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My mouth gaped open and shut like a fish out of water. I was in two minds. This gift could mean amazing things for Sara, but at the same time, that gnawing guilt kept niggling at me, telling me I didn’t deserve this.
But Sara does. “Friday, you said?”
“Yes, ten a.m.,” he said.
I agreed, and after a quick goodbye, I stood on the sidewalk, dumbfounded, but grateful to the old lady who saw two kids in need and did her best to help them out.
***
Ignoring Sara’s earlier words, and the guilt that tears at me, I focus all my attention on Lorenzo Garcia. He comes to slowly; struggling to keep his head up, it falls forward. “Fuck,” he groans. When he tries to lift his hands. Only his fingers move, thanks to his wrists being zip tied to the arms of the chair.
His eyes close as he slips back into unconsciousness. Tired of fucking waiting, I pour a bucket of iced water over his head.
Garcia shouts and tugs at the binds on his wrists and ankles. It won’t do him any good, he’s not going anywhere.
“The fuck?” he thrashes against the chair. “I fuckin’ knew you were lyin’. I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you, mother fucker!”
That makes me laugh, and when Garcia’s eyes meet mine, I can see the anger in them quickly morph to confusion.
Gripping the hilt of my knife, I twist it in my hand as I watch Garcia come to terms with his current predicament. “What the fuck do you want from me? All this for some fuckin’ coke?” He shakes his head. “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”
“Sara Lennox.” Saying her name in the presence of this bastard renews my sense of purpose. I walk toward him and dig the tip of the blade into the skin beneath his chin, and repeat, “Sara Lennox”
Eyes wide, he shakes his head but stops quickly when he realizes the action causes my blade to pierce deeper into his flesh. “I don’t—Am I supposed to know who that is? Listen man, I think you got the wrong guy.”
“Ten years ago she was kidnapped. My intel shows that she was taken by a known member of Demonio de Hielo, a member that, if information serves correct, was under your command.” I slide the tip of my blade down his throat and trace his collarbone before I drop lower and press the blade to his chest. “Now, you’re gonna tell me who else was involved. I want names and locations, Mr. Garcia. And if I don’t get them…” I sheath my knife and reach down for the pliers I left in my bag on the floor. I wave the pliers in front of his face, taunting him. You have ten fingernails, how many will I have to remove before you give me the answers I need. Without warning, I place my handover the back of his and grip the end of a fingernail with the tip of the pliers and yank on it.
Garcia lets out a blood curdling scream. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! I don’t fuckin’ know what you’re talking about. Jesus fuck, man, you’re a fuckin’ psychopath.” Eyes wide in shock, he stares down at his exposed nail bed and the blood that seeps from the raw, open wound.
Pacing back and forth, I keep my eyes on Garcia as I speak. “You work for Manuel Santos, yes?”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t—” Sweat beads on his brow and he sucks in a few ragged breaths.
With the plies at the ready for another fingernail removal, I give them a tug and Garcia squeals like a pig.
“I’m new, okay! Only been with the family a year. I don’t know anything, I swear.”
Another vicious pull and the second nail is removed, quickly followed by another blood curdling scream.
“Not quite working out how you intended?” The deep voice comes from behind me, and I spin around to find Azrael leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he takes in Lorenzo Garcia.
“Fuck off,” I say, shaking the blood from the pliers. “Can’t you see I’m fuckin’ busy?”
“Wha—What’re you talking ‘bout?” Garcia asks.
Azrael raises a brow, eyes still on my unwilling victim. “You really believe this man holds the answers to your questions?”
While Garcia sobs uncontrollably, I turn to Azrael, waving the pliers toward Garcia. “He fuckin’ knows somethin’. They all know… they all fucking know!” I need to move things along.
“Jesus Christ, man who the fuck you talking to?” Garcia’s head whips around, his eyes searching the empty space forsomeone he can’t see. “You—you’re fucking crazy!” He shakes in the chair, his torso heaving as he struggles against his binds. “Let me go,” he screeches.
I backhand him, splitting his lip and causing blood to dribble from the wound. “Tell me what you know!” I demand, a third fingernail gripped tight by the pliers.
“Li—listen man…” Garcia studders, “I don’t know any fuckin’ Sara, okay? What, you think I keep track of all the pussy that goes through the cartel? I deal with the drugs, that’s it. Who the fuck are you?” he demands.
Leaning over him, I stare into his eyes, letting him see the darkness in my own. “I am revenge. I am carnage. I am darkness. And I am the patron saint of your fucking demise.”
In one swift motion I stab Garcia’s hand, draw the knife out, and press it to his throat again. With one hand gripping his hair, I yank his head back, holding my blade to his throat.
