Page 34 of Own

“It makes everything worse. So much fucking worse.” I ignore his amused look, turn, and leave out the back. The only thing I want to do is inflict pain. And right now, I have three targets: The Santos brothers, the Santos bastard, and the assholes who took shots on my woman today.

With the sun setting, I know I’ll have to make this quick because my kids will want to speak with me before bed.

As I enter the greenhouse, Angelo stands up from his chair. The soldier has always been one of my most trusted men, and I appreciate his attention to detail when I see my enemies tied to chairs with a good distance between them.

“They say anything?”

Roberto eyes me warily. Jordan visibly shakes, while Jacob remains still as a statue, likely hoping I’ll forget he’s here at all.

“He’s whined for a doctor.” Angelo points to Jordan with an eye roll. “The other two have been silent.”

Rolling up my shirt sleeves, I’m pissed that I’ll be ruining my second suit today. Not because I can’t afford another one, but because I don’t like to waste money. Taking a seat, I pull out my phone and dial Arturo, while signaling Angelo to tape all three men’s mouths shut.

“Cato, friend, is it done?” Obviously, he anticipated me killing his nephews.

“Just about to wrap up now.” I keep my responses in English because I don’t believe any of these idiots speak Spanish.

“Disappointing. Those nephews of mine keep fucking up and ruining the Santos name.” I don’t disagree. “Did you find the bastard yet?” His English is impeccable this time, making Jacob and Jordan squirm.

“Oh, I’ve got him. I just need the green light from you.”

Roberto glares at me.

Arturo’s heavy sigh fills the room as we all wait on his answer. “Send him to me. His mother will pitch a fit if I were to allow anything to happen to him.”

Leaning forward, I meet Roberto’s eyes as I tell his father, “I’ll do that, Arturo, but I need something from him first.” He’s not getting off scot-free with me, not for what he’s done.

It’s silent for a minute before he replies, “Acceptable. I’ll be in touch tomorrow about how I’ll collect him.” The line goes dead, and the outcome of the conversation visibly shakes them; I’m sure they anticipated the cartel would have their backs.

“I’ve known Arturo a very long time. We’ve built a relationship based on mutual respect for each other’s businesses, and the one thing we’ve always agreed upon is not touching each other’s families. You came for mine; now blood must be shed.”

I stand, but Angelo remains by the door, keeping a watchful eye on our prisoners. That’s what I like about him; he rarely attempts to insert himself unless asked or it’s necessary.

“Angelo, how would you like to have a hand in this?” His eyes widen before a cruel grin crosses his face.

“Yes, sir.” He quickly rolls up his shirt sleeves before walking over to our weapons wall. It’s amusing watching him methodically choose a tool; he’s like a kid in the candy store, unsure which one to pick.

“You can choose more than one,” I offer. I’m in no hurry, not until I receive word that Hester is awake or my children are calling, so I figure I have at least another hour before either of those things happen.

Reaching forward, he grabs a scalpel and butterfly clips. Interesting choice. “I’ve always been fascinated with anatomy,” he explains and carries them over to Jacob.

I pull up a stool, curious about what he has planned, and decide to turn Roberto and Jordan around so they can watch, while taking a seat myself.

Jordan starts squirming and shaking, attempting to escape his binds as he watches Angelo gently slice the scalpel down his brother’s arm, separating the flesh from muscle. He clips the flap of skin open, exposing Jacob’s musculature. Bones, muscles, tendons, veins, they’re all there to see.

The man himself is frozen in place; fear and pain paralyze him as Angelo reaches forward, beginning to dissect the muscle. His arm goes limp, tears stream down his face, and he screams behind the tape covering his mouth.

“You good, man?” Even I feel a little green watching Angelo peel Jacob’s arm apart.

“Yeah.” He barely pays me any attention as he explains, “I always wondered how the muscles worked, where the veins were, what tendons looked like, how bones feel.” Once nothing but veins and bone remain, tissue now splattered on the floor at his feet, he moves to the next arm and does the same. Jacob passed out some time ago, and that’s likely for the best.

Jordan is the palest I’ve ever seen a man, and I’ve tortured plenty of people in my time, just not with this amount of concentration and accuracy. Makes me glad I’ve earned Angelo’s loyalty.

“Smooth but kind of rough, edgy. You want to feel, boss?” He swivels his head to meet my gaze, and what I see shocks me. Angelo’s eyes are dead. The man has no feeling or awareness of what he’s doing and how it might be perceived.

Shrugging, I’ll do anything once.

“Sure.” I walk over and don’t hesitate to reach a finger between the splayed flesh, past the veins, to touch the bone. He’s right, smooth and kind of edgy. Not like anything I’ve felt before. “You have a real knack for this stuff.”