Page 85 of Lethal Vengeance
When he sees the bat, the muscles in his body automatically tighten. “I didn’t have to use a weapon. My fists did the job quite well.”
“Yes, I’m sure they did. Big meaty fists like yours against my tiny sister. They probably felt a lot like this,” I say, striking hard across his face with the bat. Blood sprays out of his mouth. “You’re right-handed, correct? The coroner reported severe bruising here, here, and here.” I strike hard along the left side of his body across those same spots. “Oh, and a few on this side.”
He grunts each time the bat lands but manages to laugh at the end. “A walk in the park.”
“You’re right. This isn’t too bad. I’m sure it wasn’t for her, either. She was tougher than you think. She would have survived the beating. If only you had stopped there,” I lament.
“I would have if she’d have shown me the proper respect,” he reveals in a rush. “Instead, she taunted me with the fact that Julio had found someone to love. And with Gabriel’s birth, their little family was complete. He didn’t need me like he needed him. And when he got home, she was going to tell him what I’d done.”
My eyes drop to the appendage hanging between his legs. “Is that why you raped her? To show her that you were in charge, not Julio. Or was it to show Julio that you could take what was his?”
A flicker of satisfaction in his eyes tells me the truth.
“I thought so.” I walk over and pick up the scalpel and the tongs. “You’re never going to rape someone else again.”
The stoicism disappears, replaced with cursing and yelling.
“It would be less painful to use the garotte or my knife, but the punishment needs to equal the crime,” I explain.
Grabbing the flaccid dick with the tongs, I methodically cut until it’s completely severed from his body. I toss it in the corner.
When I look up, tears are rolling down his face, and his eyes are blown wide with shock. But he doesn’t beg for forgiveness or mercy.
“Tell me, when was the last time you cried?” I ask, curious to see if he’ll give me a real answer instead of a sarcastic quip.
His eyes are full of rage and madness, but he answers. “When I saw my brother’s mutilated body.”
Truth.
“Something we have in common,” I muse. “What did you think when you looked at your brother’s body? You said my sister’s death was your finest work. Did you see art when you looked at him? The wounds are identical, after all.”
A light dawns. “He didn’t have anything to do with her death,” he rasps. Guilt shines brightly in his eyes. But only for his brother, not Sophia.
“If only someone had come forward and confessed,” I mockingly say. “He’s not exactly innocent in all this, but I didn’t know what role he played until you and I had our chat last night. When I killed him, I didn’t understand everything he was telling me. He kept blubbering about Sophia, and his love, and someone named Gabriel.”
Armando closes his eyes. “I guess we’re both responsible for their deaths.”
My brow wrinkles in confusion.
“Your sister could have gone home at any time, and yet, she didn’t. Was she afraid of you?” he taunts, his voice tight with pain.
The statement is delivered matter of fact, but it’s a perfect hit. My heart cracks in two.
“No,” I retort, reluctant to share a piece of her with him. The smug look on his face settles it. “Sophia didn’t like confrontation. Ever. If there was a problem, she ran away until it was over.”
He scoffs. “She was pretty confrontational with me. If she hadn’t been, she would likely still be here.” He clicks his tongue. “I think she was scared you would hate her for falling in love with my brother. A member of the cartel. She told Julio the law and your career meant everything to you.”
Rage threatens to break through the iciness surround me. Why am I listening to him? “I could never hate Sophia. It’s not even a possibility. Let’s get back to the point of this exercise—her death. And yours.”
I slam the utensils down on the table and take several deep breaths until I can feel the coldness taking over. The cautery pen glows beside me. I pick it up and walk over.
He flinches when the pen gets close. “What is that?”
“It cauterizes wounds. It will help stop the bleeding,” I explain.
“Let me bleed! Let me bleed!”
I cluck my tongue. “We have a long way to go. If you bleed out now, I won’t be able to finish.” The smell of burning flesh drifts into the air.
