Page 73 of High

When we arrived, Héctor and the men got out first, doing a check of the surroundings before they came back to open the door for me. I thought about Manny and what he’d said several times recently about being polite, so I thanked them on the way past. They startled, and I realized it wasn’t often I did that.

The safe house looked like a cottage, sitting in the middle of grape fields on a farm that was run by a man we paid handsomely to keep our secrets; he owned a winery that had been constructed with Reyes money. He wouldn’t have been working this late at night anyway, but if he heard anything, the money meant he kept his mouth closed. Unlike a true cottage, though, the safe house’s windows were boarded up so no one could see in—or out—of it.

I knocked on the door and one of our soldiers opened a peephole, looking through it. When he saw it was me, he opened the door and stepped to the side. I nodded at him and walked through.

Rafael was waiting for me inside, sitting on a threadbare couch against a wall. The safe house was one big room, a kitchen to the right and nothing much else. We’d added the couch so we could watch the torture without getting tired feet. Sometimes things took a while. Antonio sat on a wooden chair in the middle of the bare room, his arms pulled behind his back and a gag in his mouth. His nose was bleeding, as was a cut on his face and his neck, as though someone had put a blade to it.

Gómez, the sicario who’d found Antonio, leaned against the wall opposite the couch, a smirk plastered on his face. I’d wondered which Gómez it was—we had a few of them as paid sicarios—and I shouldn’t have been surprised that it was Diego. He was a mean hijo de puta, with a nasty habit of taking the eyes of his targets. I was surprised Antonio still had his.

“Bien hecho, Gómez.”

“Gracias, Señor.” He pushed himself off the wall and crossed his arms over his leather jacket. With the outfits he usually wore—black shirt, leather jacket, and jeans—he fit in more with the Norse Lords than us, but he was an excellent sicario for hire. “You promised triple if we delivered within a month.”

“I did,” I said. “Come around tomorrow and Rafael will give you the money, sí?”

“Sí, gracias.” Gómez bowed his head but didn’t move, and I had a feeling he wanted to see the show. I smirked at him before my attention returned to Antonio. The fear on his face was satisfying, and the anger I’d felt for him returned, burning hot in my stomach like a wildfire. I wanted to make him hurt.

Stepping closer to the chair, I crouched. “Do you see me, Antonio? I am no longer that little boy you knew all those years ago. I am my papá’s son, and you’ve pushed too far. The only reason I didn’t kill you that night we came for Manny was because your hijo asked me not to. But now is different. Now you’ve hurt Mamá, could have hurt Manny, Arlo, and the rest of my family too. That’s not acceptable. Do you know what I’m going to do with you?”

Rafael shifted in his seat on the couch and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. I knew he wanted this as much as I did, especially after Tadeo had been injured. Family was everything to us.

“I’m going to hurt you, a lot. First I’m going to rip off your fingernails and toenails, then I’m going to cut off your fingers, one by one.”

Antonio twisted in his seat, but the rope didn’t loosen, and he yelled something into his gag. Rafael had become an expert at tying knots so tight that they were impossible to dislodge.

“And then your ears.” I touched his right ear and he struggled harder. “And your tongue and your nose. Everything. I’m going to keep you alive as long as possible so you can feel it all.”

He struggled again and I smiled. Pleasure curled inside me, the sound of his screams a pretty song to my ears.

“You’re about to meet a Thiago Luis Reyes-Montero that you’ve never known.”

After it wasall said and done, I left the safe house with a blood-soaked shirt and a deep satisfaction in my heart, while Gómez sauntered along at my side.

“Where did you find him?” I asked.

He smirked and crossed his arms, stuffing his hands under his armpits. Glancing around, his gaze settled on me. “Where you find any man every once in a while. A whorehouse. He likes his pussy.”

I snorted and held out my hand to him, which he shook. “Gracias.”

“De nada, Señor. I will be around tomorrow to collect the money.”

“Of course. We’ll see you then.” With a final nod, I slid into the back of the Rolls and settled into the seat. I unbuttoned my shirt and passed it to Rafael so he could dispose of it, just like they would with Antonio’s body. The wait for Antonio’s torture had been worth it.