Page 16 of Iced Out

The hand abruptly dropped to the floor with a wet splat; the man’s arm still held in place by the thin wire wrapped around his wrist. Blood squirted from the stump, raining down through the springs, following the curve of the coils like a crimson serpent.

The man jerked, convulsing beneath the pain, his screams reduced to gurgling sounds in his throat. Cochise wiped the blade on his pant leg and stuffed it back in the sheath, then stooped down and picked up the hand. He walked over to the hanging guest, who was hyperventilating and watching him in pure horror.

The Egyptian tapped the man’s face with the severed hand, smearing blood across his cheek, causing him to jerk away with gasping cries. “It’s fun to be scared, isn’t it?”

They’re psychopaths!

Brad’s heart beat too fast and hard for him to catch his breath. The large man carried Dan’s severed hand to the glowing drum and tossed it into the hot coals. A loud sizzling rose from the barrel, and the pungent stench of cooking flesh.

The cowboy picked up a pair of tongs from the table and retrieved Dan’s skinned, bloody cock from the floor and dropped it into the drum along with his hand. Brad’s stomach lurched as the stench invaded his nostrils. He’d never before smelled human flesh burning, but quickly decided it was the worst smell ever.

“Y-Y-You’re… monsters!” Brad choked. “You-You’re fu-fu-fucking crazy!”

Walking closer, the cowboy chuffed. “You think we’re monsters now? Wait till we start playing with you.”

Brad ducked his head, tucking his chin against his chest, sobbing like a baby. “No-no-no… please don’t… please let me go… please… let me go home… please… please… I-I have a wife and… and kids… please…”

The cowboy glanced at the other men, then cocked his head, his cold eyes pitiless beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. “We watched the videos on your phones. We saw what you did… to the women… the children… even the men. You laughed at their pitiful cries, their pleas to go home. You mocked their tears, their fear. You made sport of them, as if it were all a game. You spit on them when they begged to go home to their families, begged for mercy.” He stepped closer. “And now, you want us to show you mercy?” He shook his head once. “No.” His face twitched. “No mercy… for the merciless.”

“Please…” Brad whimpered.

“But we’ll be sure to send your wife a copy of your activities,” he drawled. “To help ease her sense of loss.”

Jen knew nothing of his actual job. She believed he was rounding up undesirables—dangerous criminals who were in the country illegally. Jen and his kids saw him as a patriot and a hero. She couldn’t see those videos.

“Pl-Please…” Spittle sprayed from Brad’s lips. “… don’t… show her…”

“So you would have her grieve a lie?” The cowboy stared at him dully. “Seems selfish to me. The sooner she knows the truth, the sooner she can find herself a better man.”

“No… please…”

The cowboy paid no mind to Brad as he and his formidable companion closed in on Dan once more. The man was barely conscious, flickering with terror at the sight of the pair. Brad wondered how he remained aware after everything he had endured. Yet, unfortunately for Dan, he was still there.

Brad turned away when the large man took his place at the small table with the car batteries and coiled jumper cables. Brad twisted his head away and squeezed his eyes shut, wheezing as he struggled to pull air down his clenched throat and into his constricted lungs.

His head was jerked back toward the imminent horror scene as the older spic grabbed a fistful of Brad’s hair. “Open your fucking eyes, prick.”

“No…” Brad whimpered.

Something sharp and pointed touched his eyelid. “Open your eyes.”

Brad obeyed, but tried to look anywhere but at Dan.

“Look at him,” the spic ordered, clutching Brad’s hair hard enough to tear strands at the root. “You forced parents to watch you rape their children. Made kids watch as you beat and raped their parents.” He yanked Brad’s head back hard enough that something popped at the nape of his neck, and snarled in his face. “You do not get to look away when it’s your turn to watch.”

Brad's vision blurred as he stared at Dan’s mangled form. He barely recognized him as the same man who had gotten into the Durango with Brad that morning—just hours earlier, when life felt normal, with a whole day of plans and the foolish hope that they were “protected” from consequences—completely unaware of what was coming.

The cowboy unraveled the jumper cables, hooked one end of them to the bedsprings, then leaned close to Dan. “When you touch our kids,” he spoke low, deadly. “There is no immunity.”

Brad tried to break free of the spic’s grip when the larger man picked up the other end of the cables and hooked it to the nearest battery.

Dan’s body convulsed and jerked wildly, the springs sparking. Brad screamed as Dan’s flesh began to smoke and cook where it touched the metal coils. The stench was so much worse than what came out of the drum of coals, and Brad’s stomach lurched. The spic released him and moved away as Brad vomited down the front of himself, gagging and retching.

A few more volts passed through Dan’s body, then the large man unhooked the cables, cutting the current. Dan sagged limply against the springs, bladder releasing, jaw slack as thick strings of drool drained from his mouth. His eyes stared blankly, glazed and bloodshot.

Dead.

Cruz helped Cochise remove the dead man from the bedsprings and lay him on the floor beside the 55-gallon drum. Clint scooped up another bucket of icy water, doused their remaining guest to wash away the vomit, then grabbed a pair of wire cutters from the table.