Page 35 of Intrepid

“Oh, don’t you worry, son. Nobody touched you, or your pansy little boyfriend.”

“Why are you doing this?” I gritted out, and hammered my foot against the door, kicking Fox backward.

Jaw shifting, he spat onto the floor and shook his head. “We don’t tolerate that shit, boy. I want to introduce you to a friend of mine.” He waved his hand to the side, and another face appeared through the cracks. “Joey Trevisano, Trevi for short, but we like to call ‘im the Fat Italian Bastard.”

The new man’s size dwarfed Fox—a disgusting pig of a man, with tattoos crawling up his neck. “Look at that pretty face just itching to be bruised up.”

I clenched my teeth, hands balled into tight fists, as I refused to break eye contact with him.

“Now don’t be intimidated by this one. He’s nothing but a big … fat teddy bear.” With an obnoxious laugh, Fox slammed a hand against the fat guy’s back. “This one’s quite the Joker. Tell ‘im a joke, Trevi.”

Trevi smirked, holding eye contact with me.

“C’mon, just one,” Fox persisted. “Make the kid feel more at home.”

Trevi stroked his chin, bringing into view a snake tattoo that wrapped around the back of his palm, across his knuckles. “Okay, so what’s the difference between a rabbi and a priest, huh?" He only paused a moment, glancing toward Fox then back to me. “A rabbi cuts them off and a priest sucks them off.”

Both men kicked their heads back, laughing at his joke, and Fox grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “See? Funny as a motherfucker, this one! Tell ‘im another one, Trevi.”

“Let us go, you fucking twats!” The wobble in Eli’s voice signaled he was on the brink of tears, while still holding some of the blistering anger inside of him.

“Excuse me.” Both men disappeared from view, and I lurched forward, twisting myself awkwardly over the metal springs that squeaked beneath me.

I peered through the gaps, my pulse pounding with every thud of their boots across the floor.

They disappeared into the shadowy areas to the left. Only the stuttering moron from before stood where I could still see him, his eyes focused somewhere to the left of me, where I assumed Eli might be.

“Twat? What kind of shitty ass manners your momma teach you, boy?” Fox’s voice held zero humor. In the time we’d spent with the men, I’d learned one thing about him—he had little patience, or, tolerance for insolence.

“Fuck you!”

A beat of silence followed, before Fox huffed. “Ever heard of parrilla? Of course you haven’t. You’re just a punk kid with a small mind.” He nodded his head toward Trevi, who hobbled toward where two side-by-side light switches sat above two separate dials. "It’s a method of interrogation used in South American countries. Fairly effective. Allow me to demonstrate.”

Trevi flipped one of the switches and slowly turned the dial below it.

A hum filled the room, followed by a snapping sound and rattling, squeaking metal. Eli screamed, a loud, pain-filled screech that reached down into my bones.

I glanced down at the bedsprings beneath me, suddenly aware of their purpose, and back to the switches on the wall. They’d rigged them, somehow.

A misery-laden yelp steeled my muscles, as the quiet hum escalated to a buzz, while Trevi gave another crank of the dial.

“Stop! Stop it!” I screwed my eyes shut against the sounds of his tormented cries. “Stop!”

Fox’s wicked laughter smothered Eli’s sobbing, turning my blood hot with anger, and the hum quieted. “So, an electrode is set to metal, in this case, the springs across the floor in there, and it emits an electric shock. The intensity of the shock depends on how much of a fucking cowboy you wanna be. We like to use it for training. Sort of like them collars you put on a dog to keep it from doing the wrong thing.” Pacing back and forth in front of us, Fox reached into his shirt pocket and tugged out a cigarette. “Designed ‘em myself. Now. I’m gonna ask you a couple of very simple questions, and you’re gonna answer them. If you answer them incorrectly, my friend Trevi’s gon’ flip his goddamn switch. Ain’t that right, Trevi?” He glanced back toward the asshole, whose wrist swiveled, miming turning up the dial.

Both men laughed in response.

Eli’s whimpers twisted knots in my stomach, while my mind raced for a solution, an escape. That single opportunity my father would’ve stolen to get us out.

“What’s your name?” Fox asked, his attention directed to the left, and the pungent stink of stale menthol cigarettes masked the burning smell of before.

“Eli.”

Another hum, followed by that stomach-turning scream.

“Wrong. Your name is Boy from here on out.”

The thought of that sat like knives in my chest, and I curled my lip, wishing I could tear their throats out with my bare hands.