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I ignored him as he visibly struggled, trying to get loose. Confused by the turn of events, he still didn’t realize he wasn’t going anywhere unless I wanted him to, and there was nowhere else I’d rather have him than at my mercy.
I waited until he tired himself out.
Until he had no fight left in him, and all he could do was roll over and play dead. I was used to the hysteria that came along with my violent acts. It was all part of being who I was.
I leaned forward, close to his ear again. Cocking my head to the side, I ordered, “Give me the names.”
His chest heaved as he desperately tried to regain his breathing and stay conscious.
“I didn’t hear you,” I taunted.
Grabbing his neck this time, I shoved just his face back into the water and held him under as his body fought to get free.
As I hauled him back up, he choked out, “Please, God!”
I viciously smiled, bringing his face right in front of mine to glare into his eyes. “How’s that workin’ out for you? Where is he now?”
I dragged him back under the water, holding him down longer this time. Watching his air bubbles come few and far between, I waited, not allowing the piece of shit any relief. I brought him over and over again to the brink of death till he pleaded with me.
“Please…” he whispered, trying to catch his breath.
“Please, what?”
“Please… have compassion…”
“Compassion for the man who won’t give me the names of the men who murdered three of mine? An eye for an eye. You reap what you sow. You have one last chance to confess the names, or my next stop will be your house, and I’ll wait until your daughters are home.” I deviously chuckled, feeling his heart pounding against my grip on his neck. “Now, count with me, one… two… time’s up!”
“Maur… his name is… Maur… Mauricio! His name is Mauricio Felipe!” he screamed out, then spit in my face.
I abruptly let him go, causing him to sink farther into the water. He froze, waiting for my next move. He breathed a sigh of relief, cautiously backing away from me, stumbling to get out of the water.
“Run!” I ordered, and he did exactly that.
When he hit the shoreline, I called out, “Jose!”
He spun around as I slowly wiped his spit off my cheek with the back of my hand. His eyes instantly widened, realizing what I was now holding.
Tilting my head to the side with dark and dilated eyes, I reminded him, “You never fuckin’ thanked me.” Pulling the trigger, I blew his head off.
Blood and brains splattered behind him in the sand while I internally battled…
The hell I was already burning in.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
LUKE
By the time I walked into a bar in Havana later that day, it was well into the morning hours. Nightlife in the Caribbean mirrored Miami in more ways than one. Everything was open until late if it even closed at all. I was beyond exhausted, making my way into the place I frequented when I was in this city.
The bar was old-school Cuba, established in the early twenties. Dark mahogany wood coated the floors and ceilings and everything else in between with bright-ass exterior paint you could see a mile away. The ocean breeze hit my face as I nodded to the bartender Ricardo behind the bar.
“Hola, amigo.” He waved. “Bienvenidos a la Isla del Paradiso.”
I sat on the stool in front of me. Ricardo was a good guy. I’d known him for years. He was good at relaying information from inside sources that’d come into this bar and kept me in the loop as to what was going on through the streets and behind closed doors.
“Y que tienes para mí?” I asked him what he had for me.
