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Ivan just stares. “That’s a mighty big threat from an innocent man.”
“Do you know who I am? I will...fuck!” My cousin strikes, this cut running from knee to mid-thigh. It's deep, bleeding heavily, and the floor beneath him soon has a puddle. This gets the animal’s attention.
One gets curious. Snaps his teeth.
“Feel like telling me that story now? Come one, Mauricio. Let’s reminisce.”
His silence feels like a slap in the face. He's ignoring the man whose mum he killed. Denying his past instead of accepting his reality like a man. Fucking pussy.
“Maybe he just needs a little help getting there. Something to remember?” I walk over, my steps unhurried as I pick up a bottle of rum. It’s open, half gone, but has enough left for me to get my point across. “Right, friend?”
Immediately his eyes widen, and he arches back, digging the rope into his wrists. “Don’t. Please don’t…I’ll talk.”
“So you do remember?” And like the arsehole I am, I pour a wee bit of the alcohol onto his leg. Not on the cut, but close enough that he screams like the twat he is.
“Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” A little more, this time a few drops slip onto the wound, and he cries out. Full-on blubbering mess. “Repeat that?”
“I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just let me walk out of here alive—promise not to kill me.”
“But first, let’s start with a slide show. A beautiful message from a friend?” Casper nods in approval, while Ivan turns on the computer. The guest of honor is quiet, though, and I add another few drops over the last. “What do you think, Hernandez?”
“Yes.”
The cart is moved closer, touching his body. Rust smears across his dirty flesh, a streak Casper follows with the tip of his blade. A shallow cut, but if you were to believe the sounds coming from Hernandez, you’d think we tore a limb off.
“Where are they?” Casper grits out, his lip curling over his teeth. I know he’s hurting. All of this cuts deep.
His mum will never get to meet Aurora.
My aunt will never get to embarrass me in front of Aliana.
I point at the app, and he stalks over, pressing play before standing back. We all do.
Let him see how far our depravity goes. Let him see his friend, Felix Vega, take his last breath.
Because I was right in sending in Alexander when I did.
Mauricio should’ve never accepted the job. Neither should’ve.
Felix received a punishment—was tortured by one of the best in the business. Burns. Strikes. Cuts. Alexander is brutal, and he took pleasure in cutting the man’s cock off an inch at a time. Then his balls. Slowly, bleeding him and then patching up enough to stave off his death before doing it again.
He broke his mind. His will to live.
And then when Felix takes the gun Casper gave him and pulls the trigger, blowing his brains out; it’s all documented. It plays once and then again. Every brutal moment. Every scream reverberates inside the large room.
“I’m sorry.”
That’s my cue and I’m quick to flip from video to Skype, my uncle coming onto the screen a few seconds later. He nods at us, but no one speaks.
“So, you do know who I am?”
“Yes. I studied your picture and file for two weeks before the hit took place.”
“Who sent you?” No answer. Mauricio’s lips press tight.
That shit pisses me off, and I grab the bottle, jamming the nozzle into his thigh. Tip it over. “Answer him!”
