Page 50 of One Rule

“I’d like to hear some of thesestories.” There are two Teflon coolers within arm’s reach and I pop their lids: one is filled with beers and ice, and the other, with acid. “Drink?”

“No. I’m good.”

Nodding, I pull out a dark lager and using my key, remove the cap. It’s a trick Lionel’s Dad taught us the year we turned twenty-one. He got a kick out of how hard we struggled to make it work.

I broke five keys during that time.

Lionel nearly cracked his tooth fighting to pry one stubborn top off.

“Who wants to start?” No one makes a sound, so I help them. In one deep pull, I drink down half it’s content and then smash the bottle into the head of the man who got closest to my rebel.

He’s the youngest of the three here tonight at only twenty-five. No wife. No girlfriend. No kids.

However the saddest part is the way he’s already crying. Tears run down his face, mixing with the blood flowing from the cut just given. It’s creating a mess on the dirty white shirt, and I’m disgusted by the sight.

Pussy.

“I’d start talking if I were you, Mr. Ricardo Vega.” His eyes widen, as does that of his partner in crime. Because if I know who one is, I’m also aware the man beside him is his older cousin and a royal fuck up. They’re gophers for our newly appointed mayor, the same idiot that decided a little padding of his pockets and the promise of political backing is worth the life of a man who helped him run for the position of deputy mayor last election.

He could’ve moved up in the ranks after Joaquin won his second run.

He could’ve built connections and made a name for himself while serving as a backup.

“We can come to an agreement, Micah.” Joseph chooses that moment to speak, but I pay him no mind, my eyes remain on the younger Vega. Ricardo’s looking anywhere but at me, his body shaking as the pain and his fear of what’s to come mix. “You’re a business man, Royce. We’ll pay you anything you want for you to forget this indiscretion. Surely, the little whore isn’t worth that—

My chair’s thrown back and the table almost topples over as my fist connects with Joseph’s mouth causing his head to snap back against the metal post. It clangs and his eyes roll back from the force, teeth chipping off in bits with each new blow I land. He’s going to hurt for what he just said, and I’ll start by destroying his perfectly fake image.

More and more pieces break, tearing at my skin while I unleash all the pent-up ire that’s been brewing. I don’t stop when his top lip splits, the cut getting larger with every punch that follows. I’m going to make sure he’s unrecognizable when I transport him out of the country and onto international waters.

Turning my arm, my elbow meets his nose and the satisfying crunch of bone fills the space. To me it’s a beautiful sound, while Ricardo vomits and his cousin, Amado closes his eyes. They’ve gone pallid now. Whimpering.

Where are the tough men who followed Liliana yesterday? Where’s that bravado?

“Start talking, Ricardo. Don’t make me ask you again.” Turning my back to them, I tap a semi-conscious Joseph on the cheek. His head lolls a bit, but he’s aware enough for what I’m about to do to him. Ricardo begins to speak, but I can’t understand anything past the mumbles and hyperventilating tears. “I’m going to give you five minutes to gather yourself. Understood?”

“Yes.” Again with the low meekness.

“Isaac, start a timer, and then come give me a hand.”

It takes him but a second and then he’s right beside me. “It’s going.”

“Good. Then help me take him for a short walk.” The rope around his wrist is tight, cutting into Joseph’s circulation and I have to use a knife to get him loose. Isaac set out a few things for me while I helped Joseph understand the error of his ways, but none of these items were working for me.

Instead, I want something that sends a message. A gun, knife, and sledgehammer aren’t enough.

So while I hold up Miami’s interim mayor and Isaac walks ahead of me to the coolers, my eyes shift around the room. While he removes the cooler with our drinks and then opens the lid of the one with acid, I find a fishing line and hook.

A few of the men who’ve worked on Esmeralda have fished here after work or on the weekends—with my permission on a day off. Toward the end and on the left of this port there’s a pier that leads a bit out into the water, used before by my father when he’d pull up on one of his fishing boats. It’s not too high that you’re no able to hop on and walk onto the property, but in deep enough water that a smaller vessel can ease in and out without a problem.

It's why there’s always fishing equipment. Sometimes people leave it or forget.

The strong smell of the acid hits my senses then and my nose twitches, as does that of everyone else inside the warehouse, but I don’t give Joseph time to realize what I’m about to do. He’s moaning and mumbling pitiful cries, his mouth destroyed from my punches while bloody fragments of teeth are embedded into his skin.

Yet that’s the least of his troubles because a second later, I’ve put on my protective gloves and forced his hand inside the container to just a little above his wrist. His reaction is instant and he thrashes, tries to knock me off and take his hands out, but the click of a gun and the feel of the nuzzle against his temple makes him pause. He’s going into shock, but I don’t allow him to remove them while a faint buzzing sound greets my ears.

Turning my head, I give a nod to Isaac who removes the gun and steps back enough that I can make eye contact with Ricardo. “Start talking.”

“He offered us twenty thousand a piece and a house if we removed a few obstacles in his way.”

---