AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Jesús struggled to break the chains that bound him to an eight-foot, stainless steel table bolted to the floor in the center of the wine cellar. This was my first time using the new piece of furniture. Or was it equipment? No matter, I was fully confident the man had no way to free himself.
With my face still fixed in an unreadable mask, I approached the table. When I stopped at the end, behind his head, I bent low and whispered in his ear.
“I think you know more than you let on, Jesús, and I’m not leaving this room until you tell me what I want to know.”
“I don’t—”
My hand shot out and I grabbed him by the hair. He yelped when I yanked his head up off the table and slammed it down as hard as I could. The metallic clang echoed in the small, concrete space and Jesús cried out in pain.
“Shut up,” I hissed. “I didn’t even break the skin, you fucking pussy.” I tightened my grip in his medium-length black locks and continued with my questions. “Where did Cuchillo go, hmmm? Why would he leave his city unprotected? Why would he trust stupid fuckers like you to run his business? He wouldn’t have gone far, so tell me. Where. Is. He?”
The man’s body trembled with fear. I loomed over him and caught the subtle stiffening of his jaw and determined glint in his eyes. Interesting. He was going to fight me, fight his instinct to give in and beg for his life.
Fine. His mistake.
I lifted his head and slammed it down again and again, four… five, six times. Enough for blood to smear the shiny steel surface. Once more, I stopped and leaned over to repeat my question.
“Where did Cuchillo go?”
Despite the tears streaming from his eyes and the crimson flush of his dark skin, Jesús bared his teeth and growled, “Fuck you, y chinga tu madré!” He turned his head and spat on the floor. For all his brave, but pointless, posturing, I knew I’d break him. For the most part, torture and interrogation was Milo’s job over the last few years, but before I rose to become Boss, I questioned enough men on my own to have become quite adept at extracting answers.
“Fuck my mother, huh? Too bad for you my mother was a useless, junkie whore who never spent a single day acting like she had kids, you little piece of shit. She’d gladly fuck you... if she were still alive.” I circled the table to stand at the trembling man’s right side. Jesús’s eyes widened when a vicious-looking silver blade slipped from its sheath and seemed to magically appear in my right hand. I held it over his face. “You will tell me what I want to know. Your only decision in this entire scenario is how much you wish to suffer before you die.”
Not waiting for him to reply, I raised my arm and drove the blade straight into his shoulder joint. Jesús screamed and thrashed his head side to side. Bound to the table, he was unable to writhe and fight to escape the pain. His entire body shook while he shrieked. I leaned on his torso and pressed my weight down on the knife, until my face hovered over his. Jesús screamed again when the blade went deeper, so loud, in fact, it hurt my ears. But goddamn, the hurt was so fucking satisfying.
“Tell me where he is,” I snarled and twisted the knife in his joint. A previous enforcer taught me this move, and it almost never failed to get results. Jesús wailed and just as I predicted, the begging began.
“Stop! Stop! Por favor! I don’t know!”
I twisted the blade again and Jesús shouted himself hoarse. Fucking pussy. I hadn’t even begun to work him over. This was merely a warm-up to the main event. An effective one, but still a warm-up. El Cuchillo was hiring weaklings if this guy was any kind of example.
I calmly removed the knife and extended my hand. Six stepped up and tossed over a clean towel I used to wipe the blade. When I was satisfied, I pushed up my sleeve and returned the knife to its wrist sheath.
“What to do next,” I pondered out loud as I slowly paced the room.
Jesús tracked me with swollen, red eyes. He was no differe
nt from every other guy I’d had to “interrogate” over the years. All bluster and big talk. Holding out in the name of loyalty. As if Cuchillo wouldn’t put a bullet in this asshole’s head without a second thought. The man on the table whimpered, but the stupid shit offered no information to spare himself further pain.
I sighed long and loud before turning to face Jesús. He watched, eyes huge, as I stalked toward him. The guy was good, I’d give him that. He managed to return that feisty, flinty look to his eyes… until I bent over and pulled out my serrated KA-BAR. Seven inches of finely honed, black carbon steel, the knife was terrifying enough to make even the bravest man shit his pants. Jesús was no exception.
“No! Don’t!” He struggled to free himself again, despite already knowing there was no escape.
I ignored his continued pleas and turned the knife over in my palm so he got a nice good look at his very near future. The man was still begging when I lightly touched the sharp, clip-point knife to his left forearm. He froze when cold metal touched his skin. Jesús knew the slightest movement on his part would allow the blade to slice through him like butter.
“Is this the reason you remain loyal to El Cuchillo? Your tattoo?” My lip curled up in revulsion. “How did you earn it, Jesús? Did you rape a helpless woman? Kill an innocent? Is that what you sick fucks do for fun?”
“No! We only do it for…” He stopped mid sentence, but I heard enough. “No, I don’t!”
Nice save. But it wasn’t enough to help Jesús. I pressed down and his skin split as easily as a peach. The man screamed so loud I was sure our ears would be ringing for hours. He begged and cried as I worked. Lucky for him, I kept a nice sharp blade. Made it clean and quick. When I was done, I looked up at Jesús. His face was covered in tears and snot, any trace of his smug attitude gone. Despite his earlier bravado, he was easier to break than some.
I tossed the bloody four-inch square of skin onto his chest.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” I asked. “A tattoo of a knife?” I let my words sink in while Jesús composed himself. Well, as much as one could compose themselves after having a large chunk of skin sliced from their body. “Now you no longer bear the mark of Los Guerreros and you need not worry about loyalty. So tell me, Jesús… Where. Is. El Cuchillo?”
The man’s lip trembled and his throat worked as he swallowed several times.
“I’m losing my patience, Jesús.” I brandished the bloody KA-BAR, speared the carved flesh, and held it up in front of his face. Dark red drops fell from the swath, landing on his chin and neck. “Tell me now, or you lose a body part. You have many I can work with, and believe me when I say I can do this all fucking day.”
