I have the tools I asked for sitting on the table next to an array of her sharp objects, knowing that I won’t be able to do this without a little pep in my step.
Taking a deep breath, I tell myself that I’m doing the right thing as I walk over to the bench. Reaching into my pocket, my fingers do a little dance inside until the tips close around the one thing I’ve been trying to avoid for as long as I could. The one thing I know I’m going to need more than anything right now.
Tilting my head to the side, I push aside Sofi’s butcher knife, then lick my thumb as I open the small baggie as quickly as I can. Dumping it on the table, I reach for the knife, cut a few lines, then lean down and snort the first one before I lose the fucking nerve to do it.
I clear my throat and squint my eyes, opening and closing them rapidly as I pinch the bridge of my nose and sniffle. The feeling, since I’ve been dying for it for so long, is almost immediate, but I’ve got three lines left and I’m going to need them all.
I snort the last three quicker than I know I should and when I’m done, I lean my head back and stare up at the ceiling as I use my thumb to swipe underneath my nose, making sure that I haven’t made a mess of things.
As the vibes finally start to set in where they belong, a smile creases my lips as I let out a chuckle. It’s been far too long that I’ve felt this fucking good about myself, and maybe now things will be different.
For me.
For Pops.
For Sofi.
As for Cankle; well, he won’t have to worry about anything ever again.
Chapter Eighteen
I run both hands back through my hair as I glance around the room rapidly. There’s got to be something I can use to prop his---ha!
I move quickly across the floor until I find something that looks like a cradle. Picking it up, I begin to tear the sides off it, not giving a fuck where it lands because I only need the curved part of it. Besides, Anabella and her troop can pick this shit up later—it’s what their paid to do, after all.
I open my eyes wide when I’m done and hold up the curved end to make sure that it’ll work for what I have in mind, and when I’m satisfied that it will, I turn around and head back to Cankle.
“What’s your name?” I ask him distractedly as I set the wooden object down in front of him. “I’m sure it’s been mentioned a time or two before, but I’ll be fucked if I remember.”
“Santiago,” he answers, his voice trembling.
“Ever been there?” I ask as I head over to the side of the room I made my pile of busted wood on. “Santiago, I mean. Chile? No?”
Once I’ve got my pieces I go back and start to set them up in a way that I know they’ll hold the main piece of my on the fly torture device, then grin at him as I stand back up. “I rolled through there once. I actually stayed the night, ended up in bed with one of the sexiest girls I’ve ever come across. Yeah, so they were doing some kind of women’s rights protest and I caught her eye. She came over to hand me a pamphlet and I handed her my dick in return. It was all fine and dandy until I woke up the next morning to a gun in my face, and her crying beside me. Turns out she was the girlfriend of some big time drug dealer in the area. Had I known that her pussy was spoken for, I would have passed. I’m not the kind of guy to swim in someone else’s ocean, you know? Anyway, as you can imagine, things didn’t go well for him. I don’t like being woken up unexpectedly—least of all with a gun in my face. But that’s neither here nor there. Just thought I’d tell you a little story before I got started.”
I’m rambling at this point, but the excitement of what I’m going to do, coupled with the strong vibes coursing through my veins right now, has me chattier than normal.
I stretch my arms over my head before I shake my arms out, ready to get this show on the road.
“Any last words, Santiago?”
He looks up at me, his eyes hardening, the bulldog that he once was trying desperately to fight to the surface again.
“Fuck you,” he snaps at me.
I smile.
“Good, then I won’t feel so bad about this.”
I take the few steps over to the table and retrieve the butane torch that I asked for. I begin to hum to myself as I grab the big block of wax sitting on the table, then turn the knob on the blowtorch. When it lights up, I grin and get to work melting the wax. This is going to be a modicum of mercy—I’m going to use the wax to weld his eyes shut and then he won’t see the rest coming.
Granted, that’s a complete lie.
The reason I’m doing it is because in restricting one of his senses, the others will work over time to make up for the lack of the other.
His sense of touch is going to be his worst enemy once I get going and that’s something he probably should have thought of before he left Culiacán.
I lean down and squint as the block of wax starts to form a hot puddle on the table. Dipping the tip of my finger into the middle, I grin.
That’s good enough, I tell myself as I place the torch down and use the side of my hand to scrape the wax of the table. I have to move quickly before it starts to cool, and so I do.
“Hey, think fast!” I tell him cheerfully as I hurl the wax directly into his face. He grunts and tries to spit at me as soon as it begins to harden.
“Be nice,” I chide him with a chuckle.
I reach for the butane torch again, then crouching down in front of him, I start it up again. I move it back and forth beneath his chin to let him know that it’s on and when he tries to jerk his head away from me, I reach forward and grab a fistful of his hair.
Cankle lets out a scream of agony as I hold the flame against his face. The wax didn’t form the coating I wanted it to, and I have to rectify that little mistake before I get to the rest.
I begin to whistle as I watch it begin to melt against his face. I look down in disgust as he begins to piss himself and shuffle my feet far away enough that I won’t end up getting sprayed.
Leaning back to give my work a once over, I grin in satisfaction. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a Gringo too.”
The joke is lost on him since he can’t see what I’m doing. The wax, once fully melted and adhered to his skin, has turned a pale color similar to my own skin type. Of course, I’m pretty sure I may have ruptured his right eye with the heat since there’s a steady stream of blood dripping through the wax.
Ah well.
I wasn’t trying to be sloppy, but perfection isn’t something that I’m used to either.
Clearing my throat, I reach up and swipe at my nose before I walk behind him and dump him out of the chair. His face hits the floor hard, and I suck my teeth. I was hoping he’d land on the cradle, but again, perfection can be forgone when it comes to things like this.
Leaning down, I grab him by the shoulders and attempt to rest his head on the curve, when he begins to struggle.
“Either you hold still, or the next thing that gets the flame is your limp, little dick,” I bark at him.
It’s more than enough to get him to stop struggling.
“Good boy,” I mock as I reach for one of the wooden pieces and give it a shake to make sure that it will be able to continue to hold him. When I’m satisfied that it will, I move around Cankle, sit on the floor in front of him and cross my legs as I turn the knob on the torch again. I don’t want to leave it on and somehow manage to have it knocked over. Any mark left on him has to come from my hand.
I tilt my head to the side, set the torch down , then get to my feet again. I walk over to the bench and glance around until I find the last missing piece for my playdate and unscrew the cap from the bottle.
Grabbing Cankle by his hair, I begin to spill the lighter fluid over his head until half the bottle is empty. I move away from him again once that’s done and grab a dirty rag to dry my hands off as best as I can before I stifle a yawn with my fist.
“My only regret is that Sofi can’t see this,” I tell him as I saddle up behind him and
hold the torch to the back of his head. “Anyway, let’s get this going.”
Once the flame is burning white hot, I put a foot on his back to hold him in place as he begins to buck and flail. The smell of burning flesh is quickly filling the room and it makes me wish that I had the foresight to have opened a window first.
When he falls on his side and begins to roll around, I laugh and watch for a little bit. What he doesn’t seem to get is that if he somehow manages to snuff the fire out, I’m only going to start it up again.
I let out a bored sigh and wait for him to finish flopping around, then kick him in the side of his face.
He lets out a groan as he attempts to pull himself away from me and my toys by rolling as best as he can.
“Talk about The Little Engine That Could!” I exclaim with a laugh. I let him roll until he almost gets to the door, which coincidentally happens to be how long it’s taken for my patience to run out. “Alright, that’s enough of that.”
I walk over and grab him by the collar of his shirt and drag him all the way back to where I had him, making sure that he feels every fuck up that he’s ever done in his life, as some of the wax begins to embed itself in his face.
Turning him onto his back. I drop a knee into his chest, then lean down as I hold the torch to his face. Maybe if I can get some of that wax off, he’ll be a little more complacent.
Cankle lets out a pain-filled sob as the wax begins to boil and I grin as I lean the flame a little closer. I use the back of my hand to wipe my brow quickly then place it on the side of his face as I apply more pressure to his chest and inch the flame even closer.
Another stream of blood starts to pour from his busted eye, and this time, I can see some of the skin beneath the wax starting to turn black. I pull the flame away brief enough to be able to dig my nails in and rip it away from his face.
He groans, his body stiffens, as he tries to say something. Raising an eyebrow, I lean in again and dig my fingernails in a little deeper to pull away another chunk that’s starting to char up. I take my time and meticulously pull off every piece I can find—some I have to really put effort into, others are easily extracted.
I’m going to have to take one hell of a shower to get these bits and pieces out from underneath my fingernails and get the stench of scorched flesh off, but I’ll worry about that when the time comes.
Besides, I don’t mind that girly lilac smell—it may help Sofi on our impending wedding night if I smell more like her and less than a man.
Clearing my throat, I get to my feet and look over my handiwork thus far. There’s a black spot in the middle of his forehead where I had accidentally held the damn flame while I pulled off his burnt skin, his eye looks completely fucked, and there’s blood streaming all over the goddamn floor. That coupled with the stench of piss and burnt skin, and I’m pretty happy with what I’ve been able to do so far.
“Take a breather,” I instruct him as I walk over to the door and pull it open. “We’ll get going again after I’ve gotten some fresh air.”
And to make damn sure he doesn’t try to make a getaway while I’m gone, I decide to move on an afterthought I just had. I jog over to the pile of wooden beams, move them around with my feet until I find one with nails still protruding, then pick it up and go back to where he’s lying in agony.
Lifting it over my head, I slam it into the side of his face as deeply as I can get it to go, making damn sure that’ll he’ll be where I left him when I get back.
I walk across the garden, through the patio, and into the back door like I own the fucking place.
I make my way straight to Pop’s office and push the door open without knocking. If I’m going to be one of them, then he’s going to have to take me as I am—and I am usually without manners or fuck’s to give.
He looks up from a document he’s been going over with Hector and arches an eyebrow. I can’t tell if he’s angry at my intrusion, amused at the size of my balls, or just confused as to why I showed up without being asked for.
“What can I do for you?” he asks curiously.
“You can either come hold the torch or put a bullet in his fucking brain,” I reply as I suck my teeth.
He leans back in his massive, leather office chair as his curiosity turns into what I’m assuming is his “boss” look.
“A torch? I didn’t think you had that in you, Frank,” he says as he nods in appreciation. “And Santiago? Is he alive or dead?”
“Well, let’s retrace my words,” I begin testily, but the look that Hector frantically throws me, shuts down my sarcasm and sends me in a different direction. “What I mean is that he’s still alive like you asked. I’m just giving him a breather before I keep going. Lull him into a false sense of safety before you give me the go ahead to end him.”
Pops eyes me critically for a moment before he glances at Hector and nods. The latter gets on his feet and waits for his boss to do the same, but before he does, he opens the top drawer of his desk and pulls out something that almost sobers me up immediately.
It’s an electric cattle prod, and from what I’ve been able to gather about him so far, he has every intention of using it.
And if Cankle died in the few minutes I’ve been gone, then I know I’m going to have to take his place in the hot seat.
Chapter Nineteen
I lag behind Pops and Hector.
Trying to get used to the feeling of being high again so goddamn quickly is giving me possibly the best and simultaneously worst idea I could ever come up with.
And as luck would have it, by the time I decide to act on it, Pops and Hector are disappearing out the patio doors.
With a grin, I wander down the hallway until I reach Sofi’s door, then begin an open hand assault against it. If this doesn’t wake her up, I’ll just go in and snatch her out of bed. Either way, an insurance policy seems like a proper idea right now.
I shove my hands deep into my pockets when I finally hear the sound of her bed creak. She’s up and hopefully not one of those cranky people that—
“What?” she barks into my face when she swings the door open. My grin widens slightly as I shift on my feet and her groggy eyes show the slightest signs of shock.
“I need you to come outside with me,” I say, reaching for one of her hands. She promptly moves out of the way, causing me to miss, then takes a step closer, inspecting my face.
I turn away for a moment, run my tongue across my teeth, and clear my throat. The folly in this plan was forgetting that she would more than likely think she broke me with, when in actuality, I had to break myself to be able to get through tonight.
“Why?” she asks softly.
“Because I’d like to see tomorrow, now come on,” I say as I lean forward and reach for her hand again.
Sofi evades me yet again, puts her hands on her hips and looks at me sternly, “That’s not what I mean.”
I run a hand over my face irritably. If this was going to turn into an interrogation, I would have just walked back into the lion’s den and hoped to come out alive. As it stands, I think that would have been less painful.
“You’ll see if you come with me,” I tell her as patiently as I can.
She eyes me for a moment longer before she nods, then turns to walk back into her room.
“Um, outside is this way,” I remind her, jerking my head toward the hall.
“I need my chanclas at the very least,” she explains as she slides her feet into them, then rejoins me. I watch as she adjusts the strap of her tank top. Realizing she’s not wearing a bra, she still manages to somehow have that boss bitch air about her. Even with the gnarly bed hair she’s sporting.
“Here,” I say as I turn around and drop down on one knee. “Hop on.”
“What?” she asks loudly.
I glance up at her and grin, “It’ll be fun. I won’t drop you. Promise. Come on.”
“I can walk,” she reminds me coolly as she walks by me.
I catch up to her an
d give her arm a friendly punch, “Remember that after I finally get the chance to fuck you up.”
Sofi scowls and I start laughing as she picks up speed and I jog past her. Once we’re close enough to her shack, I notice that the door is still open and from where I’ve come to a dead halt, I can see Pops and Hector inside standing over Cankle.
“What the hell?” she mutters before she breaks into a run and enters the small, ramshackle building.
I take a deep breath and force myself to start walking again. Pops is more than likely going to be pissed off that Sofi has joined the party, but I kinda want her to watch me this time.
It’ll be a nice little mind fuck and it’ll show them that I’m not the nice guy I’ve been forcing myself to be. Not entirely, anyway. I like to think that there’s some good in everyone, no matter how deep it’s buried and festering.
I enter the shack feeling cocky as hell. I’m not done with Cankle yet, but I want them to see that I can color outside of the lines with the best of them, so to speak.
Here’s hoping he’s still alive.
“So, thoughts?” I ask Pops as soon as I join them.
He looks up at me with deadly earnest in his eyes and I know it has to do with nothing other than bringing his daughter into it.
Which is immediately confirmed by the first thing he hisses at me.
“Why is Sofi here?” he barks.
I shrug, “I don’t know. I thought she might be impressed.”
I walk by all of them and lean against the workbench, crossing my legs at the ankle and my arms over my chest.
Sofi takes a deep breath as she crouches down to inspect Cankle. I think now she understands that even under the house rules of her dear Daddy, no one is fucking safe.
“One of your favorites, right?” I ask Pops knowingly.
He cuts his eyes toward me as he moves the cattle prod from one hand to the other, then turns it and hands it to his daughter.
El Gringo (The Sicarios of Navolato Book 3) Page 13