“We need to talk.”
14
Victor
“Mr. Cordero, Victor, she’s a child. She doesn’t under—”
“I don’t give a shit anymore, Hector. Your fucking mistakes are what’s making her life a living hell,” I inform him coolly, as I pick up the knife that I dropped earlier. When I close the distance between us, I gesture to one of my men to hold his hand open. “It’s time you paid with a pound of flesh.”
“I’ve given you—”
“You’ve sold your daughter for the coke you stole,” I interrupt him once more. “This is for her.” My beautiful, hand-carved steel blade cuts into his skin, causing blood to spurt on my shiny Oxfords, but I don’t care.
Hector’s cries are music to my ears, a symphony of echoes that ring around the warehouse and bounce off the metal walls. Two fingers down, only four more to go. I consider what I’ll do with him after this, while I watch the red liquid drenching the floor.
The thick gold band that was on his ring finger falls to the ground with a clank of metal hitting concrete, and I pick it up. The yellow is stained with blood, just like my hands are right now, and I know they always will be.
I realize as I look at my fingers, tinted with the life force of Hector Montero, that Sofía was right. I’m not a good man, nor did I ever claim to be. But it’s her words that seem to ring in my ears in this moment, as I regard the jewelry that her mother gave her father. It was a promise of forever. And now, I’ll keep this as remembrance that I’m not a good man. I haven’t been for a long time. And when I go back home, I’ll make sure that Sofía knows it.
She wanted a monster. She’ll get a fucking monster.
“Are you sure you want to keep the last bit of information from me, Hector?” I turn my attention on him again. I know there’s more to the fucking story he spewed. Sofía is sick, she’s in need of an operation, and if he doesn’t tell me what the fuck it is, I’m going to cut his heart out.
He stares at me for so long, I think he’s going to deny me what I want. But what he mutters next is not what I’m expecting. “My baby needs a heart transplant. Please, Victor, your father was a man of integrity. He would’ve done the right thing.”
My blood simmers in my veins, the thought of knowing this girl, Hector’s daughter, could possibly drop dead if she’s not cared for, does something strange to me. I wasn’t expecting this situation to affect me as much, but it has.
“Don’t speak of my father,” I bite out, as I regard Hector. “He would’ve done worse to you if you stole from him. He trusted you, considered you a friend.” My words have their intended effect.
He nods. “Sé que sé. Lo jodí.” I know, I know. I fucked up.
“Consider this a parting gift,” I tell him, as I grab his other hand and slice off all the fingers in one violent chop. A deathly screech falls from his mouth, and I watch as the thick metallic evidence stains the floor of my warehouse. “I will take Sofía as mine, she will serve me as a slave,” I speak, keeping my voice low.
Hector shakes his head violently, as he listens to my words. “Please, por favor no,” he mumbles, as tears stream down his cheeks. “Mátame, pero por favor, sálvala,” he pleads once more for her life and asks me to kill him.
“You would die, rather than have her serve me?” I challenge him. He knows what that means. He’s seen the women my father kept; he’s also met the women who’ve been around my compound. What he doesn’t realize is that those were whores, paid for their service. I don’t pay anymore. I have Sofía, and she will be mine to use as I see fit.
“Then marry her,” he suddenly blurts, causing me to chuckle. Marriage?
“You’ve lost your mind, old man.” Shaking my head, I take a step back and pull out my handkerchief, cleaning the blade with the crisp white cotton, before I sheath my weapon.
“Please, Victor, if you marry her, they can’t hurt her. She’ll be the queen, and she can rule with you.” His eyes are filled with the ravings of an old man. I can never get married. The last time I ever considered something as fragile as marriage, I had to kill the bitch.
“I don’t believe marriage should be based on emotion, and I certainly don’t love your daughter,” I inform him, but the moment the words leave my mouth, Javier returns. I can feel his questioning glare burning into me.
He’ll pay for that later.
“I didn’t ask you to love her,” Hector speaks, his words garbled as the pain takes over his body, and soon, he’ll either beg for death again, or he’ll do something stupid to himself. “I just need to know she’s safe before I take my final breath. Es el deseo de un hombre moribundo.” It’s a dying man’s wish.