The gravel underfoot crunches with every step I take toward the warehouse. I was told the man I needed to see was here. My men have him bound to a chair, naked, with two large fans blowing cold air on his wet body, which will keep him shivering and weak. It might sound easy to sit through, especially in this fucking heat, but it’s definitely not.
I don’t fuck around when it comes to torture. I revel in it. And when I find out the men who work for me want to steal my product, I don’t take kindly to it. That’s why my name is whispered in fear amongst the various criminal organizations around the country, amongst dealers, and even my own men. It’s how I earned the respect of each one of them. I ensured they knew what would happen if they decided to fuck me over.
But for now, I’ll focus on the fucker who decided to shove a few bags of coke up his ass to resell. He figured he’d be able to make money off my product, what he didn’t know is that I’m the only one in the city, in the country, who pushes the white powder, and it’s easy to find out if anyone else attempts it.
“He’s been mumbling about his daughter,” Javier, my right-hand man, tells me.
“And what has he been saying about his daughter?”
He shrugs. “Her medication is late, or something, his jaw is fucked, we can’t really understand much.” There’s a glint in his eye, and I know that it’s probably his fist that broke Montero’s jaw. When Javier walked into my office the first time, I refused to allow him to work for me. I told him he was far too young. He told me to fuck off. We knew each other too long, and I finally relented.
He was full of fire and that’s what made me hire him to clean the weapons. Even though I was only twenty at the time, I knew what I was looking for. The need to become someone in this dark, criminal world shone in his wide eyes convinced me. I taught him everything I know, and he moved up in the ranks within two years. Now, he accompanies me everywhere.
“Well, I best go inside and hear it for myself,” I tell him, as I step into the large building. An immediate chill seeps through the material of my crisp white shirt and I can’t imagine how Hector Montero must feel sitting on a metal chair with no clothes on and two industrial fans blowing directly onto him.
My footsteps are silent on the concrete floor as I near him. His face is indeed fucked, blood drips from his nose, mouth, and one ear, which tells me that they’ve blown an eardrum. His hands are bound behind him, his legs tied to either side of the chair.
“Mr. Montero, el hombre de la hora” I say, keeping my voice level, causing him to jerk his head, then wince as pain must’ve shot through his neck. “My men have told me you’re co-operating very well.”
“V-Victor,” he mutters my name in his thick accent. “Mr. Cordero, por favor, te lo ruego,” he gurgles. “I beg, please.” His repetitive words are frustrating to say the least, but I nod once to let him speak. “If you kill me, my daughter will die.”
I drop the cigar to the floor, the toe of my shoe grinding it into the ground, ensuring the red cherry is snuffed out, just like I want to do to Hector. I glance at him once more. “And I’m supposed to care?”
“Please, I can’t, she’s innocent.” His words intrigue me. There’s so much affection in his bloodshot eyes for this daughter, which only makes me see my father was right. Love, and any sort of emotion like it, makes a man weak, and Hector certainly is the weaker one here.
“How old is your daughter?”
His one eye focuses on me, watching intently as he responds. “Eighteen. She’s the only thing I have left in this world.” Even though I can barely make out what he’s saying, it’s clear the man is more worried about his daughter than the fact that I’ve got him chained in my warehouse. “She… she’s too young to be alone in this world.”
I wonder what this sweet innocent young woman looks like. Perhaps I can bring her here as my payment. I can toy with her and watch her suffer for her father’s stupidity. I generally know everything about the men I work with, but Hector used to work for my father, then he continued on when I took over, so I never learned more about him, other than the fact that my father trusted him.
“And what is the name of your daughter?”
His mouth opens, then closes, and I’m certain he knows why I’m asking her name. I don’t do things just for the sake of doing them. When I ask a question, it’s because I have a plan.