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“It’s just that…” He swallows hard and tries to keep the door closed, pulling it toward his body after my guard unlocked it. “I know things, Alejandro. Things you don’t have a clue about are happening as we speak.”
“Sir?” my employee calls out, knowing I didn’t want excessive force used last night. Past tense. Today is a new day, and Mr. Cortez is going to learn a very cruel lesson in life. A golden rule his miserable father and too-afraid-to-speak mother failed to explain.
You don’t touch a woman with anger.
“Let’s give him a second to collect himself.” Eyeing his shaking limbs, I tilt my head to the side. “Go on. Tell me how Quintero is venturing into the sale of illegally harvested organs with your father and a silent partner from Russia. Tell me how he sold Solimar to your father in exchange for military alliance once he implements a dictatorship society in this country. Tell me that he’s plotting my death in a public execution next month.”
Signio’s face pales and head shakes side to side. His eyes are wide. “How?”
“Be specific.” For a few beats, there’s silence in the room and I give the signal for extraction. One hard yank of the door and he tumbles out, landing on his hands and knees on the concrete floor. There’s a sharp gasp of pain as his hands give in and palms scrape against the rough, unpolished surface. It’s that way for a reason on that side of the room, and the torn skin and bloody fingertips are the end result. He whimpers, and I crack my neck. “Get up.”
“Alejandro, this isn’t necessary. Come on, man…” Signio attempts to push himself up but fails, now adding small lacerations to his cheek. He looks up at me from his place on the floor, a few beads of blood rolling down to his stubbly chin. “Dad will pay you whatever you want. I’ll even leave the country.”
“I can’t hear you from down there.”
“I can’t…it hurts.” You’d think I’d broken his leg or used my knife to run a line down the center of his chest with the way Cortez is crying. Pussy.
“Would you like some help?”
“Please.”
“Help him.” At my order, Geronimo points at the man next to him, his nephew Lino, to get Signio up off the floor. The younger man is still a bit rough around the edges and yanks him up by the hair, all but dragging and then tossing him at my feet. Then he moves back into position as if nothing happened and waits for his next order. “Gracias, Lino.”
“I’m at your disposal, Patron. Always.”
“Hagale.” A bloody hand grips my pant leg and I look down, noticing the tears already forming in Signio’s eyes. “Are you ready to be honest with me? To explain the idiocy from last night.” He’s nodding before I finish asking my questions, bottom lip trembling. “Good boy.”
“They made me do this.” His eyes land on a special addition to the property on my right that arrived a few days ago with a certain person or three in mind. The Judas chair: medieval and dark with large spikes over every surface and four leather straps to bind the unfortunate under castigate. It’s a black-market purchase made after my lunch with Solimar in Bogota, after uncovering the president’s plans for my little flower.
“Of course.” My tone drips in sarcasm, in the barely contained ire flowing through my veins, but he fails to pick up on anything past the horror my purchase creates. “Are you afraid? Intrigued by my furniture?”
Those shitty orbs snap toward me, and his chest rises and falls fast. “Are you? Am I?” Signio swallows hard; he’s fighting the fear crawling beneath his skin and the shivers that are proof of his pathetic worth. “Please don’t.”
“Get up.”
“Alejandro, I’ll disappear. Just gone.”
“Let go of my jeans and stand up, Cortez. Can you do that?”
“I need help,” he says lowly as a few beads of sweat roll down his face and the cuts there.
“Big boys can do it all by themselves. No hand-holding.”
“I didn’t mean harm, Alejandro. Por favor, tell me you believe that.”
“This is the last time I’ll ask you to stand,” I hiss out, yanking his head back by the hair until he’s almost on his haunches and the strands rip from his skull. There’s a small bunch in my hand while his scalp is a lovely shade of irritation red. “Quit whining and take a seat. We need to talk.”
“Oh, God…I-I don’t want to die. I’ll do anything—”
“Quit crying before I strap you on the Judas myself.” Signio manages to get up without using his hands to propel him, he’s starting to look a mess and lethargic—his legs are shaky—but it’s not enough. Nothing short of his death will be, but not today.
There’s something I need him to do for me first.
His mouth will be his demise, and I am counting on the slip.
Geronimo moved two chairs over from the wall and placed them on opposite ends of the table. I point to the seats, knowing he saw, and walk over to the set of monitors I keep in the building. It’s there to supervise those in my house, and today, I use it to see what Solimar does while I’m not there.
After entering my private code, I walk back and take a seat—lean back and follow the moving red dot on the screen. She’s out of the room and taking the stairs down to the first floor.
