The Devil's Plaything

Nodding, I lead her out of the house and toward the waiting car. I reach for the door and pull it open. She follows, just like I expect her to. Javi glances my way as I allow Sofía to settle on the backseat.

Before I can climb into the car, he informs me, “we need to do something before we take her to see Hector.” His eyes hold excitement, which shine playfully, and I know what he means.

“Is he ready for me?”

“Yes, perhaps we can show the girl what happens to thieves,” Javier suggests, and I glance at her for a moment before I make my decision. Nodding to my right-hand man, I settle in the seat beside her.

“Seems we have one stop before you can see your precious papá,” I tell her.

“Where are we going?”

I smile, but don’t meet her questioning gaze. “To see a man who stole something from me. You should learn what kind of man I am.”

“I know who you are, what you are.” Her voice is low, a mere whisper, as if she’s afraid of speaking the truth.

The car moves through the streets with my convoy, both leading and following. I never travel light, and now that I know Rodrigo is trying to make a play for my territory, I’ve ramped up my security.

It doesn’t take us long to come up to the house, where we find more of my men standing guard. Once I exit the vehicle, I have Javier bring Sofía along behind me, and the moment I step into the putrid smelling home, I know the asshole has already pissed himself a few times. The stench of his excrement will only intensify once I’m done with him.

I find the asshole who’s double crossed me by spewing my upcoming shipment locations to Rodrigo. I find out everything that happens under my nose, and he should’ve known that. He’s bound to an armchair that has seen better days. The leather is torn and shredded, and the rest of the room looks as if a hurricane swept through it.

“Mr. Cordero,” he mumbles. “P-please.”

Sofía gasps behind me when she sees the man. He may be a stranger to her, but she’ll soon learn that he has something in common with her precious papá.

“Sofía, this here is Juan,” I tell her, while waving my hand in his direction. “He needed money for his gambling debts and decided that working for me would get him that.” I speak to her, but refrain from meeting her eyes. “Only, he wasn’t happy with his earnings and decided to steal from me.” I unbutton my suit jacket before moving my hand to my belt. The sheathed blade I keep wrapped safely is in my grasp and the beauty behind me gasps once more when she sees it in my hand.

“No, senor,” he mumbles. “No, I mean, lo siento. Lo siento,” he repeats, over and over again. It’s always the same thing—they get caught, they plead apologies as if it will save them. I step forward, turning to face my little toy, before I have one of my men hold his wrists against the arms of the chair.

The creak of leather is the only sound besides Juan’s weak pleas for mercy. I lock my gaze on Sofía’s before I grip two of Juan’s fingers and smile at the beauty. “This is what happens to men who steal from me.” I bring the blade down on the two fingers. Luckily, I had Javi sharpen it this morning, because it slices through the flesh easily; it’s when I get to the bone that I need to work at it a few times before the fragile bones give way and two digits fall to the filthy floor.

“Oh god,” Sofía chokes out, the color fading from her gorgeous face, and I know she gets the gist of what her father faces. The screams from the man beside me are a dark symphony of pure agony, something I’ve become accustomed to hearing. I may be the king, but I do enjoy getting my hands dirty.

I cut another two digits from his left hand, ensuring I leave only the thumb. I lock my dark gaze on his watery one. “Are you ready to tell me what you did with my money?” It’s only fifty grand, but it’s mine, and nobody takes from me and lives to see another day.

“I-I-I can’t, señor, they collected an hour ago,” he tells me in a wobbly voice, and I’m sure he’s about to cry like a four-year-old who had his lunch stolen. Picking up one of the bloody digits, I twirl it between my fingers, before I gesture to one of my men who knows exactly what I’m about to do.

He tugs on Juan’s head, opening his jaw in the process, and I slip the thick fleshy finger down his throat and listen as he slowly chokes and coughs. A smile dances on my lips. I turn my attention to Sofía who is shuddering, a retching sound echoes around me, and I glance at Juan who’s attempting to spit out the digit.