The Offspring of Death

By Carlos Venegas Parra

Intrigue, death, action and madness in The offspring of death

A professional serial killer fills Madrid with ritual murders motivated by military conspiracy and political intrigue

Mery, like every Friday, has a drink with her coworkers in an Irish restaurant in the center of Madrid. That night she will meet a man for whom she feels an irrational attraction and that will save her life from the most unfortunate fate, this being the starting point of a hurricane of events that will turn her life into the worst of nightmares.

Europe's biggest hit man under the ambition of political power

Scythe is a hired assassin who has worked for several of the most important governments in the world, to perform those dirty jobs that, if seen, would make presidents fall or could lead countries to war. But not only is he a mercenary, he is also a demented obsessed with the creation of ritual murders that leaves a trail of blood for every place in Europe where he has worked. It will be an order that takes him to Spain to end the life of a man, a mission that brings him closer to Mery, turning her into his obsession, into the muse that will lead him to create the greatest of his works.

The military conspiracy

The reasons that led the serial killer to leave his death trail in Spain are an unknown that will have to resolve those responsible for the case involving Mery, Inspector Álvarez and his people from the police station in the central district of Madrid. inspectors Suárez and Valcárcel, unexpectedly accompanied by a young and inexperienced lawyer, cause of major headaches.

Dare to introduce yourself in a story full of mysteries and intrigues, with a fast-paced action and a rhythm that will not give you rest until you read the last page.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Jun 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781547590971

Book preview

The Offspring of Death

Carlos Venegas Parra

Translated by Luis Javier López Pintor 

The Offspring of Death

Written By Carlos Venegas Parra

Copyright © 2019 Carlos Venegas Parra

All rights reserved

Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

www.babelcube.com

Translated by Luis Javier López Pintor

Babelcube Books and Babelcube are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

Índice

PROLOGUE

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To Carmen, for her constant support and unbreakable love, for being the beacon that guides my life.

PROLOGUE

Adrop of sweat wanted to divide her body in two as it descended the spine. It ran quickly to its end, caressing the skin, creating a cold tingle for each nerve ending. The path ended for her, a path to the focus of pleasure that intoxicated two bodies until a few hours ago strangers.

A man and a woman danced naked to the rhythm of their desire. No matter their names that night of extreme summer haze, they loved being prey to ignorance. The happiness of unfamiliarity led them to free their bodies out of prejudice, of indiscreet questions. They lived without fear of the future, because one of them would become a fugitive in the early morning. There would be no explanations, nor a see you later. Everything did not matter, what matters at the time of the fight is the now, there is no memory or future in sex, nor crying or remorse, only carnal liberation, fantasies fulfilled, morbid and lust. Two human beings in the most brutal present, the one for whom you pray so that it never ends, but that goes inexorably.

It seemed incredible they hadn’t seen each other before that Friday, August 12th. She, Mery as she wanted to be called was just newly married, being forced to the altar by various events: her partner, her family, her mother-in-law... She was never a person of character, so much so that when she needed to punch at the table, she felt that everything around her was transformed into a great wave that dragged her with no other choice than to let herself go. Nor was she the kind of woman who fights against everything and everyone to become the person she has always wanted. She only got it in her dreams, it did not matter if she was asleep or awake; they were the only moments in which courage became the best of its virtues and organized its existence in pursuit of those goals that were once marked. However, in the real world, she was unable to live alone without being handled like a puppet. First it was her mother, then her father and, finally, her husband. Her pusillanimous interior led her perpetually to do what others wanted, and that was one of the great reasons why that act, as unexpected as absurdly audacious, had been wrapped in a symbolism without equal. It was the first time she had handled the reins of her life according to her wishes, without thinking of anyone else.

She was a beautiful woman. Even the marriage had not made a dent in her youthful face, and the absence of births that changed the physiognomy made her body retain the freshness of her age. Slim figure, but sinuous, with perfect curves that emulated marble sculptures of antiquity. The delicate fleshiness of her skin was smooth, warm, blessed by genetics and long hours of gym an impromptu therapy of frustrations and losses Her long, shiny hair, jet black, picked up in a hurry and drenched in wild sweat, creating fine strands attached to her angelic face. Every inch of her body exuded desire, every corner of her soul was drunk with the most sinful of pleasures.

He, Lucas. Their marriage was not going well for several years. He was crazy and in love when he married at twenty-one, even though everyone told him it was not a good idea.

His closest, those who loved him the most, knew he was not prepared, that life as a couple was something else, that he had much to live before taking that step, and so many other advice that he ignored. There was no turning back when he decided something. His determination was as great as his stubbornness. Twelve years of marriage. Happy years the first, more difficult after. What at one time was as simple as a walk in the park holding hands, life had turned it into a roller coaster without stops.

The crisis came knocking their existences. Everything became an economic problem, an incessant pressure for not being able to do anything other than avoid losing everything: the house that had worked so hard to build, the welfare of his family and the happiness of his children. They only lived to struggle, on top of that, having to give thanks to life to see how it happened with more grief than glory, but with less suffering than for others.

The kids were not helping either; the differences for the education of their two children were continuous. Lucas was straight and disciplined, so much so that, for the self-sacrificing eyes of his wife's maternal love, it was excessive. There were not few fights caused by those who had less guilt. Everything, no matter how small, ended up being a matter of dispute, but, among all things, the heavy slab of monotony stood out, that silent demon that seizes the lives of men and women until what previously flowed naturally, became pitfalls at every step.

He had lost the spark of his youth. The irreverent malice with which he used to look at girls and that sarcastic smile that seduced even the stones was gone. The crow's feet proliferated framing his eyes, the angular cheekbones hardened his face and his rictus, before relaxed, had twisted into a serious grimace that accompanied him wherever he went.

In return, maturity had made him a tremendously attractive man, with gray hair almost silver and incipient beard, giving him a hard and tough look that did not go unnoticed by many women who sought his eyes. He prevented age from accumulating in his abdomen, so as not to become what he had always detested as a young man, and although he was not an athletic man, he did have a good bearing; elegance that his shoulders, more and more fallen, insisted on spoiling. It was masculine, of those from before, not those smeared with creams and shaved to look like the models you see on television. Maybe some people imagined him as macho, he just felt like a man.

That night in August, while the heat burned the asphalt and the wind forgot that there was a world to give their soda, the gods of time and space wanted two strange souls to meet and unite their destinies to change their lives forever.

I

On Friday nights the McLemon Tavern was filled with workers who fulfilled their obligations near or in the Puerta Del Sol itself. It was difficult to find a gap between both day laborers and tourists tasting the charms of Madrid. Some pints of beer almost frozen, dense foam, blonde, black or toast, caressing the throats of those who, with their hard effort, made the capital work in such a complicated time. For all those people that place had become something more than a bar. So many years of uninterrupted visits every Friday, they got that, what began as a punctual entertainment, became almost a tradition, one of those that go from veteran to novice and that would be repeated forever.

The place was not far from any other Irish PUB. There were many people who populated the streets of Madrid and all with a similar appearance. It had a wooden façade and a black sign labeled with a very Irish typeface with golden borders the typical one used in themes related to clover lands. A large showcase showed the passersby inside the establishment, all clad in walnut and with tables and benches forming living quarters around it. A large bar presided over the center, displaying a large number of beer taps, bowls of nuts and an empty ashtray that reminded of the years when smoking was still allowed. In the upper part the one in charge to give lighting by means of yellow halogens, they hung glasses of different sizes and glasses of ball. On the other side of the counter, four were the waiters who met the needs of the clients, two girls and two boys, all with a well-kept image, trying to maintain a smile and a friendly attitude. Behind it was a large piece of furniture that housed refrigerators, bottles, glasses of tube for combos, ice, etc. Everything you need to deal with any request.

Above one of the shelves, a Sony VAIO laptop was responsible for entertaining the environment. Its screen showed a fractal image that marked the rhythm of the music that emerged from the large speakers that populated the corners. It was a very widespread condition in all Irish taverns not to have excessively high volume. It was not a place to dance, but it was a meeting place to chat, being very important that consumers could listen to each other without much trouble.

The bar was surrounded by wooden stools with footrests at two heights, and some holes in the seat to put your hands and make them more easily transportable. At that time there was no seat left and the room was quite full of people laughing and shouting to be heard over the rest.

Lucas was chatting with two members of the sales department. As it also seemed to be tradition, they were slandering to their boss for a drop in commissions that had revolutionized the henhouse. The cuts came to the company and there was always the question of whether they were made for real reasons or as an excuse to get rich at the expense of exploiting their employees, expelling some and squeezing the rest. In spite of everything, he was rather interested in that conversation, perhaps because in the logistics department they had not touched the payrolls of its members and it seemed that the problem was something of others.

With the first three buttons of his old white shirt unbuttoned, half tucked in the charcoal gray trousers and the other half out, a green bottle tie in the right pocket sticking out the tip of one end, worn black shoes rubber and the suit jacket resting on the left arm. It gave the sensation of wanting to take off at that very moment that uniform of the devil, being modesty the only thing that prevented it.

Extremely bored by the monothematic conversation, he merely nodded. He wanted to give the feeling of being following the thread of the debate, even if he had spent ten or fifteen minutes his mind had flown from there. The same time that happened since the entrance of a group of young people dependent on the Zara Street Preciados. All of rigorous and tight suit of black jacket with unpolluted white shirt, as the canons of his business protocol commands.

There were four young people, from twenty to thirty years old, among whom stood a tall girl, not too much, but more than average. With a broad back and small breasts, harmoniously arranged. The pants fitted perfectly to her hips, free of love handles. The cloth, tight to the skin, was released as it descended to cover his feet slightly covered with patent leather flats. Her dark hair was gathered in a neat ponytail, knotted by a thin marine rubber with a small silver butterfly. Her hazel-blue eyes were restless and decorated with long lashes. The nose almost drew a right angle, remembering the Venus of antiquity. The lips, fleshy and shiny by the gloss, hid perfect teeth, although somewhat yellowed by coffee and tobacco. All framed in a soft chin like a caress. She really was a beautiful woman, of magnificent natural elegance. It was impossible not to be trapped by that presence.

Mery seemed oblivious to everything. Tired and with her feet sore from an arduous day, she still maintained her charming smile. She actively participated in the conversation with her three comrades. They talked about trivial things: from the chapter of the fashion series they broadcast the night before or from some handsome guy who had been in the store during the day. She was relaxed. It was probably the only time of the week when she managed to forget about everyday worries.

In a general look at the place she noticed that two eyes had nailed in her person and they did not stop observing her. At first she became restless, her gaze was intense, constant, with hardly any pauses or breaks, but after peeping several times, she began to feel drunk with the sensation of feeling the desire of a stranger again. She had forgotten what it was like to try to flirt with her or look at her with lasciviousness. Without being able to control it, the pulsations increased and the beats of her heart began to strike in her chest, until she even felt them in her ears. Instinctively and more often, her eyes met those of the man who did not stop observing her, incisive. He was not much older than her, even though his skin insisted that he look less young. Not especially handsome either, but he had something, that something that makes you look at a person beyond the apparent. Enigmatic and mysterious. Mery began to wonder what was behind that look that seemed to go through the matter to delve into the depths of his being.

The evening passed between drinks, laughter and knowing looks. Time passed quickly, as if it were jealous of the good atmosphere in the room and wanted them to go home, to the harsh reality of their lives. The young woman looked at her wristwatch. She did not want the needles to walk the infinite path of minutes and hours, but if there is something uncontrollable, it is the passage from one moment to another. Probably her husband was already waiting for her, so it was time to say goodbye to those black eyes that had removed so many things and that probably would never see again. That thought caused a strange feeling of regret that she couldn’t understand. How was it possible? She asked himself. How could he have gotten so much from her for so little? At that moment her Gucci imitation handbag began to vibrate, a flickering light flashed inside, peeking out of the half-open zipper. She did not have to look at the screen to know who he was.

Hi, swee...

A silence followed his words. Her husband's voice came in an apologetic tone:

Darling, it's going to be impossible for me to get dinner at home, the work it has become complicated and I have to stay to check the equipment again.

The explanation did not seem to convince the young woman, who lately had suspicions about the strange behavior of her husband and those increasingly common delays.

Again? Miguel, it's the third time in a week. Cannot someone else do it? The tone of reproach was evident and the disapproving gestures did not go unnoticed by Lucas, who followed her with his eyes wherever he went. It's okay. Then I will stay with the girls a little longer and I will return by taxi.

Mery hung up before her husband had time to excuse himself again and give him more explanations.

Is everything alright? Asked one of her companions, who had noticed the change in her face.

Miguel, again.

Again? Mery, you know I love you very much and I would not like to tell you this, but I think your husband is cheating you.

Her friend's words echoed in her head like the tolling of the bells of an old cathedral and, although she would like to shout at her to mind in her own business, that she had no fucking idea of what her marriage was like, she knew she was right. Miguel cheated on her and she thought she knew with whom.

Something broke inside her, the blind trust of yesteryear had broken into a thousand pieces. The fears of the months before the wedding finally came true. Miguel was cheating on her with the secretary of the deputy director, and it was not a punctual event, she had suspicions even before getting married, but her lack of guts, the enormous fear of starting from scratch and the illusion that caused the whole ceremony in her family, she had made her subconscious envelop the truth of a thick layer of forgetfulness.

Noe, I need a drink. What the fuck, tell the waiter to put a bottle of Cuervo, and no orange or brown sugar.

A tear threatened to run her freshly touched mascara and her bright eyes warned that what came out of her mouth was no joke.

Mery, don´t be an asshole! What you have to do is get rid of him, not get drunk!

Noelia's concern was evident, but her two friends had barely noticed the situation and continued chatting and laughing.

Well, I'll go she muttered through her teeth, as she approached the bar". Waiter, a bottle of Cuervo tequila!

How many glasses do you want? The waiter asked, as he placed all the paraphernalia that used to accompany a shot of Anejo tequila.

One Mery answered sharply, at the surprise of the bartender. 

One?

Shit, man, are you deaf?

Lucas had completely stopped listening to the group's conversation to put all his senses into the scene he was witnessing. He would give everything to know what had happened for her for her to have that sudden change. Why had she asked for a bottle of tequila for herself? What was certain is that something was not right in the life of that wonderful being.

He felt the need then to call his wife.

Guys, excuse me, I have to make a call he commented nonchalantly.

Don’t worry, we don’t move from here. We just ordered another round answered Lopez, the team leader of the sales group, between laughter.

Hurriedly he left the premises, took out his Samsung Galaxy and looked for the contact of his wife. After two tones, a somewhat shrill voice asked:

"Lucas, where are you, are you