Ice (Regulators MC 1)

I start at the top of his foot and move my way to his heel, ignoring the smell of burnt rubber, leather, and human flesh. Moving over to his other foot, I repeat the process. His voice is already hoarse from his pained howls, and by the time Coal and I are done, his vocal cords will probably be ruined and bleeding.

He deserves every second of this agony. I have no qualms about dishing out his punishment.

When Sandoval passes out from the pain, I pull the blowtorch away from his foot. Turning it off, I tell Coal to sit him back up. Once he does, I give my man his next directive.

“Slap that little bitch back to consciousness.”

Coal’s lips tip up on one side in a vicious sneer.

The first slap makes Sandoval shake his head incoherently. The second slap has him crying out yet doesn’t bring him fully around. Instead, he is in a state of semi-consciousness. The third slap finally brings him back to awareness, and the once proud man is now sobbing in pain.

“Where are the women?”

He doesn’t answer me, only continues to cry.

I motion for Coal to grab the large bucket of cold water we had ready against the wall, and I point at our prisoner. When the water hits Sandoval in the face, he sputters and shakes his head in shock.

Looking up at me, he sees the fiery weapon I kept in my hand and begins to shake from head to toe. His gaze travels upwards to lock on to my own determined eyes, and a new wet spot starts to spread across the crotch of his pants, a small stream falling to the floor.

He has every reason to piss himself. I plan to ruin him like he ruined the countless women who have crossed his path.

“Where are the women, Sandoval?”

His breath starts to saw in and out of his chest in small, panicked puffs of air. However, he shakes his head again, refusing to say a word.

“You give me an answer, or I turn this blowtorch back on. Only, this time, I won’t stop at your feet. I’ll burn my way up your legs, over that small excuse you call a dick, and I won’t stop until I get to your eyeballs. So, I suggest you start talking before I start barbequing your ass alive.”

I know the look on my face conveys exactly how serious I am about carrying out the deadly promise, and he must realize it, too, because he hangs his head in defeat.

“Many of them are gone or dead, sold off to other powerful men overseas: foreign politicians, sheiks, and crime lords throughout Europe and the Asian countries,” he blubbers.

A red haze covers my vision at the thought of all the women I now know I might not be able to track down and save.

“Did you keep any kind of records?” I bark at him, angry that I don’t have the time to spend torturing him, keeping him on the brink of life, before I finally give him death.

His head bobs up and down frantically. “In my safe at the hotel. If I give you the combination, you will let me leave here with my life. I will disappear back to Cuba, and you shall never lay eyes on my face again.” He thinks he now has a bargaining chip to save himself.

He is wrong. I do not negotiate with the sort of scum I will be scraping off the soles of my boots later.

Without taking my eyes off of my captive’s, I answer him ominously, “Did you know that my man here is part Sioux? He may not look it beyond his tan, but his grandfather came straight off the reservation. Want to know one of the things his grandfather taught him? Here, let me have him show you. It’s this old timer practice from back before the English colonized here … called scalping. Show him how it’s done, Coal.”

Sandoval starts thrashing in his chair so hard he tips himself over and falls on his side. Even after the oomph of his fall, he does not stop his wiggling, desperately trying to get away from my brother as he unsheathes his large hunting knife from his thigh.

When Sandoval sees Coal bending over, his hand reaching for his hair, he once again starts screaming bloody murder.

The man does not have a chance in hell of escaping his fate.

Coal grabs Sandoval’s thick, black hair in a tight grip and places his knife against the upper part of our detainee’s forehead. Slowly, as to drag out the misery of what is about to happen, Coal makes an incision. Then he drags the knife to the back of Sandoval’s neck and around again to his original incision at the man’s forehead, taking his slow, sweet time while our victim screams hoarsely in agony. Finally, my brother puts his foot on one shoulder, bracing his calf on the back of the chair, and pulls the Cuban Don’s hair off with both hands, from front to back.