Page 4 of Rogue Voice

Cruz laughed as if all of this was hilarious. “Jódete.He saidjódete,” he rasped, in the voice of a heavy smoker.

The two men who’d dragged Rogue inside laughed, too, but in that careful, dutiful way that made Rogue think they were still waiting to see where this was going, because their boss was a volatile, unpredictable fuck and they didn’t want to end up on the wrong side of the joke.

Cruz grabbed Rogue’s arms and easily pulled him to a standing position. Though half a head shorter, the man was strong as a bull. Rogue rubbed at his wrists to bring circulation back, waiting patiently until the man’s laughter finally died down. As soon as he went silent, his two men quieted down as well.

“Rogue, my friend,” Cruz said, his tone almost affectionate.

Rogue squared his shoulders and held Cruz’s gaze. There was nothing to be gained by cowering.

“What the hell was that about, Emiliano? If you wanted to see me, couldn’t you just call me, or come to my hotel for a visit, like a normal person? And what the fuck was that stunt with the knife?”

Cruz chuckled darkly, folding and pocketing the knife in a practiced move.

“I figured if you had something to confess, that was the best way to get it out of you.”

“You asshole,” Rogue muttered. “I don’t have anything to confess.”

Cruz laughed again. “At least you didn’t shit yourself. I’m impressed.” Rogue glowered at him. “I apologize, Rogue. A man in my position can’t be too careful.”

“A man in your position?” Rogue asked.

Cruz angled his head sideways, ignoring the question. With his deep-set, amber eyes, he looked like a full-grown mastiff. “You look … different,” he said cautiously.

Rogue took a small step back and took a quick look around. The large L-shaped room, with its traditional terracotta tiles, was divided into a comfortable-looking living room and an office area dominated by a single ornate desk. The sober effect was broken only by the cables snaking from the desk, across the side of the room to the far wall.

At one end of the room, a square staircase led up to a second floor. Religious art—a large wooden crucifix, several paintings of the Virgin Mary, and some antique-looking Russian icons, all with thick, golden frames—lined the white walls. Arched windows and doorways pointed towards the traditional central patio present in all rural haciendas. The top of each archway was decorated in royal blue stained glass. Everything looked fancy and expensive. If you were into that kind of thing, which Cruz clearly was.

“I feel different. I’m clean. And not thanks to your brother’s efforts. Is he here as well?” Rogue forced his expression to remain neutral.

Cruz assessed him and finally shook his head.

“My brother passed away, unfortunately. Shortly after you left us.”

Rogue nodded. “I can’t say I’m sorry. I almost died thanks to him.”

Cruz shrugged. “I like to think we are all responsible for our own actions. If you let yourself be tempted by…”

“Your brother turned me into a drug addict, Emiliano,” Rogue snarled. “That’s not something I’m likely to forget anytime soon. Now, it was great to see you, but you need to tell your friends to take me back to my hotel.”

Emiliano raised his hands in a conciliatory manner, the gesture oddly reminiscent of that of the saint on the wall behind him.

“Ricardo’s gone, Rogue. Let’s not speak of him anymore. As to your other request, I’m afraid we’re no longer near Cartagena.”

Rogue made a show of looking around him. “What am I really doing here, Emiliano?”

“What are you doing in Colombia? That is perhaps the more pertinent question.”

Not as much of an idiot as he seems.

Rogue sighed, as if he hadn’t spent hours preparing for precisely this question. “I keep dreaming of Colombia. Despite … despite everything that happened … I was happy here. Happier than I’ve been since. And maybe it was foolish, but I wondered …”

“You wondered if you could bring that happiness back,” Cruz said smoothly. “You were hoping to travel to the past.”

Rogue let his lip curl upwards. “It sounds foolish, when you put it that way.”

“Not foolish at all, my friend. But I’m afraid you won’t find any flight to take you there.”

“Yeah. I should just go back home.”

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