Missy watched as Hunter shook his head slowly, unable to process what he'd just heard. “What's...what the...why the fuck would you do that?”
“To make, as you say, my 'big fucking point,'” laughed Gaspar. “It's quite easy for gutter trash like you to join your little clubs and pull your little scores, thinking that the worst that can happen to you is injury or death. But when you and your people see that the consequences can be so much worse, you will understand how foolish it is to ever dare to oppose men like me. Do you think anyone will join your ridiculous MC again once word gets out that in defeat, you hand over your own men to be used as fuck-dolls for your enemies? Do you think any of your own people will continue to stand by your side after seeing such a thing happen to one of their number? I think not.”
“That ain't happenin',” Hunter said. “No. Fuck you. We'll go an' you can have the town, but if you think I'd ever make a choice like that you're outta your goddamn mind.”
Gaspar shrugged. “Very well. You seem to be confused about our respective positions, so I shall do what I can to help you understand.” He looked over the Eagles for a moment, then pointed to Keith. “Hector. That one. Bring him.”
Hector stepped forward and grabbed Keith, dragging him in front of Gaspar.
Before Missy could see any more, she heard a sound around the corner behind her and realized that she should move before she was discovered. She ran to the door of the nearest motel room and hid inside the tub in the bathroom as Death stalked her.
Death, in the form of Jorge, closing in. Preparing to corner her savagely and pistol-whip her into unconsciousness.
Chapter 41
Cain
Gaspar walked a slow circle around Keith, sizing him up. For his part, Keith merely stared straight ahead, his eyes filled with hatred and defiance. Cain admired him for being so stoic.
“So, you are...Keith, yes?” Gaspar asked pleasantly, checking Keith's name tag. “I am told you are the one who tormented poor Nostril into confessing that he worked for me. I knew he would do this, of course, just as I knew the fear and confusion this information would cause within your club. Still, you are a torturer of men, are you not? You revel in their agony?”
“I do what I gotta do, shitheel,” Keith snapped.
“Oh, certainly,” Gaspar continued, “but surely you cannot deny the part of you that enjoys handcuffing a man to a metal frame and running electricity through him? Or shooting him and then brutalizing the open wound, as I’m told you are fond of? There is a kind of savage poetry to such actions, a beauty that few men get the chance to fully appreciate. Each man's face twists into a unique shape when he is tortured to his breaking point, just as each woman's face is unique in how it reflects her orgasm. The look in their eyes, the sounds torn from their throats...these are special secrets, only to be unlocked by a lucky few.
“The cartel has afforded me many opportunities to indulge in such things. And now I can share them with you, one professional to another.”
Gaspar's left hand moved in a blur of speed again as he drew one of his pistols, firing a bullet directly into one of Keith's kneecaps. Keith howled in pain, falling to the ground.
Several of the other Eagles bristled, but with the guns trained on them, they didn't dare move. Cain's jaw was clenched so tightly that his face hurt.
“You motherfucker,” Hunter snarled, his voice thick in his throat. Cain glanced over and saw tears of rage glistening in the president's eyes. “You fuckin' piece of shit, you stop this now.”
“Stop?” Gaspar asked. “But I'm afraid I've only just started.” He placed his boot on Keith's mangled knee and slowly started to apply pressure. Keith issued a high, thin scream that sounded like nothing Cain had ever heard come from a man's mouth.
“You see,” Gaspar went on, speaking up to be heard over the screams, “most of the time, the pleasure of inflicting torture is marred by the need for a specific outcome. So often, we torture simply to extract information, yes? But to be granted a chance to torture simply for its own sake, for the joy it brings...this is a rare and wonderful thing.”
Cain heard the shattered bones in Keith's knee grinding together and felt his own stomach become loose and watery. Keith continued to wail, his fingers clawing the dusty ground helplessly.
“Terrible, isn't it?” Gaspar grinned at Cain, as though reading his mind. “Worse even than the beating you received. But at least your friend has lost nothing that cannot be lived without. He may lose this leg, true, but as you well know, those magnificent machines of yours can be customized to accommodate such injuries. He could ride again. If, of course, your president simply chooses one of you to amuse me.”