Page 46 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

I sigh, disappointed. I really don’t want to waste time on someone who’s innocent, but the problem is, everyone swearsthey’re innocent. Until they’re drowning. Until they’re gasping for breath.

I nod at Matteo, a young kid I scouted myself who barely leaves my side. “Again.”

Matteo yanks the burlap sack over Luis’ face, pulling it tight before tilting his chair back. A second man, Emilio, pours a steady stream of water over the fabric, soaking it instantly. Luis jerks, choking. The sound of his panicked gurgling fills the room, his body bucking against the restraints.

I watch, unmoved.

Waterboarding doesn’t leave marks. It doesn’t break bones. But it makes a man feel like he’s dying over and over again.

“Tell me who leaked the safe house,” I murmur. “And this stops.”

Luis thrashes harder, his muffled screams dissolving into wet coughs. I let it continue for another twenty seconds before I nod, and Matteo lets the chair slam back onto all fours. Luis gasps, sucking in air like a man who’s just crawled out of the ocean. He heaves, gagging, spitting water onto the floor.

“Fucking—” he coughs violently, chest heaving. “I don’t—know—anything.”

I lean in close, voice quiet. “Then you’re no use to me.”

His bloodshot eyes widen. “Please, Cast. You know me. I’ve been loyal?—”

I push to my feet and motion for Matteo to drag him away. He sobs, begging, but I don’t waver. If he’s innocent, he has nothing to worry about. If he’s guilty, his body will never be found.

I turn to the next man. Ramón. Another soldier in my organization. His knuckles are raw, fingers bent at odd angles from what I assume was Matteo's handiwork. He watches me with barely concealed terror, his chest rising and falling too quickly.

“You look nervous, Ramón.” I tip my head. “Something to confess?”

“No, Jefe,” he rushes out. “I would never betray you.”

“That’s what the last guy said.”

I grab the pliers from the table. His eyes go wide, locked on the metal as I twirl it between my fingers. Then, without warning, I grab his hand and clamp down on his pinky finger. I twist. The bone pops, and he screams, thrashing in his chair.

I wait. Give him a chance to talk.

Nothing.

So I keep going.

His screams fill the warehouse as I take another finger. Blood drips onto the floor, his body convulsing from the pain. “You’re wasting my fucking time,” I growl. “I want a name.”

Tears streak his face. “I—I don’t—” His breath stutters. “It—it has to be one of the higher-ups! Someone who knew about the safe house?—”

“No shit.” I grip his jaw, forcing him to look at me. “Who?”

“I don’t know!” he sobs.

Useless.

I nod to Matteo, who pulls his gun and fires a single shot to the head. The sound echoes, sharp and final. Blood splatters across the floor. I don’t flinch.

The remaining men in the room freeze. Some look away, some stare at Ramón’s body in horror. But I don’t stop. I keep moving, keep pulling them apart, one by one. Fingernails ripped off, bones snapped, knives dragged through flesh. Their screams become a symphony of suffering, echoing off the walls.

By the time I reach the last man, I’m covered in blood that isn’t mine, my pulse steady, my hands steady. Santiago. His face is a mess—one eye swollen shut, lip split wide, blood crusting in his nostrils. He shakes as I grip his jaw, forcing his head up. His breath rattles, short and shallow, like he knows what’s coming.

I crouch in front of him, my knife resting against his cheek. “You’re the last one,” I murmur, my knife tapping against his cheek. “And I don’t have time to play anymore.”

He trembles in his chair, lips quivering. “Please,” he whimpers. His breathing shudders, tears spilling down his face.

“Give me a name,” I murmur. “Or I swear to God, you’ll wish you died tonight.”

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