domingo had actual reading material in his home.
“Oh my god, Domingo, you've really come down in the world,” she announced, thinking of the dark but gorgeous accommodations at the hacienda. She didn’t know if he’d actually lived right in the house, but rumour had it his family had.
Finally, after searching the entire place top to bottom, she was forced to face up to the fact that her prize was not there. He’d either sold it, for copious amounts of booze and porn magazines, or had it on his person. Either possibility meant that she would need to do the unpalatable and talk to the guy. She found the cleanest patch of hovel, a forgotten chair in the corner of what she thought might be a kitchen, and sat.
She went over several scenarios in her head, trying to decide which one to go with when Domingo finally stumbled in, slamming his front door against the wall so hard the entire cottage shook. Katie jumped in surprise. As she heard him stumbling around the entrance, swearing and falling into walls, she realized none of her usual scenarios were going to work. Which was really a shame, because she was looking forward to using the ‘lost gringa tourist that accidentally wandered into Domingo’s place and hit him over the head with a frying pan after manipulating information about Filipe’s knife’ scenario.
Oh well, now she was going to plan B: ask drunk Domingo where the knife is, hit him in the head with a frying pan anyway for being a dick to Donna Marie and then get out. Domingo came stumbling into the kitchen, nearly falling over a pile of bottles on his way to the kitchen sink, which was full of nasty, unwashed dishes. He shoved his head under and turned the tap on.
Was he trying to end it all by drowning himself? Because that was not a good way to do it in Katie’s opinion. She was pretty sure he could still breath around the water that was slowly going up his nose. It was beginning to look like the drunken Domingo was falling asleep with his head in the sink, water pouring into his ear, over his face and onto the floor.
With a sigh of disgust, Katie stood with her hands on her hips. “Hey, Domingo, you got a minute?”
Domingo jerked so hard his head hit the cupboard above the sink. Katie snorted, but calmed quickly. She didn't think he would appreciate humour at his expense. Her eyes fell to his belt as he spun around, surprisingly agile for a majorly drunk guy. The dagger she’d come for was sheathed at his waist. Well damn. If she’d known that, she never in a million years would have pawed through his dirty underwear, sheets, socks, porn collection… seriously no amount of bleach was going to erase her time in this place.
“The fuck you doin’ here, puta?” he demanded.
Well that was a rude assumption to make, Katie thought grumpily. How did he know she was a whore?
He eyed her up and down, making her skin crawl in a way that made cuddling with the rat look like a great idea. She really wished she didn’t need to approach him for the dagger. She wondered if she could get him to just slide it across the kitchen floor toward her, like people did in movies. Oh wait, did she need some kind of leverage to get him to do that?
“Did the boys send you over?” he asked drunkenly, lurching away from the counter and stumbling toward her. “Dey know I like me some blondies.”
“Oh… no,” Katie gagged. “Oh my god… ew. So gross!”
He reached for her just as she planted her heavy, reinforced leather boot in his crotch. He went straight over backwards into a pile of empties. Cockroaches scattered across the kitchen. Katie screamed and jumped around in terror as the cockroaches ran while Domingo clutched his aching balls and howled in pain. She forced herself to reach down and snatch the dagger from its sheath.
Holding it up to the light, she ensured that it was the one she’d come for. A perfect match to the one Roman carried with him, only instead of a wolf etched into the handle, this one had a scorpion. According to Lana, this knife had belonged to Felipe, Roman's uncle. A man that was more of a father to Roman than the man that had sired him.
When the Valdez cartel had fallen, Felipe had helped Roman escape at the expense of his own life. When Domingo had caught up to Felipe, he had tortured Roman’s uncle brutally for the boy’s location. Felipe had died never giving his nephew up to the Ramirez cartel. According to Lana, he’d been gutted, then had his throat slit by this very knife, a knife given to him by his own father, Roman’s grandfather. The story and the knife had become legend, which is why Katie refused to allow the treasure to remain with this scum.
Katie turned to leave, the dagger tucked safely away into a sheath she’d brought with her. She turned back, glaring down at the disgusting pig of a man. “This is for Donna Marie,” she snapped, drew back her foot and kicked him in the ribs. He howled in pain, but with a swiftness that took Katie by surprise, Domingo grabbed her booted ankle and yanked her right off her feet.
Katie’s legs went flying out from under her and she landed sprawled out on top of Domingo. Before she had time to process whatever nasty thing was crusted onto his shirt, he had his hands wrapped around her throat and was rolling her underneath him. He squeezed her neck with enough strength to choke the breath out of her. Katie gagged and choked as black dots danced in her eyes. She clawed at his hands trying to pry them off of her throat.
He rocked his hips against her, shoving what was unmistakably an erection into her. Katie felt vomit rushing up her throat and had to swallow it. She tried punching every part of him she could reach, but he didn't feel a thing, probably numb from the amount of booze in his system. Finally, she managed to punch him in the nose and he loosened his hold on her neck. He swung his head, shaking it while she scrambled, trying to get out from underneath him.
“Going to kill you, bitch, then fuck your scrawny ass until you beg to die,” he snarled grabbing her neck again and reaching for her shirt, clearly intent on tearing it. His aim was clumsy and he only managed to tug the sleeve down a little.
“Oh god, your breath is so… bad!” Katie gagged hoarsely, looking around frantically. The rat, or possibly a new one, scurried past, running over the ends of Katie’s hair and then over an empty tequila bottle. Katie’s eyes widened and she grasped the neck of the bottle. She swung it into his head with all her strength, catching him in the temple.
Domingo’s eyes rolled back and he slumped sideways. Katie wasted no time scrambling out from underneath him and back onto her feet. As grateful as she was to her rat buddy for showing her the way to get Domingo off, she wasn't interested in getting her hair stepped on again. She quickly checked to make sure Domingo was alive. Killing him wasn't part of her plan. Not yet, anyway. Then she backed up a little and kicked him in the foot. She’d learned her lesson about kicking boys in the ribs, they could grab her foot when she was least expecting it.
“You wanted to fuck my ass and then kill it, you total and complete idiot,” Katie told his unconscious form with disgust dripping from every syllable. “Otherwise you’d be fucking a dead woman. Word order matters, moron. God, Donna Marie is so much better off.”
Shaking her head in annoyance, Katie whirled away from him and stomped toward the front door, more than ready to leave Domingo Ramirez’s less-than-friendly abode. Roman could have him, gift wrapped with a bow on top, for all she cared. She didn't like the asshole one little bit. Hmm. Could she arrange a gift-wrapping?