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“Wait! I’ll—” The gun at his temple shuts him up.
“You want a second chance?”
“Please.”
“Then stand up and come kneel at my feet.” Ten seconds pass and Marin remains frozen, looking at me with panic in his eyes. Long gone is the hotshot bullshit. The kingpin mentality.
Now, I see the man—the child he is.
I give Chiquito permission to strike; a single blow to the back of his skull and Santiago falls forward, landing on his hands and knees. His forehead grazes the edge of the rattan table, saving him from slamming head first into the floor while forcing the furniture to move up a few inches. It doesn’t cut him but hurts, and a pathetic whimper slips past his lips.
It’s unacceptable. The sound pitiful. Disgusting.
“Enough,” I hiss out, lips curling over my gritted teeth. “Crawl.”
His head snaps up at my command, eyes wide and limbs shaking. “Alejandro, there has to be...hijueputa!” A kick to his midsection from the guard on the left stops his moronic train of thought. Once. Twice. Six times my soldier strikes and only pauses when I hold a hand up. “Por favor.”
“Please what, Patron,” I say, tone mocking now. Taunting. “How can this poor farmer’s son be of any assistance to your excellency?”
“I’ve done nothing to deserve this.” It’s low and full of pain and almost comical. But then again, this is what happens when confronting an imposter.
They have no backbone. No balls.
People seem to forget that the dog with the loudest bark doesn’t equate to the most damaging bite. Be afraid of those who move in silence and not the flashy or attention-seeking, because a killer doesn’t announce himself before lining the streets with cadavers.
“Are you sure that’s the route you’d like to go? Choose wisely.”
“I swear, Mr. Lucas...” he swallows hard, eyes widening in horror as I lean forward, picking up the knife I brought with me “...please don’t.”
I flick it open, sliding my thumb down the sharp end. “Don’t what?”
“This is a mistake!” He tries to sit on his haunches but makes the better choice to stay as is when my eyes narrow. Pussy. “Whatever it is, I’ll pay it off.”
A sardonic chuckle escapes me. “How would you know it’s a mistake if I haven’t accused you of anything?”
“Why am I here?”
“Tell me, what will you be paying without being charged?” I ask instead of answering his redundant question. “Are you confessing sins?”
“I thought the invitation was for—”
“Crawl.” I’m holding the tip of my knife’s blade between two fingers. “You have exactly five seconds to do so.”
8
“WHY ARE YOU—”
“One.” At the first number, he does as I asked and begins to drag himself toward me. His movements are slow. His dread is palpable. “Two.” The most miserable sound leaves him as I say three and I smile, patting my leg for the pathetic man not good enough to shine my shoes. “Four.”
He pauses for a second and his hands clench on the ground because of the emasculating gesture. Marin is at the most three steps from me and breathing hard. “I’m not a dog,” he says lowly, the tone meant to be threatening but in reality, is weak. However, I do admire the fact his spirit isn’t completely gone...yet.
I’m going to enjoy breaking him down piece by piece, starting with his mental stability.
“You’re whatever the fuck I say you are.”
“Listen, Lucas—”
“Five.”
