Page 7 of Captive Vows
I couldn’t be sure if Miguel Lopez had captured my attention because he was indirectly connected to the people I suspected as players in my wife’s death or if this was merely a way for me to pass the time. Regardless, I was curious about what the sneaky, skittish man was up to.
The trap was simple. We’d arrive in one of the back rooms at the building where the big drop of drugs would happen. An undercover spy would tail Miguel throughout the property to listen in to what he said to the men overseeing the exchange. If he were to say something incriminating, the Dubinin spy’s wires would pick up on it. If that failed, Emil would do what he did best and creep up closer to video the whole thing.
At first, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Miguel showed up to supervise the transaction. Many men labored to move the product. Others idled and watched over, likely expected to make sure no one like the cops showed up to interfere. It was, for all intents and purposes, a normal night.
I’d supervised many of these kinds of exchanges in my career. Before I became the Boss, I had handled these lower-level deals much like Miguel and the other crew leaders here.
The night became extraordinary, though, when the Dubinin spy was close enough to overhear Miguel spilling all kinds of details. He shared the intel with a Viper Cartel spy. Then a half hour later, he identified another drug runner as a mole for the Riveras. He accepted a bribe of cash from him for the same intel he’d given the Viper.
Twice.
Not once, but twice, this rat had turned traitor. The information he sold wasn’t the worst-case scenario, but it would compromise our business and we would have to change the future deal up to avoid having the Vipers or Riveras try to fuck with us.
“What a fucking moron,” Ivan muttered as he and I approached the rat.
He had no clue what was coming. Standing there watching over the transfer of drugs from the boat to the trucks, he rocked back on his heels. Like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like life was just peachy and all things were going as well as expected.
Until he noticed us coming close. Going still, he stared at me like he’d witnessed the devil himself. He was too tanned to go pale, but I could’ve sworn all the blood drained from his face. Terror crossed over his face with that wide-eyed,oh-fuckgaze.
“Mr. Dubinin,” he stuttered. “Boss.” His Adam’s apple bobbed with a difficult swallow. “I didn’t expect?—”
“This?” I stalked ahead, letting Ivan follow behind me. Without any fanfare, without any further preamble, I raised my arm and reared it for a hard hit. The hook to his face sent him reeling back. The flesh-on-flesh impact was music to my ears. A pained grunt from his mouth preceded his clumsy stagger toward the dirty floor, but he caught himself from falling completely.
“Didn’t expect that?” I asked, sneering down at the rat who’d dared to threaten the prosperity of my family, of my organization I would always protect with every ounce of my violent soul.
I swung at him again, landing a jab up at the underside of his chin. Cracks came from the smack of his teeth shutting too tightly together. With the immediate spill of blood from his gasping lips, it seemed like I’d cut his tongue with the hit.
What a dumbass. He didn’t even know how to handle taking a hard hit. Maybe he’d bitten his goddamn tongue off. It’d deprive me of the pleasure of cutting it out. But I hadn’t gotten far enough ahead to know what to do to him yet.
“Boss, no.” He gasped and coughed out blood as he stepped back. There was no hope of escape for him. Emil joined us, standing behind the ugly rat. Ivan and others circled him as well.
Miguel wasn’t going anywhere.
“No?” I kicked his knees, dropping him to the floor. “Nowhat?”
“Please. No. Don’t do this. No. It’s a misunderstanding. Whatever you think?—”
I laughed, letting him hear the wrath in my dark and sinister chuckle. Nothing about this was humorous. This wasn’t some cheap comedy hour. However, it was ironic that he could try to amuse me with such irony. “You have no right to assume what I think.”
“No, I mean—” I kicked him again. Aware that I could lose my patience with him too quickly, I glanced at Emil. My son could temper and pace himself while doling out torture. If I tried to vent my frustration at being so bored, I could end up killing this man too soon.
Answers would need to be obtained and analyzed first. Then, like every other rat who dared to try me, he’d pay dearly.
Emil didn’t require any further cue from me. He stepped forward as I retreated. It was too bad that beating Miguel this much couldn’t appease this restlessness in my soul. If taking out my anger on a liar couldn’t boost my mood, I wasn’t sure what else might.
Maybe nothing will.
Sticking toward the back, I watched my son interrogate Miguel. Without mercy, he demanded replies to his questions about what he had told those others. Unsurprisingly, Miguel sang like a pathetic canary. Blood dripped from his mouth. One eye was swollen shut. His hand stayed put on his side, as if pressing on the spot where I’d kicked him would make it all better.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Boss.” Miguel hung his head, wincing to stay upright on his knees. “Yes, I sold the intel to them.”
“Tell me who,” Emil demanded. “Who did you sell it to?” He knew. He would’ve heard the same thing we all had heard on the comms unit. I respected the power my son showed, though, the supremacy I’d taught him. Forcing a target to vocally admit guilt wasn’t only to confirm a fact. It was a type of mental warfare for them as well. To speak the truth about a crime done against the Dubinins was to declare your own death sentence.
“The Vipers,” Miguel answered, his voice so broken and desperate. “The Vipers and someone from the Riveras.”
“Motherfucking two-timing bastard,” I muttered as Emil gestured for another Dubinin to beat Miguel all over again.
Once more, I caught my son’s attention. With that knowing look shared between us, we were on the same page.
