Before Ji could demand an explanation, scuffed footsteps spun him around, seeing half a dozen men move into the alley. Locals from the look of them, but hard-edged and angry. A pretty woman was at the back, sporting a black eye, a split lip, and a massive lump on her jaw. Her clothing was wrinkled, as if she'd been wearing them a long time, the fabric on her shoulder torn.

Backing toward Ginny, Ji calculated his odds. It'd be a near thing, but he'd been through worse.

"Is this the guy, Alma?" One of the men in front gestured at Ji, speaking to the girl. She peered at Ji then shook her head. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure, Mateo. He's blonde, and too tall."

"You said he came into this alley."

"I saw him, but this isn't the same man,"

Hard eyes swung to Ji, features set in a scowl.

"Consider yourself fortunate, my friend. You tourists come here looking for a good time, thinking you can get away with doing whatever you want. When I find the man who hurt my sister, it will not be a pretty thing."

"I don't hurt women," Ji told him flatly, maintaining eye contact. "If you're not looking for trouble, we'll-"

A whimpered groan jerked his head around, seeing Ginny hauling back with her foot. She had impressive aim and force, kicking Claud Laurent repeatedly in the groin as hard as she could. Until he was spasming in utter agony on the ground, his skin unhealthy shades of green and yellow.

"Mateo," Alma's voice held a shrill note as Ji moved aside, every gaze landing on the tortured man. "That's him!"

"Him?" A thick finger pointed to the convulsing Frenchman, and the girl nodded, certain. Brown eyes whipped to Ji as they all moved forward, but his wide shoulders and thick chest formed a wall of imposing muscle.

"He's ours," he told them in Portuguese. "Back off."

"He hurt my sister."

"He hurt my girl." Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, he indicated Ginny who had taken to kicking whatever part of Laurent she could, silent tears tracking her face, lips curled in a feral snarl. "I intend to let her kick the raw stuffing out of him, then slowly break whatever's left until he begs me to kill him."

"No-!" Pride offended, the Argentinian took a step forward. Ji reacted like a rattlesnake. Grabbing the man's shoulder, he spun Mateo to face his companions, kicked a leg out from under him and let him go with a hard shove. Three of the five remaining collapsed under Mateo's weight, the other two jumping aside to avoid the crush of bodies. It happened so suddenly that everyone froze in shock, even Ginny, her dark eyes glazed with feral rage.

"Back off before someone gets hurt," Ji warned them with icy softness. "I have no fight with you."

Cursing wickedly in Portuguese, Mateo lunged to his feet but Alma grabbed his arm, yanking back.

"No! I don't want you to get hurt!"

"He's protecting him, Alma! He's protecting the man that beat you up! What am I supposed to do, huh? How can I look our mother in the eyes and tell her I just walked away!"

"Negotiate." Ji interrupted icily, bringing their eyes to him. "If you want what I have, bargain with me. Maybe I'm willing to trade."

Heavy silence descended on the group in the alley, the muffled noise of street vendors, footsteps, and traffic blending into the background. Ginny was panting hard, tears still dripping down her cheeks, but she didn't seem to notice. Alma met her eyes briefly, then looked away, as if ashamed of seeing the pain glowing there. On the ground, Claud was making high-pitched, moaning sounds. How he was still conscious was anybody's guess, but very soon, Ji had a feeling the Frenchman would be wishing he was dead.

Mateo shrugged his shoulders, adjusting his shirt to cover the gun tucked in his waistband.

"What do you want for him?"

Carefully examining them, Ji's eyes narrowed.

"A name."

"Who would I know that could help you, gajo?"

Appreciating Mateo's switch to English, Ji grinned coldly.

"I need two passports, clean. ID cards, documents, everything. You look like the kind of man that would know how to reach someone like that."

"What makes you think-?"

"I've been to Buenos Aires before, years ago. I don't remember her name, but she's a real artist. I think she still lives here."

"Then you find her."

"Fine," Shrugging, Ji took several steps back, bending to grab Claud by the shirt. The Frenchman made a pained, guttural sound. "We'll be going."

"Wait!" Alma rushed forward only to be caught around the waist by Mateo. "Don't let him go!"

"I know someone," begrudging, the street thug glanced at his sister before looking hatefully at Ji. "Someone who can do what you say."

"Name and where to find her." Muscles flexing, Ji lifted Claud further off the ground, proving he could carry him away if he needed to. Ginny had been silent, just looking at whoever was speaking at the time. Her tears had stopped, but the burning-hot look in her eyes hadn't faded. Mateo studied her obvious hatred for a long moment.

"That man hurt her, your girlfriend?" Ji's slow nod was met by a hard stare. "You're willing to let him go, to just walk away?"

"He's not our main concern."

"Ikeno Sousa," Mateo glanced at his companions as they made soft sounds of surprise at the name. "That's who you want. Go to Acassuso, it's north, between Olivos and San Isidro. Ikeno lives there."

"Where in Acassuso?"

"We've never been there but ask someone on the street. They can tell you."

He knew Mateo meant someone who lived a street life, not just any random person, and nodded. Dropping Claud, Ji reached a hand back for Ginny, feeling her gloved fingertips touch his palm. 

"Our bags are behind you. I want them."

"Felipe, hand them their bags." Mateo's eyes hadn't left Ji's face as he snapped his fingers. It was done silently, and the group backed to the other side of the alley. Ji moved away from where Claud was gradually regaining his senses, tugging Ginny with him. He watched them pick up the Frenchman and hustle to the far side of the alley where a van he hadn't noticed was waiting. In that moment, Ji knew Claud would never walk away alive. He'd suffer horribly before death took him.

"Here," handing a bag to Ginny, he finally looked into her eyes. "For the love of cotton candy, Mouse..."

She was on the verge of either hysteria or absolute madness, her entire body shaking, skin flushed. Knowing that feeling, having spent weeks of his life trying to grapple with living that way, Ji held out an arm, almost shoulder height, bracing himself.

"Go ahead," he told her quietly. "Get it out of your system."

Ginny didn't even blink. Latching onto his arm with clawed fingers, her teeth sank into his hard muscle with brutal force. Ji took it with flared nostrils and a clenched fist but made no effort to move or stop her. When blood began to seep from broken skin, covering her lips, coating her chin to drip off his arm to the ground, it was soon chased by salty tears. She began to cry in earnest and though her jaws released the painful bite on his arm, her fingers still held on.

Ji remained motionless, knowing she wasn't seeking comfort or assurance. Her tears weren't in sorrow, fear, or need, but full of bitter hate. Toxic. Purging. After a while, her breathless sobs turned to sniffles, then quieted to heavy breaths as she wiped her face.

Blood smeared across her chin. His blood. It sent a silent shockwave through him, to see his blood on her pale skin, staining the creamy smoothness of her face and neck. Almost like she was the one bleeding, the pain radiating in his arm was an extension of her inner turmoil.

Then she smiled meekly, her glimmering eyes drained of rage and hate. Keeping her voice low, Ginny looked up, meeting his eyes as he lowered his arm.

"I'm ready now,"

Wordlessly, they tugged out of their bloody clothes, using a fresh water bottle to wash visible stains from their skin. Ji rinsed off the bite mark, wrapped it in a bit of torn shirt, covering it with a long-sleeve pullover he'd purchased. His pants were a fitted dark grey, the hems covering the edges of sturdy laced shoes. Stuffing his soiled ones into a single bag, the other he handed Ginny. Discarding the outer clothing, she tugged on a full-length white cotton dress, the edges stitched in wide blue and yellow thread.

Her pants, crop top and tank were in the soiled bag. Despite having kicked the daylights out of Claud, her shoes were still wearable. When he held out his hand she took it, her gloved fingers slick in his. Turquoise eyes glanced down, then searched hers.

"When will you show me?"

"At the hotel,"

A searching look was his answer.

"What's wrong? Should I show you-?"

"There are probably others out there."

"... okay?"

"Tell me right now if you're good to move."

"I'm alright." When he glanced back at her, Ginny nodded. "I'm alright."

"We can't stay at the hotel. We'll need another place."

"Where?"

"How does Acassuso strike you?"

"How far... is that a long way?" He could read the fear of a long trek on her face and smiled, remembering her confusion at the beach in Patagonia.

"Yeah, but we're going to take a taxi this time."

Relief instant, she smiled as he took her hand, checking the street before moving into the slowing flow of tourists. Late afternoon had most people eating a late lunch, early dinner, or lazing by a pool or beach. The vendors were starting to relax in their stalls, the loud cries to attract customers. Moving along the street, they went mostly ignored until walking past a sidewalk café where a familiar voice called to them.

"Young man! Did you enjoy your shopping?"

Ji's step hesitated a fraction, a flicker of desire to simply ignore but that might cause more attention to be directed their way. Reluctantly, he slowed down, looking at the table in the shade of a wide umbrella, Ginny partially blocked by his body. Marvin and Bertha Howster sat cozily in the shade, sipping drinks with little umbrellas in them. Bertha's smile was patience itself as she looked at them.

"Excuse him, please, but Marvin hasn't stopped talking about you two since this morning! Lovebirds, he said to everyone who'd listen, a pure joy to see two young people so happy."

Heart withering, Ji forced himself to look at them. One old man with a flapping mouth and they may as well have broadcast their presence across the entire country. Features going mostly blank, leaving only a shadow of emotion behind his eyes, he forced a smile. 

"Sorry, we've got to run. Reservation."

"That's okay!" Marvin hollered after them, ignoring Bertha's hissed order to lower his voice. "Maybe we'll see you two again soon, son!"

Furious, his grip almost painfully tight on Ginny's hand, he strode inside to the elevator and stabbed the button, stalking in as the doors slid open. The hostess at the front desk noticed Ginny but her call of inquiry was blatantly ignored as the double doors slid shut. Inside the confines of the lift, Ginny was restless, everything from the day piling in on her like a dump truck unloading its bin from a full day. Ji was hardly any better, and they went to their suite in silence.

She packed what he instructed her to, then helped him wipe down the entire suite, every surface they touched and a few they weren't sure of. The towels were stuffed into the sack with the soiled clothes and Ji left the room key on the dresser. They wouldn't be coming back anyway.

Pulling a new backpack from one of the shopping bags, he transferred their phones, the cash, and a few bagged items she hadn't seen yet. Then he wadded up their fresh purchases from earlier into a bag she could manage, along with the remaining water bottles. Everything else would be disposed of somewhere else.

"Come on." Holding out his hand, those stone-like sea-green eyes flicked to hers, a pause falling between them. Ji's hand froze mid-air. Ginny was staring at him glassy-eyed, lips trembling. "What's wrong?"

"I... I'm not sure?"

"Are you hurt?" A vigorous headshake assured him that wasn't the problem, but a frown deepened the lines between his brows. "We can't just stand here, Ginny. It's time to go."

"Is... is this what it will be like?" Nostrils flexing with each breath, she blinked rapidly, biting hard on her bottom lip as she looked up at him. It finally dawned on him, and Ji faced her, lifting both hands to cup her jaw.

"Sometimes, but I'll keep you safe, Mouse. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"Like today?"

"Yeah. Like today."

"I can't... I can't do more," shaking her head, Ginny put a hand over his, pleading with him. "Not today... I can't,"

"Okay," caressing her cheeks, his nod was firm. "No more today."

"When," the whisper stopped him from turning away. "When can I show you my nails?"

"I want to see them, Ginny, but I think it's a good idea if you keep your hands covered until we find another place to stay. You good?"

Nodding with a slight smile, she took his hand when he offered it this time, then they were gone from the hotel and slipping into a taxi headed north.

Bogotá, Colombia

It all hurt. Every fiber, every muscle, every inch of his skin. Burning, raw agony. Gingerly wiping blood from his mouth, he pushed to his feet, swaying but managing to stay upright as his gaze clashed with that of the Columbian division chairholder of Axis Global, João Alvarez.

It had started in Patagonia, at the demolished site of the warehouse. He'd been outnumbered and surrounded, left with two choices. Surrender or die. At the time living had seemed preferable, now he was rethinking it. Either way, Tony knew he wasn't getting out of this rathole unless he walked out. He'd been tortured for days, and lastly this... a 'fair' fight with a larger, fit opponent. 'Defeat him, and I will allow you to leave,' João had taunted him, knowing Tony wasn't up to it. The Colombian had underestimated the gangster's determination.

Knocked down, breathless, shaking with weariness, Tony climbed back to his feet each time, more beaten, more battered, but not defeated. The watching group had gradually fallen silent as he'd pushed from the floor.

"Is that your best," he slurred, features disfigured with swelling and welts. "I thought you were so tough, Alvarez. My granny whoops me harder than this-"

Hard knuckles cracked against his jaw, the pop loud in his head as he spun around, hitting his knees, blood pooling in his mouth before dripping to the tiled floor. A dry, humorless laugh came from behind him as the old man stood. Quiet footsteps came closer.

"I have not yet started to hurt you." It was a soft-spoken threat as João eyed his prisoner disdainfully. "When I do, you will tell me exactly what I want to know."

"You've been at this little game, what, a few days? You still have no god-forsaken idea who I am-" someone kicked him hard, the piercing spike of heat sizzling through his kidneys as he doubled over, blinded by pain. Choking on bile from an empty stomach, he coughed raggedly, staring up at João through matted, sweaty hair. "At least you can do that by yourself."

The old man lifted the cane in his hand, swinging it with brute force as the polished wood shrieked toward him. Tony lunged aside at the last minute, taking the blow across his shoulder. Despite the nearly crippling pain, he kept moving. Rolling to his feet, a powerful hand caught the cane mid-swing and wrenching it from João's grip, cracking it across his face head and chest. The old Colombian dropped like a sack of onions.

It caught his lackeys gaping, flat-footed. They hadn't anticipated their prisoner to have so much strength or speed left after what they'd been dishing out. Before they could get set Tony lashed out with a stiff left, taking one across the face, lunging for him as he dropped. He came up with a gun as the other cartel members scrambled for weapons. Deliberate shots echoed in the tiled room, the acrid scent of gunpowder thick in his nose as Tony watched them drop. Behind him, moaning as he came to, João blinked his eyes open to find Tony standing over him, brandishing the cane.

"I've played it your way, now we'll do it mine."

He left what turned out to be a basement twenty minutes later, armed with information and weapons. The old man wasn't as tough when he was the one being tortured, and Tony had neither the temperament nor patience to be merciful. A bullet emptied Colombia's chair as a division head at the Axis table.

Moving fast, he went up the stairs, eyes sharp, ears tuned for every sound. At the first door he came to, Tony paused, testing the handle. It was open, so he slipped in, trying not to gasp with pain as the knitting in his side got worse. A half-filled cup of coffee sat on the table by the window, a cigarette crushed but still smoldering in the ashtray on the computer desk. Picking up the coffee mug, he took a greedy swallow, heart thumping with relief. A small lamp had been left on, pointing to a scattering of files and documents spread out on the desktop.

One drew his eye, and Tony began frowning as he edged nearer. Bloody fingers picked it up, turning the semi-glossy finish toward the light. Familiar faces.

Orzo Scarpetti as a much younger man, with members of the old gang, including Benji. Memories came flooding in unchecked. It'd been a good day for the Scarpetti crew, and they'd all decided to hit the navy pier for fun and games. Benji hadn't wanted to go but relented when his boss told him it would be good for everyone.

Tony suggested they try the Light Tower. Benji had blown a puff of smoke, looking up at the thing and shrugged noncommittally. He was the one who cursed the loudest as they plummeted in the series of free falls, but all of them were laughing when they got off. Atomic Rush had been next, and Benji crushed them. Not only was he the one with the quickest reflexes, but he also didn't play to lose. Ever.

Tito suggested the funhouse maze next, and though the rest all wanted to, Benji had hung back. A strange look was on his face as he declined, the fingers lighting a cigarette quivering slightly. Tony had frowned at him, vaguely concerned only to receive a stinging look of disgust as the older teen turned away. Everyone teased him for not wanting to go in, but Benji would have stood his ground had Scarpetti not walked up to them at that moment.

'Go, son,' he'd urged Benji, the hand on the teen's shoulder more forceful than encouraging. 'Face your fear.'

'Ah ain't afraid.'

'Show me.' Everyone had gone utterly quiet then, realizing more was going on than a simple game. Steely turquoise eyes held their boss's as he'd smoked, and then Benji dropped the smoke, crushing it beneath his heel. Without taking his gaze from Scarpetti, Benji had jerked his chin toward the entry to the funhouse.

'Come on, Tony.'

They'd gone in, but it had been anything but fun. Tony remembered feeling the slick wetness of sweat gather on his skin as he stayed at Benji's side, feeling tension ebb from his friend in multiplying waves. They'd gotten lost three times. Benji was on edge by the time they made it out to the jeering laughter of the others who'd been waiting a while, but he'd sullenly glared at Orzo. The mafia leader had been smiling, not quite proud, not quite smug as Benji had walked up to him.

'We got lost.'

'Who led?'

'Ah did.'

Without another word, Orzo had taken one of his imported cigarettes from his inner breast pocket, handing it to Benji who'd lit up on the spot. Tito suggested they take a picture, so they'd huddled together, Orzo on one side, Benji on the other, the smoke hanging from his lips, expression blank.

Rubbing a thumb over the photo, Tony's frown deepened. How did João get his mitts on this? What for? One of the files on the desk had a picture stapled to the outside, and Tony glanced at it, then again, slower. Benji, but older, much older than when he'd left Chicago.

A chill snaked down his spine the longer he stared into vaguely familiar features. Harder. Colder. Flipping the folder open, he glanced at the front sheet of paperwork, his expression stiffening. Beneath a stiff picture of Benji against a measuring wall used for mugshots was a single word. Ghost.

Echoing footsteps warned him someone was coming, so stuffing the picture into the folder, he crammed them both beneath his shirt, scrambling for the door. He slid into place behind it just as it opened, two men coming in. Not wasting time, knowing he had to get back to Chicago, Tony didn't hesitate to pull the trigger, hearing shouts rise from somewhere else in the house. Bending to quickly frisk the bodies, he grabbed their guns then sprinted for the window.

Last time he'd stuck around to fight and it had landed him in a torture chamber. This time, he wasn't above running.