Page 2 of Blood Spilled
I turn around, smiling at one of my men. “Very well, Diego. I have a new job for you now.” I pour the pureed food into astainless steel dog bowl. “I want you to move my pet into his new room.”
His face goes stern and he swallows hard. “No disrespect, boss, but it's only been four weeks. Shouldn't you wait a bit longer for him to heal more? The doctor did say …”
“I don't give a flying fuck what the doctor said! You hear me! You will do as I ask, or it will be you who will be sipping this shit from a straw. Do I make myself clear?” Besides, four weeks was plenty of time for him to heal. If anything, I was being generous waiting as long as I did.
He stutters his words at first with his eyes narrowing in fear. “Ye ... yes ... boss. Forgive me. I'll take care of it.”
I straighten my posture, inhaling and exhaling deeply. “Good. Let me know when he's settled in his new bed.” I'm normally not this way to my men. However, since Santiago has been here, I've been on edge, no longer in full control of my emotions. I hate the effect he has on me and that only makes me want to destroy him more.
Diego turns around without another word. He knows better than to question me a second time. I stare down at the bowl of food in my hands, smiling wickedly. It will take him some time getting used to eating food this way, but in time he will learn to be grateful. I set it on the counter and send my brother a message.
Me: It's almost harvesting time, Hermano.
Gabriel: So, he lives after all.
I scoff.
Me: I've been busy. You know how it can be sometimes.
Gabriel: I’m sure you've had your hands full. Maybe you will finally stop playing with dead men and come back to join the living, eh?
Me: You just keep doing what you need to do and I'll keep things moving smoothly on my end.
Gabriel: As long as your new extracurricular activities don't distract you and cause you to be sloppy, then I guess we have nothing to worry about.
Me: Since when have I ever been sloppy?
Someone clears their throat from behind me. “It's done boss. He wouldn't go in easily, so we had to drug him again. He sure does have some fight left in him and isn't as weak as he looks.”
I grunt in annoyance. “That's why you should always be prepared for anything. Besides, I like it when they have a little fight in them.” I point at his busted lip. “His doing?”
He nods, clenching his jaw. “The fucker elbowed me in the face when I was undoing his restraints on the bed. Not to worry though. Only his right wrist and ankle are cuffed as instructed from before.”
“Good. That will be all. I think I should take him his food myself.”
“Sounds good to me, boss. I'll be out doing a second patrol on the crop.”
I nod and pick up the bowl of food again. I move slowly, trying not to spill the contents all over the floor. I already know my pet will leave me with a mess to clean up. There is no need for me to make one too. His misery isn't supposed to become mine. I scrunch my nose up at the wretched smell. He’s curled up in the corner of his cage, away from a puddle of vomit. “What have you done, pet? Only just in your new room, and already making a mess?”
He doesn't look at me, but stares down at the metal cuff around his ankle. He mouths something I can't quite make out. The doctor did say he may never speak the same way again and that he was lucky to even be alive. I open the cage and set the bowl outside it.
“Hungry? I got something for you. Show me you can be a good boy and I may reward you with something better.”
He eyes the bowl and remains silent, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Oh, come on. It's much better than starving. I'll send someone in to get you cleaned up soon. I should leave you in there with it to teach you a lesson. But then we would have to wait longer to play and I've been patient enough.”
His eyes widen and I smirk. “You like that idea, precious? You ready for your master to play with you? I have a feeling you will be a lot of fun. I got all kinds of exciting things for us to try out. I wonder which one will have you screaming and talking the most.”
Three
Santiago
I try not to react to his words, but my eyes widen and my face goes cold when he mentions playing. My mind goes to all the worst possibilities. I should find them terrifying, but for some reason I don’t. I can’t explain their strange effect on me. Even if I do become on edge or frightened at any moment, I can't let him know what he's doing to me or that his words affect me. Otherwise he will always use them against me.
The smell of the food in the bowl has my stomach churning and I'm on the verge of vomiting again. Except I have nothing left to throw up. My stomach aches from hunger, but I will not degrade myself in such a way. I will not eat like a fucking dog, no matter how many beans he mixes with it. “Fuck you,” I mouth.
He tilts his head to the side, arching his brows in confusion. “What's that, mi mascota? I didn't quite catch that. You aren't being a bad boy, are you? Maybe I will let you go all day without eating.”
