“What was that?” Jericho asked. “I couldn’t understand you.”
“I wasn’t even looking for you. I was looking for him.” Carlos nodded towards Seven.
Seven’s eyes went wide. “Me? Why me?”
When the man hesitated, Jericho jabbed the metal against the man’s ribs, causing another garbled scream to erupt. “Fine! Fuck,” Carlos cried, saliva flying as shocks still wracked his body. “Benny knew you, knew where you lived. Said you’d sent two men to talk to him but he couldn’t remember their names. But he remembered you. I found you. Followed you. Figured I could carve up you and your friends and leave a massacre big enough to stop anybody from talking.”
Jericho scoffed. “You were going to murder all of them? You thought you could subdue seven men by yourself?”
Carlos looked over the sea of faces. “I thought they were children.”
Jericho gave the man a malicious smile. “Thank you for your honesty.”
Atticus placed another staple just as another scream ripped from the man. When Jericho pulled the cables away, Carlos slumped, breathing shallow and rapid, sweat pouring from his body, burns marring anywhere the cables touched.
“Easy, man. We can’t get anything out of him if you kill him,” Levi reminded.
“There’s epinephrine in my bag,” Atticus said.
Nico nodded. “Yeah, having our own private doctor on staff rocks. What else do you have in your magical tackle box?”
Atticus scoffed. “Pray you never need to know.”
He finished closing Arsen’s incision, pressing a clean bandage to the wound and taping it down. “There. Good as new.”
Arsen glanced down at his dressing. “Thanks, Doc.”
Atticus nodded. “Any time.”
He could have gone and joined Jericho for his impromptu torture session, but he propped himself against the pool table instead, watching as Jericho handed the cables to Levi, slapping Carlos until he groggily lifted his head.
“Morning, Sunshine,” Jericho said cheerily. “We’re not done yet.”
Carlos was drooling now but still managed to say, “Fuck you, man.”
“I’m spoken for, thanks,” Jericho quipped. “Nico…get the acetylene torch.”
Nico’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t question Jericho, just walked towards the back of the shop. Carlos’s head rolled towards Jericho. “Who are you fucking people?”
Jericho’s smile unnerved even Atticus. “Neighborhood watch.”
Jericho was doing his best to hold it together. Having the boys and Atticus in the room made it easy to remember the mission. Get whatever information they could out of Carlos regarding whatever shady shit was happening behind Helping Hearts. But all he really wanted to do was beat the man until his skull caved in. This man was responsible—at least, in part—for the kidnapping and death of his sister. He would pay for that with his life.
Nico handed Jericho the torch. When a white hot flame erupted from the end, Carlos’s whole body convulsed almost against his will, his muscles curving away from the fire. The scent of piss and sour sweat permeated the space as Carlos lost control of his bladder. They never talked about that, about how a person could become so afraid he loses control of his bodily functions. It was an unfortunate byproduct of torture, expected but unpleasant nonetheless.
“Am I gonna have to use this, Carlos?” Jericho asked warily.
“Come on, man,” Carlos said, his voice hiking up an octave.
Jericho tilted his head. “What happens next is up to you. I just need some answers.”
It was odd torturing somebody with an audience. He could feel the heat of Atticus’s gaze, could see Levi and Nico watching him carefully, not out of fear but a craving for knowledge, like Jericho was teaching a master class on torture.
Carlos’s gaze was locked onto the torch in his hand. “Answers to what?”
“Let’s start with what happened to Mercy Navarro?” Jericho asked.
“Who?” Carlos asked, seeming genuinely confused.
