Chapter 28: The Book of Carmen

Vaas pants, sweat and grime stinging his eyes. The gunshot wound in his gut makes him wheeze; the fucker got him good.

"You're good, but not good enough." He tells the body beneath his boot, pressing the machete deeper into his neck. Yanking out the machete, he poises it at the entry wound, trying to dig it out. After moments of wheezing and grunting out , the bullet won't budge, and seemingly seems to sink deeper into his flesh.

He needs help and he needs it fast; the blood keeps pouring and he barely has enough cloth to stop it or risk infection from his filthy garments. Plucking the walkie-talkie from his enemy's cargo pants, he tunes it to hear voices.

"Jack, Jack are you there? Jack, do you read me?" A voice on the other line asks frantically. Vaas opens his mouth to talk, but a throaty rattle escapes him. He throws the walkie-talkie down in disgust, ashamed of how weak he sounds.

He instead grabs the machete, as well as an assault rifle, and staggers out of the camp, stepping over the bodies of those dumb enough to push their luck with the infamous Vaas Montenegro.

Night falls, he'd been walking for what felt like ages. He feels death creeping up on him, but he refuses to let death take him just yet. He refuses to let some lucky fuck's bullet be his end. Not now, not ever.

"I'm gonna kill you, Kingston. I won't even dignify your death; I'm going to slit your throat and fuck your skull. Gringo fucker." He laughs out, clutching his gut. His vision blurry, he feels his knees buckle and finally, they fall to the ground. Before his skull meets the cool earth, he sees a shadow walk towards him, reminiscent of his mother with a halo of black wavy hair and thick curves.

"Mama...?" He whispers. The figure gets closer, and before he knows it, a barrel of a gun is jammed into his head as his face is molded into the cool dirt, a foot stomping into his back.

"Not. Even. Close." A feminine voice hisses in his ear. He laughs.

"Well, if it isn't the chef. How you been?"

"Where's Dominique?"

"Church."

"Alive?"

"What the fuck do you think?"

"Why?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, hermana."

The boot retracts and Vaas is rolled over on his back, seeing the physique of Carmen as she straddles him, knife poised at his neck.

"I could kill you. Slit your throat and put an end to you."

"But you won't."

"Why's that?"

"Because deep down, no matter how many people you kill, no matter how hardened you think you are, you will always be afraid of me and what I can do. You aren't the first person to have me in this position trying to kill me. Try your luck and see you won't end up just like them."

"I ain't afraid of you."

"Prove it. I'll make it real easy for you." Vaas juts his neck for her. Carmen's knife digs into his Adam's apple, breaking the skin enough to bleed. He feels the blade quiver and snorts.

"I'm waiting." He goads. The knife immediately retracts.

"I won't give you the satisfaction of putting you out of your miserable, pathetic life."

"Talk big for someone who's afraid of killing a wounded man."

Carmen snorts, sliding off Vaas and tearing at his shirt to reveal the gunshot wound.

"Lucky for you it hasn't hit any vital organs, but the shit looks infected. You need it cleaned and tended to immediately or it could kill you."

"No fuck, Sherlock."

"Look, the least you could do is be a little nicer to someone who's going to help you."

"Help me?" Vaas asks, wincing when Carmen digs the knife into his wound, circling the bullet to pull it out.

"First you try to kill me now you want to help me? Man, you fucking California girls are something else."

The bullet is gone, now, clutched in Carmen's hand like a morbid trinket.

"What can I say?" Carmen begins before pulling out a nondescript vial from her boot.

"I kinda like you." She says, dumping the contents of the vial into Vaas' wound.

"Ah! Fucking bitch!" He swears.

As he writhes in pain, he sees Carmen's smirk from the glow of the moonlight and wonders if she's a sadist like Buck.