Risqué by Elena M. Reyes

23

It’s been two months since I last touched her. Showed up unannounced and tasted her.

Sixty-one days since I’ve had to live off FaceTime and phone calls. Where I spend all day waiting for our nightly routine where I log into the cameras in her home and watch her sleep. My obsession knows no bounds. My need is near maddening.

Because since taking over, I’ve had one truth smack me in the face over and over. No matter where I am, who I’m dealing with, or while joining Casper on this search, I always have her on my mind.

Her place is beside me. She’s my home, and I am hers.

It’s one of the reasons I’d been so calm while flying into Cuban soil. We’re here to put an end to the manhunt—I’m quiet and alert, talking only when necessary, and my bloodthirst is high.

The man inside is more than my aunt’s killer; he’s an obstacle that needs to be removed.

Where the fuck am I?

Let me go, cabron!

I’m going to kill you.

Mauricio Hernandez is a loud one, yelling and threatening from his place inside of the De Leon compound in Cuba. He’s been here a few days now, a place where those who enter do not escape, and I admire the colonial facade and isolated structures.

No one to hear you for miles.

No one here will lift a finger against this family.

The doors are closed to the main area, and a quiet Casper opens them without pause.

Archie will stay outside with the De Leon guards, awaiting orders, while Ivan, the second-in-command and youngest son, walks beside me in silence. He’s a lot like me in a way: easygoing until you touch one of ours. And the putrid twat inside did just that.

All the women in crime families are sacred. Untouchable, but to kill a mum?

That’s an instant death sentence.

My nostrils flare as I step inside. The stench is rotten—disgusting—but it only makes the demon within me happy. Because I know the smells will match the almost corpse tied up and awaiting trial.

Bright lights turn on, and the noise level rises. Animals—large hogs—make their presence known within empty cells. Each door is open, the inhabitants quiet and watching now, while surrounding the lone figure at the center. I’m pleased with the hospitality he’s been shown.

Dirt-caked blood on bruised skin, a dislocated shoulder taking the brunt of his weight from his restrained position.

For a second, I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. Ire pulses through my veins. Heat licks at my flesh.

I’ve come to accept a long time ago that I crave moments like this. I need the violence, but today it’s more. It’s personal while signaling a rebirth.

Casper’s and mine. Two different paths, two syndicates to run, and yet, we’ll always be intertwined by more than familial ties because of the women we love.

Because I do. It’s been there the entire time.

No hiding. No denying. The moment she sassed me inside that lounge, she owned me.

Burn him alive if you must, Callum. Just take me away when you’re done. ~Venus

Her text from this morning replays in my mind then, and I can almost hear Aliana’s sweet voice utter her plea. Her need. Something is off with her. I notice it each time we talk now.

It’s been that way since finding out she’s going on holiday with her family. As if she hates the idea. No excitement. No funny quip or mention of the things she’ll be doing while at some all-inclusive resort in Mexico.

Something that further cements she needs me as much as I breathe for her.

“I will, sweet girl.” No one hears my words, and I open my eyes to meet Mauricio’s.

He’s dirty. Smells like utter shit. An old cunt with a big mouth.

“Who the fuck—”

“Evening,” Casper says, tone even and calm. Mauricio’s eyes turn to look at him, squinting due to the bright lights before looking at me again. He does this a few times. Back and forth before pausing on my cousin.

We’re both dressed similarly; all black and wearing the damn suspenders I hate, but his mum thought they were dashing. And like him, I carry with me a piece of jewelry she had blessed when we were young—his by the Pope, and mine by a Buddhist monk.

He has a chain, while I have a bracelet with an attached medallion: a Greek warrior’s helmet on the front.

“Who are you?” he asks again. “Why am I here?”

“Why is he here?” Casper repeats, looking back at me, then Ivan. His eyes hold a feral tint I’m sure reflected in my own, but we’re not here for a quick death. Hernandez will hurt. Bleed. “The man’s asking why he’s here?”

“Poor lad,” I answer in the same tone, my rage barely controlled as I walk over. In my hand, I have the package Ivan gave me when we arrived. “This is a horrible predicament to find yourself in.”

Ivan steps into the light then, placing a chair in Mauricio’s line of sight, then steps back. “It is.”

“You!” the arsehole yells, fighting his restraints. His eyes are narrowed at Ivan. So much hate. “You were at the bar—”

“Yes. I was. And it was an interesting night, indeed. Many stories shared over a bottle of Havana Club. Do you remember that?” The doors to this room slam shut, locks engaging before Ivan hits the button at the center of the remote in his hand. At once, the lights dim making it easier for the piece of shit to get a better look. No more squinting. “Remember the story you shared of your recent time in London?”

“I don't remember.”

“I’m going to give you a minute to go through your memories, Mr. Hernandez.” Casper cracks his neck, then shakes out his arms. “Use your time wisely.”

“You have the wrong man,” he says without pause. His body glistens with sweat, more than when we came in. A natural reaction to fear; his choking is a pulsing wave permeating every inch of this personal jail. “I’m innocent.”

The wanker gave himself away.

If you’ve done no wrong, there’s no reason to defend yourself.

“I haven’t accused you of anything yet, mate.” Casper looks toward Ivan. “Have you?”

“Not at all.”

“And you?”

My response is a snort. “I haven’t said a word.”

“See?” My cousin does a 360-degree turn, arms out wide. “No accusations. However, I do believe you have a story to tell us.”

“I’m not him.”

At that moment, Ivan turns, and I follow him toward the last cell. This one doesn't have an animal inhabitant but is full of useful items: a collection of knives in various sizes, ropes and chains, and two hospital beds that have seen better days. Both are rusted, and I'm not sure if the stains aren’t blood.

We move the latter of the two farther back and pull out an old, creaky cart.

The laptop and camera on top of it are new, and it’ll serve two purposes. We have a special movie-time feature, and my uncle deserves to watch his last moments.

This was too short notice for him to come.

“Motherfucker!” Mauricio suddenly yells out, and I smirk. Fucker didn't wait. Not that I blame him. This is his kill. “Stop! This is a mistake.”

We stop with the cart a few feet from the now wounded arse, the blood coming from the back of his leg.

Casper's Karambit drips with blood.

The large swine squeal.

My eyes meet Ivan’s and I nod. He's quick to press the button for the cells and they close, locking in all of the pigs but two.

Those two roam close. They're curious, the scent of blood creating a frenzy, and soon hunger will follow.

Because pigs can be cannibals. Cases have been reported of bodies being consumed, leaving only the bones behind.

“I’m going to ask you once more, Hernandez.” Casper crosses his arms, his expression neutral. Yet, I notice the twitch of his fingers around the knife’s handle. “Tell me the story you shared with my friend, here. Last chance.”

“He’s lying!” Mauricio’s struggles intensify against his bonds, thrashing—shaking. “I was just at the bar celebrating my wedding anniversary.”

“Really?” Ivan shakes his head, eyes hard on him from his position by the laptop. He's hooking everything up. “Because there was no one with you but the prostitute you bought for the night. And don’t worry; I left her every single cent you had in your wallet back at the cheap hotel you were hiding in. Those two hundred thousand in cash will be used by her family and friends to survive and have a better life.”

“You piece of shit. I will kill you!”

Ivan just stares. “That’s a mighty big threat from an innocent man.”

“Do you know who I am? I will...fuck!” My cousin strikes, this cut running from knee to mid-thigh. It's deep, bleeding heavily, and the floor beneath him soon has a puddle. This gets the animal’s attention.

One gets curious. Snaps his teeth.

“Feel like telling me that story now? Come one, Mauricio. Let’s reminisce.”

His silence feels like a slap in the face. He's ignoring the man whose mum he killed. Denying his past instead of accepting his reality like a man. Fucking pussy.

“Maybe he just needs a little help getting there. Something to remember?” I walk over, my steps unhurried as I pick up a bottle of rum. It’s open, half gone, but has enough left for me to get my point across. “Right, friend?”

Immediately his eyes widen, and he arches back, digging the rope into his wrists. “Don’t. Please don’t…I’ll talk.”

“So you do remember?” And like the arsehole I am, I pour a wee bit of the alcohol onto his leg. Not on the cut, but close enough that he screams like the twat he is.

“Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” A little more, this time a few drops slip onto the wound, and he cries out. Full-on blubbering mess. “Repeat that?”

“I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just let me walk out of here alive—promise not to kill me.”

“But first, let’s start with a slide show. A beautiful message from a friend?” Casper nods in approval, while Ivan turns on the computer. The guest of honor is quiet, though, and I add another few drops over the last. “What do you think, Hernandez?”

“Yes.”

The cart is moved closer, touching his body. Rust smears across his dirty flesh, a streak Casper follows with the tip of his blade. A shallow cut, but if you were to believe the sounds coming from Hernandez, you’d think we tore a limb off.

“Where are they?” Casper grits out, his lip curling over his teeth. I know he’s hurting. All of this cuts deep.

His mum will never get to meet Aurora.

My aunt will never get to embarrass me in front of Aliana.

I point at the app, and he stalks over, pressing play before standing back. We all do.

Let him see how far our depravity goes. Let him see his friend, Felix Vega, take his last breath.

Because I was right in sending in Alexander when I did.

Mauricio should’ve never accepted the job. Neither should’ve.

Felix received a punishment—was tortured by one of the best in the business. Burns. Strikes. Cuts. Alexander is brutal, and he took pleasure in cutting the man’s cock off an inch at a time. Then his balls. Slowly, bleeding him and then patching up enough to stave off his death before doing it again.

He broke his mind. His will to live.

And then when Felix takes the gun Casper gave him and pulls the trigger, blowing his brains out; it’s all documented. It plays once and then again. Every brutal moment. Every scream reverberates inside the large room.

“I’m sorry.”

That’s my cue and I’m quick to flip from video to Skype, my uncle coming onto the screen a few seconds later. He nods at us, but no one speaks.

“So, you do know who I am?”

“Yes. I studied your picture and file for two weeks before the hit took place.”

“Who sent you?” No answer. Mauricio’s lips press tight.

That shit pisses me off, and I grab the bottle, jamming the nozzle into his thigh. Tip it over. “Answer him!”

Screams rend the air, the wail painful to the ear. It also riles up the animals. They bang against the cages, squeaking and grunting, while the two on the loose come closer.

They shuffle at the floor by his feet. They snap at the air.

Ivan pushes them back with a metal pole.

“This will only work for so long, Hernandez.” Casper taps his cheek with a bloody hand. “Tell me their real names and not the bullshit Felix gave me.”

“No one knows their real names, and I didn’t care enough to ask.”

“Tell me what you know. All of it.”

“Nico and Antonella are the children of Giada Savino. These three hate Matteo Cancio for something that happened between their father and the Boston mob boss a very long time ago. They never told me what, but from what Felix said, it all started a year after Aurora, Cancio’s daughter, was born.”

We’re not surprised by this. Aurora's family is somehow involved; they’re the catalyst, while we’re the combustion.

“Matteo wasn’t in charge then.”

“The father, Matteo Cancio Sr., was.”

“Okay.” Casper tosses his knife onto the cart while I hand over what’s left the liquor bottle. He brings it to the injured man’s lips. “Drink. It’ll help.”

“Just kill me.”

“I will, but I need something first.”

Mauricio takes the offered drink, swallowing a heavy shot. “You want to talk about your mother?”

“She wasn’t your intended target.” Not a question, and Hernandez nods. “Then why shoot an innocent woman?”

“They doubled the offer.” Another shot, this time a wee bit falls into his wound, and he hisses. “Those are a bitch. Hurt like hell.”

“That’s the point.” I take the bottle back from my cousin, pouring the rest onto the floor. “Now, about the money?”

“I was supposed to receive the other half a mil next week to an account I have in Guatemala City. The national bank doesn’t ask questions and after slipping the manager a couple of bucks, he speeds the process up personally.”

“What day next week?”

“Wednesday.”

“Thank you for your cooperation.” With that, Casper pulls out his gun and shoots him four times in the upper torso. Mauricio groans, eyes rolling back, and I use Casper’s knife to cut him down.

He lands on the cold, hard floor with a thud. The sound and his blood draw the roaming swine closer, and closer, while we walk away.

Once at the exit, Ivan lets them all out.

Hungry, feral animals.

It doesn’t take them long to attack, and his horror-filled screams are beautiful. A soothing balm to my soul.

His ending is justified.

A man without honor deserves to be pig food.