Page 14 of Iced Out

Cruz and Rodriguez were the only two left from Cruz’s men. Sanchez and the others had taken the Durango to get rid of it so it would never be found. Clint noticed Rodriguez staring at the wooden table where the toys and tools were laid out. He was focused on one item. The scourge—handcrafted by Greco as a gift for Clint the night they captured Clint’s brother, Vincent… the man who had come within an inch of killing Axel earlier that same night.

The young man shifted his eyes from the weapon and met Clint’s stare. The boy’s memories of Greco remained vivid. Clint knew from experience that such vivid memories brought unbearable pain, and that pain showed in Rodriguez’s eyes. Clint felt the anguish as well; he had been by the young man’s side as he held his dying love in his arms, his screams still echoing in Clint’s head.

“I heard of an incident not too long ago,” Cruz said, his eyes drilling into the hanging guest. “Officers like you arrested a five-year-old Latino boy as he got off the bus, coming home from kindergarten. Took him away from his parents and sent him to another state, to a fucking detention center where he didn’t know anyone.” Quiet rage darkened his eyes. “Does it make you fuckers feel tough to traumatize children?”

At the mention of the boy, Rodriguez came to attention. “My son is five.” His voice was low, barely audible at first, but Clint heard him loud and clear. The young man stepped forward, a look in his eye that would’ve chilled the devil himself. “You kidnapped a five-year-old child?”

“Not us!” the man cried. “We’d never do that to a child!”

“No,” Cochise spoke in a low, deadly voice. “You just rape them.”

“No! No!” the man shrieked, his throat bobbing frantically. “We’ve never raped a child! Never!”

The Egyptian flushed rage-red as he leaned in, his lips rippling against his teeth. “You were going to rape my son. You think because he’s sixteen instead of six, that makes it better? That it somehow means you’re not a fucking pedophile?” He grabbed the man’s throat and squeezed until the guest’s eyes bulged in their sockets. “It doesn’t.”

The man gagged under Cochise’s grip, foamy drool bubbling at the corners of his mouth. Cochise stared into his face and squeezed harder, the soft flesh around his clenching fingers turning red, then purple, the pressure bursting capillaries in the man’s eyes as they rolled back in his head. Blood trickled from his nostrils, and the Egyptian released him moments before he lost consciousness.

The guest flopped forward, wheezing and gasping, sucking in air. Blood and drool ran down his chin, and watery tears streaked his flushed face.

Clint looked at the man strapped to the bedsprings, then back at the hanging guest. “Which of you hit my son?” He already knew the answer—Ash’s video had captured it all. But he asked anyway. “The thirteen-year-old boy.”

The man’s chest hitched with his frantic breaths. “H-He did! He hit him! I never touched him!”

Clint glanced at the other man, who was conscious enough to understand that he had been thrown under the bus.

“Fucking… liar…” he rasped. “I didn’t… touch him… It was… you!”

The cowboy exchanged dry looks with the Egyptian, Cruz, and Rodriguez: their guests bickered as if shifting blame could save their asses. It couldn’t. Both were guilty of unforgivable sins.

Dan seemed angry that Brad had passed the buck, as if Dan hadn’t thrown Brad under the bus on the highway. At this point, it was survival of the fittest—Dan could fucking fend for himself.

Brad had only one card left to play, and it might or might not benefit Dan as well, if it worked at all. Brad had his doubts, but he had nothing left. His throat hurt like a bitch after the big fucker strangled him—felt like he’d broken something in there—but Brad pushed the words out despite the pain. “They’ll come… looking for us.”

“What was that?” The cowboy stepped closer. He wasn’t quite as large as his companion, but he was no less scary or deadly.

Faltering, Brad worked up the courage to continue—out of sheer desperation to survive. “We’re federal agents,” he rasped. “You can’t… You can’t just disappear federal agents without repercussions. Major repercussions.” He coughed, wincing as his throat clenched in pain. “Let… Let us go now, and… and we’ll forget this ever happened. We can all… walk away.”

The cowboy stared at him in silence, then chuckled. The humor didn’t reach his jade eyes. “You hear that, boys?” he drawled. “These G-men are willing to walk away without having us arrested. Isn’t that generous of them?”

“Mighty generous,” the older spic replied dryly.

“Interesting.” The younger spic looked at Brad, his eyes pools of darkness. “That he believes he’s speaking from a position of authority.”

“Very interesting,” the cowboy muttered. “I wonder where he got that idea.” He stepped closer. “In case you missed my little convo with your buddy earlier—we’re not here to negotiate.”

Brad trembled. “They’ll come for us.” But would they? Did he really believe it? Weren’t they all disposable “soldiers”—wasn’t everyone disposable to the man at the top? They all knew it… But no one ever said it out loud, because as long as they “did their job” and stayed in line, the perks and rewards were great.

The big man moved behind Brad like a predator. “They won’t find you.” His breath was hot, his voice a snarl. “Because there won’t be anything left to find.” His attention shifted to the young spic. “These men are cut from the same rotten cloth as the one who shot Greco. Choose your weapon.”

Brad’s eyes darted to the young man as he walked to the wooden table. He didn’t hesitate, picking up what looked like a whip with many thin leather tails, each pierced with multiple nails and sharpened at both ends to fine points.

The spic turned and looked at the cowboy, gripping the weapon. The cowboy nodded once, his expression suggesting he wasn’t surprised by the young man’s choice.

The big man motioned him over. “Choose your victim.”

The spic looked at Brad, deadness in his eyes, then glanced at Dan. “Him.” He shifted back to Brad. “And I want this one to watch.”

“As you wish,” the large man said. “Try not to kill him. But if he dies…” He shrugged. “… he dies.”