Abby stretches out on her beach chair. The coast of Spain is lovely at this time of year. The air is festive, the people happy.
She wishes she'd come here years before. Maybe she could have avoided everything. Maybe Mike would still be alive.
She pushes that thought from her mind. That was the past, and she had a future to look forward to. A very wealthy future.
"Another drink, madam?" A waiter says, placing a fresh cocktail down.
She hands him 50 Euros without looking up. "Keep them coming, gracias."
She downs her cocktail. It's summery and fruity. Life is good. Everything worked out the way it was meant do.
She stretches and yawns. Her stomach is aching a bit — probably too long in the sun, she thinks. She stands up, intending to go back to her room for a nap.
She feels unsteady on her feet. Her legs wobble. Is she that drunk? She'd only had a couple of cocktails.
She takes a few steps towards the hotel — and falls over. She coughs, and bright red blood flies from her mouth.
Something is very wrong. She looks around, sees people start to panic.
But nearby, one person isn't panicking. The waiter who brought her drink. He looks down at her with cold eyes as she dies on the sand.
She recognises him, she's sure of it. But where from?
Just as the life leaves her, she realises. Club Xquisite. The owner, Dallas. Someone stands next to him — Richie. She recognises more of them, but her brain can no longer function to name them.
As Abby dies in front of them, Dallas and the dancers from Club Xquisite look on solemnly. They've carried out their promise to each other to find justice for Mike.
"Good riddance," Richie says.
"Amen," Dallas says. "Come on boys, let's go get dinner."
The End