Page 41 of Corrupted Deception

Pain was a necessary part of any interrogation, but often, it wasn’t the pain itself that acted as the motivator, according to my father, but rather the victim’s motivation to avoidmorepain.

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me about that trip, Carlos?” I asked, my voice calm, almost conversational.

He eyed me as I moved into place, his pupils so big, his eyes looked almost black. Hm, that reminded me of someone.

“Miguel Silva,” he slurred out.

Every cell in my body sighed, but the relief was short-lived.

Los Cazadores Sangrientoshad a reputation for being beyond brutal—sick and twisted to the extreme. If Silva had sent them after my father…

My heart clenched so hard it tried to steal my breath.

“What was the meet about?” I asked, fighting the sting in my eyes, the burn at the back of my throat, the giant fist squeezing my heart.

“No sé,” he hissed.

“You don’t know?” I replied, my voice thick with skepticism.

Cielo glanced over at me.

I think he was only realizing now that I knew Spanish. He looked impressed, which was setting the bar kind of low, in my opinion. While I’d barely managed to keep my ass from flunking back in school, it turned out, languages were a bit of a specialty of mine.

I touched the scalpel to Mendoza’s abdomen, just below his navel and slowly dragged the flat of the blade downward against his skin to the top of his pubic bone.

“A… distribution arrangement,” he wheezed reluctantly. “Pump more product into New York.”

Los Cazadores Sangrientos’distribution network predominantly branched across the west coast. Mendoza held a small amount of territory in New York and New Jersey at the moment; to branch out further meant stepping over lines, starting territory wars. A very messy idea.

“What product?” I asked , grappling for some link betweenLos Cazadores Sangrientosand Miguel Silva’s warehouse my dad had been investigating.

When he hesitated, I tilted the blade, making blood well up as I drew the tip downward to a place no man wanted a blade. It was a wonder my hand wasn’t shaking like a caffeine addict at an espresso convention.

“Drugs. Guns!” He forced the words out fast while his eyes glared daggers at me.

“But no shipment has arrived, has it?” Cielo chimed in.

It wasn’t a question I would have thought to ask, but I was still pissed at him, so he was getting no credit from me.

“No,” Mendoza hissed. “The shipment was… diverted.”

It rang true in his voice. He wasn’t lying. He’d met with Silva about drug and gun distribution, not about my father. But my dad had still been taken, Mendoza’s men had received no shipments, and I was getting messages straight out of their territory.

I stared at Mendoza for a moment, like the answer might materialize across his sweaty brow.

“Anything else, Charlotte?” Cielo asked.

“No.”

My hands were shaking, but it wasn’t like I’d never killed a man before. Never like this, though—up close and in cold blood.

Come on, Char. This guy’s pretty much as evil as they come.Really, I’d be doing the world a favor.

And yet, my pesky conscience still wouldn’t leave me alone.

What would I do without you? I wondered, mentally rolling my eyes.

Probably sleep better at night, for starters.

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