“Fuck him!” Keith spat out, his breath coming in wheezing gasps. “Hunter, don't you choose shit! We ain't givin' him the satisfaction!”
“Is this true, El Presidente?” Gaspar asked, tilting his head curiously. “Will you indeed deny me my satisfaction?”
Hunter's mouth worked wordlessly, trying to come up with any combination of words that would make this gruesome scene end. Finally, he said, “We have money. It's yours. Our guns, our bikes, our club house, everything we have, fuck, anything you want...”
“I've told you what I want,” Gaspar insisted. “You will give it to me, or I will torture this man to death right in front of you. Then another, and another, until every man who ever put his trust in you as a leader has died the most painful death I can imagine for him. Now, will you choose?”
Hunter hesitated.
Gaspar shrugged, then fired a bullet into Keith's other kneecap. Keith shrieked again as blood and chips of bone spattered across the ground.
“Do you think this is bad?” Gaspar asked, placing his boot on the freshly-destroyed knee and pressing down again. “This is merely the overture to the symphony. Have you ever seen a man with the flesh of his own torso pulled up over his head and tied shut, so that he suffocates in his own skin as his guts fall out? I have. Numerous times, in fact. I find the sight exhilarating, though I doubt you will feel the same.”
“Take me, then!” Hunter cried out. “You want me to choose? Okay, I choose myself. Do whatever you want to me. Just don't hurt none of my men no more.”
Gaspar smiled. “Your willingness to sacrifice your own dignity for that of your men is commendable. I will admit, the thought of watching you violated is tempting. But to choose yourself is simply to volunteer, and those were not my terms. I know it will ultimately hurt you more to choose and to watch than to be a participant.”
“I won't do it, goddamn it! I won't make that fuckin' choice. I can't!”
“Suit yourself,” Gaspar said, turning to address Hector. “Sit him up and hold him steady.”
As Hector propped up Keith, Gaspar shoved his gun back into its holster and produced a switchblade, flicking it open. He crouched down and pulled Keith's shirt up, exposing his pale belly.
When Gaspar slid the knife into Keith's stomach smoothly, Keith hissed in pain, turning his head away. Gaspar held Keith's face, forcing him to look down. “No, don't look away, my friend. There is nothing quite like watching one's own flesh as it's torn away from one's body. The shade of red, the sound it makes...I urge you not to deny yourself such a unique experience.”
“Gaspar!” a voice called out from the motel.
Gaspar turned in the direction of the voice, and Cain followed his gaze. When he saw Jorge carrying Missy's limp body, his heart felt like someone was wrapping barbed wire around it and squeezing it tightly.
“Ah, there she is!” Gaspar announced, rubbing his hands together. “Perhaps now we won't have to waste much more time with threats and indecision.” He turned back to Keith, smiling. “You, however, have served your purpose.”
Gaspar slashed Keith's throat suddenly. Keith writhed on the ground, choking on his own blood as a horrid whistling noise emanated from his cut windpipe.
“Keith! No!” Cain yelled.
Keith flopped over onto his stomach, let out a long gurgle, and stopped moving. Gaspar nudged the body with his boot to make sure Keith was dead, then produced a handkerchief, wiping off the blade.
“Let Missy go!” Hunter screamed. “She ain't part of this!”
Gaspar raised his eyebrows. “No? Then this isn't the woman who stood beside you, firing guns at my men? No, El Presidente, she is very much a part of this because you allowed her to join the battle. That was a bad choice, and now, to save her life, you must make another. Choose one of your men for me, or I will start cutting holes in this woman and fucking them until she dies of blood loss. I can assure you, it will take quite some time.”
Hunter sagged to the ground, and Cain could see that the tears were flowing freely now. Cain's face felt hot and swollen, and he could hear his own pulse pounding in his ears. In that moment, he knew that he'd do anything to save her, even if it meant volunteering to take her place, even if they killed him. He felt like he'd rather be tortured to death than see any harm come to Missy.
But he knew that speaking up would be useless, since Gaspar had said he wouldn't accept volunteers. The sick fuck insisted on playing this game to its conclusion. So Cain stared at Hunter, silently begging the club president to choose him.