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“Hose him down.” At my voice, Ortega turns his head in my direction and blinks. The wild hogs know my voice and a bit of screeching follows, causing the general to pale, body thrashing against the restraints. Idiot. “Calm down before I bring them in.”
“Done.”
“Cabron, let me go.” Israel and Ortega speak in unison, but it’s the general I’m focusing on.
“One second.” Bringing two fingers to my lips, I whistle and the noise travels through the large space. It’s sharp enough for my pets to quiet down, and I tilt my head to the side. My eyes never waver from him. “Now explain. Why would I do that?”
From my periphery, I see Israel walk toward the cell next to the hose spigot and step inside. He’s in and out within seconds, dragging a piece of machinery behind him.
Smart man.
Ortega’s tries to shift his face, to see what’s happening, but Junior is quick to yank on the hospital bed’s lever and force a half-sitting position. There’s a grimace on his face right after, uncomfortable as the action stretches his arms back with how they’re bound. It reminds me a bit of the way my hands were tied down before my gallbladder surgery a few years back.
Strap on each wrist. One across his waist.
He’s unable to move much. In pain.
You have no idea what real pain is yet.
He swallows nervously, wrists trying to yank free. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”
“I do.”
“My president will never…fuck!” His scream reverberates through the large space; it’s loud and full of pain. A small yet hard jet of ice-cold water smacks him in the face and he splutters, choking as the strength digs into his flesh.
Torturous. Painful. Such a thing of beauty to watch how something as simple as a pressure washer with enough PSI can be wielded as a weapon. Like butter, it will slice through every layer until reaching bone, and even that can be cut through with ease.
Israel is taking it easy on him.
I look over and give him a nod. “Increase it.”
“Yes, boss.” My guard fiddles with a button at the front of the machine and the fine-tip nozzle, shifting it a little to the right. In the background, I can make out the whine of my hogs; they dislike being kept out, but for now, remain calm.
They’ve been taught to be patient. They’ll be fed soon enough.
“I’m going to kill every member of your family! Hijo de puta!” Ortega screams, trying to shift away, but Junior grips the back of his head. With strands of hair between his fingers, he holds the general still while I simply watch. From the right corner of his lip to his cheekbone, the skin gives way and the blubbering that follows is truly pleasing.
Makes me smile.
Blood pours from the wound and drips onto the plastic mattress, pooling a bit before his life’s essence adds to the stained floor. It mixes with grime and filth and the more direct the hit digs into his cheek, I begin to see bone.
I raise a hand, and Israel pauses. “Rinse the rest of him.”
“They’ll be here any second now to rescue me. You’re fucked, cabron.”
“I’m shaking in my seat.” My monotone grates on him. There’s still plenty of fight in him, and yet it dies the moment Israel opens the water again. Pain fills his expression while rivulets of red run down his body, limbs shaking in their confined seat.
There’s no true direction to my soldier’s cleaning method. From the soles of the general’s feet to his chest, there are quick and semi-deep slashes now littering his frame. He’s been reduced to nothing in a matter of minutes—from a high-ranking member of the Cuban military to a whimpering pussy.
How fast the mighty fall.
Once deemed as clean as can be, Israel shuts the machine off and retakes his place a few steps back. Junior does the same, but not before bringing a rolling cart I have behind the bed to within my guest’s line of sight.
Nothing covers the top, and the two items ready for me make him pale a little further.
“Talk.” And while he swallows hard, his red teeth chattering a bit, I remove my shirt and lay it behind my chair. While he mutters under his breath what I know is a prayer for help to whatever deity he believes in, I shake out my arms and crack my neck.
I’ve been docile.
