A man who is an integral part of what I call my family.
Chapter
18
Ice
Coal’s fist strikes out, smashing into Sandoval’s cheek, whipping his head to the side. While a small spray of spittle and blood flies to the already stained cement floor, he grunts, which is nothing compared to the screams he let loose earlier. I am not worried about anyone hearing us, though. We are in the soundproof basement of a house we own on the edge of Miami.
What the fucker tied hand and foot to the chair does not know is that Coal’s fists and what we have already done to him are the least of his concerns. I plan on things getting a lot bloodier before we are through with him.
Since we have already choked him half to death with a garrote and ripped his fingernails off with pliers, I am sure Lazaro Sandoval thinks he can survive anything we do to him without giving us the information we want. If that is what he thinks, he is wrong.
I learned a lot of things on my missions, and how to be a sadistic, lethal motherfucker was one of them.
“Who are you? fbi? atf? dea?” Sandoval asks through crimson stained, swollen lips, shaking off the blow delivered by Coal as he continues to spit blood with every word he speaks.
“I’m your worst fuckin’ nightmare, that’s who I am,” I answer in a merciless voice.
“People will look for me. The police will look for me, even. I have quite a few of them on my payroll. Do you honestly think they will want to lose the money they make from me? They will find out what you’ve done and come for me.” There is trepidation in his voice. I can tell what he says and what he worries will actually happen are two different things. Good. He should be scared shitless, because I don’t plan to let him out of this basement alive.
We have spent hours torturing him meticulously. Finally, he is starting to break. He is crumbling like any man—no matter how strong willed they are—would after the things we have done. There is more to come, though. Before we are finished here, he will give me everything I want.
“Clue in, Sandoval. We override anything the cops want to do. I have a clearance that rivals the Vice President’s. There are very few people in this country that have power over me. Doesn’t matter if I slit your throat in front of the chief of police, not one of them could touch me.”
His eyes go wide in surprise as the realization of his predicament dawns on him.
“That’s right, fucker; we aren’t your regular motorcycle gang. I’m a Harley ridin’ deliverer of death. I could pick up the phone right now, call the President of the United States, and tell him that I’m going to cut you into tiny pieces and spread them over the ocean for the fish to eat. And he would tell me to go right on ahead.” Little does Sandoval know that scenario is not too far off from what I will be doing to him.
“You tell me where the other girls are stashed, and I’ll introduce you to the hell you’re heading to quickly. The longer you take, the longer I’ll take. Either way, today is the day you die.”
Our captive does his best to straighten his back, and what little pride he thinks he has left shines through his eyes as he answers me. “If you plan to kill me, why should I tell you anything I know? Perhaps I shall take my secrets to the grave.”
He won’t be taking anything to his proverbial grave except that black soul of his. Although, I have to admit, I once again see why he was able to build his small empire. Here he is, bruised, bleeding, and death invariably breathing down his neck, yet he sits there with the sort of proud presence of a king instead of the defeated scumbag he really is.
Time to change that.
“Coal, hand me the blow torch and set this asshole on his back. Let’s see how long he can last before he starts crying like the little bitch he really is.”
My VP hands me my torch, and I let Sandoval see it before Coal tips his chair back and lets him harshly fall to the floor. A small shout of pain escapes him as his head cracks open on the unforgiving surface, giving him yet another wound from which he starts to bleed.
As I turn on the blow torch, he raises his head and looks at me defiantly. I let a ruthless smile spread across my face while I watch sweat beading on his forehead. He is about to do a fuck of a lot more than sweating.
Bringing the blow torch down, I hold it under the soles of his dress shoes and watch as the bottoms start to burn and melt away. Sandoval begins to struggle against his bindings as he feels the heat, although we both know he is not going anywhere. The flame disintegrates the bottom of his shoe in seconds, and then the man who raped and tortured numerous women, making them scream in pain, is the one who is screaming.