Rosa

Chapter 8

The moment Rosa and Mr. Massera stepped back into her suite, the sting of bleach immediately hit her nostrils, cutting through her fog of exhaustion.

Rosa's senses were, all of a sudden, wide awake again as a flurry of unpleasant memories shot through her mind.

Before carting Hugo outside on the wheelchair, she had disinfected all of the surfaces in the bathroom while Mr. Massera wrapped the body in plastic trash bags, to prevent the corpse's piss, feces, and blood from leaking or tainting anything else in the vicinity.

Her stomach churned with disgust.

It seemed, hours later, the pungent chlorine-like smell was still lingering in the air. Annoyance pricked at her as well. Rosa hated it whenever her professional life crept into her personal life.

She was supposed to be on vacation.

She was supposed to be resting and relaxing over the next few days.

How the fuck was she expected to get a relaxing, restful night's sleep, now, with the ghost of Hugo haunting her suite?

Pouah!

Just the thought of bathing or showering in the same space where Hugo's corpse had been decomposing sent a wave of nausea rolling through Rosa.

She shot a glare in Mr. Massera's direction.

Technically, this was all his fault.

Right away, the bastard seemed to sense her eyes digging into him.

He turned towards her, arching an eyebrow, "Yes?"

Without acknowledging him, Rosa strode towards the safe tucked in one of the built-in closets and removed his Beretta from its hiding place.

Mr. Massera held out his palm. "Give it to me, and I will be on my way."

But Rosa didn't hand over his firearm. She purposely withheld it from him. She intended to use it as a bargaining chip.

In cranky, bitchy tones, Rosa demanded, "If you want your gun back, first, tell me where you are staying in Lisbon."

"I am staying... here... in the same hotel as you."

Ah, of course the bastard would be staying here as well.

How convenient.

She urged, "Switch rooms with me."

"Why?"

"I do not want to share a suite with Hugo's ghost."

"I find it hard to believe," he drawled, "that a woman like you would be afraid of such things."

Rosa insisted, "You killed Hugo. You should be the one to sleep with his ghost."

Mr. Massera smiled faintly. "No."

"Then," Rosa murmured as she raised his gun to her lips, placing a light, taunting kiss on the top of his barrel, "I will be holding your friend hostage a while longer..."

"I could just take it from you, you know. You are smaller and weaker than me."

He was right.

She would never fight him again like before.

From now on, she would need to attack him in a different way.

Softly, Rosa breathed, "But where would the fun be in that?"

Not breaking eye contact, she stared him down while tracing the swells of her breasts with his Beretta. Rosa let the tip of the barrel glide between the V of her cleavage, down her stomach, down towards her sex, grazing her mound for a mere second, before taking a few coy steps back, back, back—