An Angel's Vice

Chapter 1 - Dancing With Death

He only sees the full black small tear drop tattoo directly beneath her right eye, emerald in the middle of blazing red and lids that sink halfway. When she turns her head and meets his gaze, his smile shrinks and his eyes go wide briefly until he recovers from his shock over how stunning and captivating she is. Her features are cutting edge, hardened and of clear Latin descent...but they are also soft in some places like her raised cheeks and full lips that expand into a broad grin, flashing the man with bold teeth. She doesn't mind the proximity of the gun nor the onlookers that are clearly his friends who are also armed. She takes a pull of the cigarette and exhales the smoke into his face when she says:

"Porque somos socios." (Because we are friends.)

"Socios?" his eyes turn to slits and a crease forms between his brows. He cocks his head and smiles again, wagging a finger at her. "No eres de Colombia. No te conozco. Y tu no eres una amiga de mi." (You are not from Colombia. I don't know you. And you are not a friend of mine.)

"Pero si! Claro que si, yo te conozco, mi hermano!" the pale woman drags out her words with glee as she waves her arm around and transforms into a drunk who has no familiarity with misery, no concept of strangers or personal space. "Ya tu me olvidaste? Oyyy, no te creoo." (But yes! Of course I know you my brother! You already forgot me? I don't believe you.)

The man scratches his thick curly brown hair as he side eyes his hired guns eyeballing the situation with their hands resting close to their concealed pistols at the front of their pants. Those not associated with the cartel in this city and just came to party mind their business and carry on dancing, pursuing one another as though the cartel did not exist in this bar, and there exists no threat to spoil the fun.

However...there, another woman, a stranger called Sasha Morí, lurking just south of the bar, has the front row seat to the potential bloodbath as she sips her fruity cocktail while observing and increasing her awareness of her surroundings. She is also another one to ignore the plenty propositions from the notorious criminals of Medellin tonight, only she did so politely and with the promise that she'd at least think about reconsidering as the night progresses. She is young, slim, sun-kissed, well groomed and best dressed. She blends in with the other girls with the exception of her face sculpted by the wicked grace of God, His essence lingering in her daring pale green snake-like eyes, and in the rare dreamy magnetism way about her resting face that resembles a cheetah.

Her interest in the foreigner at the bar dramatically increases from where it was when she first started following her around three days ago. This strange tattooed woman was just full of surprises, she couldn't quite figure her out yet.

"De que hablas??" (What are you talking about?)

"Sabes exactamente de lo que estoy hablando." (You know exactly what I'm talking about.)

"Basta de tus juegos, cual es tu nombre?" (Enough of your games, what is your name?)

"Tal vez...estoy equivocada. Tal vez...no me conoces y no me recordarás. Pero tu familia lo hará si no te marchas," her smile vanishes and she puts the cigarette back in her mouth, squinting at the ticked off captain who has now processed her threat and raises his gun again. She quickly drops her cigarette into the ashtray and shakes her head, a light ticking sound emitting from the tip of her tongue against her teeth. "Baja tu arma y tal vez no te mate." (Maybe...I'm wrong. Maybe...you don't know me and you don't remember me. But your family will if you don't walk away. Put down your gun and maybe I won't kill you.)

"Que etravida eres..." Sasha mumbles as she slowly ascends from her chair in her humble corner by the large glass windows overlooking the deserted narrow street going downhill to her right. She saunters to the bar and moves in right as the man glances over his shoulder and nods his head at his men. She's quick to put a hand on the mysterious woman's shoulder and yell to the bartender for a Moscow Mule before her lips graze the woman's ear and she rushes out, "Muévete rapido, estos chicos te van a matar—" (How bold you are. Move fast, these guys are going to kill you)