When Villains Rise (Market of Monsters #3) - Rebecca Schaeffer Page 0,46
throat.
He choked, stumbling backwards, and Nita stepped into the room, closely followed by Kovit. She closed the door behind them, and Kovit smiled as he watched the man gasp and sputter. “You’re getting better at this.”
“Thank you.” Nita returned his smile, flicked her phone onto its loudest setting, and played some death metal from YouTube, loud off-key screams reverberating around the room just under the heavy base.
Almeida stumbled to his feet, but Kovit casually grabbed him, twisted his arm behind his back with one hand, and seized his throat with the other. Almeida couldn’t get air to scream as Kovit twisted the arm, forcing Almeida down.
Nita took out the duct tape, and they set to work taping him firmly to the chair.
When they were done, Nita sat down on the bed across from Almeida.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked.
Kovit had covered his mouth with tape so he couldn’t scream, and Almeida just shook his head, eyes wide with fear.
“That’s fine, then. You don’t need to.” Nita fished through his briefcase, searching for his laptop. She pulled it out and opened it to a password screen. “But if you want to get out of this alive, I’ll need your laptop password.”
He started to shake his head, and Kovit pressed his switchblade into Almeida’s throat. “Think carefully.”
Almeida swallowed, and the switchblade pressed a little harder, drawing a thin trickle of blood. Almeida’s eyes flicked between them, and he tried to say something through the duct tape.
Nita smiled softly. “Let me get that for you. And remember, if you try and scream, my friend will cut your vocal cords right out, and I’ll make you write the answers to my questions.”
Almeida flinched, either at Nita’s calm words of horror or the duct tape ripping off his skin, Nita wasn’t sure.
“It’s my girlfriend’s birthday.” Almeida’s voice was hoarse as he gave them the date.
Nita typed it in and then went straight to the email icon. “Do you work with Alberto Tácunan?”
His eyes widened. “Uh.”
“Never mind, I found the emails.” She smiled slightly, scrolling through his inbox. She’d organized it by sender, and she skimmed boring emails about tax forms and offshore accounts and funneling money. “Any plans to meet him while you’re here?”
“No.”
Nita ordered the emails by most recent and decided he was telling the truth. So she composed an email to Alberto Tácunan, marked as urgent.
Something has come up. I need to see you in person. I’m at the summit tomorrow. Can we meet?
She considered adding more details, but decided the vaguer the better, and hit the Send button.
She glanced through the emails, and Kovit retaped Almeida’s mouth and asked in a hungry, hopeful voice, “Can I play with him?”
Nita kept her face calm even as her stomach turned. “Not yet. We still might need him.”
Kovit sighed and flopped on the bed beside her to read over her shoulder. On the chair, Almeida began to struggle, but it was pointless, and both Nita and Kovit ignored him.
Kovit watched as Nita flipped through emails with Tácunan Law, scrolling through Almeida’s files. Offshore accounts, check. Funneling campaign money into personal accounts, check. Running a brothel in São Paulo, check.
“What a sleazeball.” Kovit’s voice was layered with disgust.
“Agreed.” Nita casually copied the relevant emails and sent their details to one of the Brazilian nonprofits trying to end corruption.
Kovit pointed at one of the email headers. “Look, did he ask his superiors to be the representative to attend this summit?”
Nita blinked and clicked on the email. He had indeed requested it. She skimmed the email, then the next. It looked like Mr. Almeida had significant holdings in the black market. He’d lost a lot of money when el Mercado de la Muerte was destroyed—a lot of bribe money, specifically. He’d wanted to come here to ensure that whatever happened, this summit failed.
“Wow.” Kovit’s eyes were wide. “I’d realized the black market had a lot of reach—they must have to keep Death Market running so easily—but this . . .”
“I know,” Nita whispered. “It’s a lot.”
“Look there.” Kovit reached over her shoulder and clicked an email. “Is that a hit? He put a hit on an activist?”
Not just any activist. He’d put a hit on Mirella.
Her companion in captivity in el Mercado de la Muerte. The girl who’d had her eye gouged out and sold, who’d escaped with Nita, who’d been shot on the dock. Who Nita had thought dead until she came and wreaked bloody vengeance on the people attempting to flee the market after