"Are you Guerrero?"
She didn't belong in his bar - beautiful, fragile, $2,000 sweater, frightened eyes.
"What do you want?" He gently lay his gun on the table.
She glanced at him, at the gun, licked her lips.
"They say you're good at hurting people."
"Very good."
"I'd like to hire you."
"Who do you want tortured?"
"Myself," she breathed.
Guerrero blinked, once. "And then...?"
Panting visibly with shining eyes, she nodded eagerly. Guerrero eyed her, judging.
"I don't have sex for money."
Her face froze and she started to get up.
He smiled. "But I'll do it for free."