Chapter 33 #2
My mouth is dry, my tongue sluggish, my lungs struggling like they forgot how to breathe. What the hell is happening? Where am I?
I force my eyes open, blink through the fog. The world tilts in and out of focus, but eventually everything sharpens. And just like that, memory slams home — I’m in the hands of the Verdugos. Santiago did his part.
Metal cuffs bite into my wrists, stretched high above my head. I’m hanging there, the chain looped over a ceiling hook like I’m a slab of meat in a slaughterhouse.
Aaand I’m naked. Fucking perfect.
“—a Vulture, pinche pendejo!” an angry voice snarls, shrill enough to stab straight through my skull. “You’re telling me Santiago just happened to capture a Vulture? No leather vest, but the club tattoo intact? And he didn’t bother telling us who he had?”
“He just said he caught this guy while he was trying to snatch one of his men. That he’s the one who’s been killing our runners,” another voice answers. “And you sent word to all the Captains that you wanted to interrogate him yourself.”
An angry hiss whips the air, and then the first voice snarls again. “Mierda! I know what that perro said. But he wouldn’t overlook information this important.”
I wince and keep one eye cracked open, taking in the room. There are white tiles everywhere — the walls, the floor. Easy to clean blood off, I guess. My clothes are torn to pieces at my feet.
There are three men inside, but my focus locks on the angry one.
Tall, well-built, mid-fifties, not a streak of white in his dark hair. Dark blue jeans. White button-down shirt.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid.
Sombra.
“Take Jose and Alejandro,” he snaps. “This is tied to the girl. You’re going after her tomorrow.”
Hot, immediate anger surges, forcing me to breathe through it. Calm down.
He spits on the floor, disgust heavy in the sound. “And get ready. Something’s wrong. There is never just one Vulture. There’s always a whole wake of them. Check security again.”
“Should we relocate now, jefe?” a stocky man in black asks.
Sombra’s gaze shifts, finally catching my movement.
“Sí. Tell Grace to be ready. We leave in fifteen.” A slow, devious smile curls his lips. “That should be enough time to have a chat with our guest, now that he’s awake.”
The stocky man nods once and leaves without another word.
The remaining guard tightens his grip on the AR15. Cracks his neck.
Sombra steps closer. His brown eyes are cold, lips pressed thin. I hold my breath, waiting. For a man who played such a big part in my destruction, he looks small right now.
“I hope you’re not uncomfortable,” he says calmly. “I hear the Iron Vultures also like to strip their prisoners naked sometimes. I’m sure it must be a little weird experiencing it from the other side.”
Fucking Grizz. Lying rat. He spilled our shit to this fucker.
He waits for me to speak, but I don’t. I let him believe he’s in control.
He sighs, annoyed, and switches tactics.
“Adoración…” he murmurs. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Just like her mamá.”
“Her name’s Adora,” I rasp, the words stinging my dry throat.
He waves it off, but I see the gleam of triumph in his eyes. He thinks he has something.
“A mistake Reggie made on the papers when she was born.” He tilts his head, sucking his teeth. Loud, irritated. “It’s no coincidence she was seen with your club. And now you’re here.” His eyes narrow. “No coincidence you killed fifteen of my men.”
“Nineteen,” I correct him, and grin.
The punch to my ribs doesn’t come out of nowhere. I was expecting it. Still, it rips all the air from my lungs, my body jerking violently as the cuffs bite hard into my flesh.
Next comes the punch to my jaw. Another follows. Then another.
Clearly, I pissed him off. The thought makes me chuckle through the blood coating my teeth.
“You think this is funny, hijo de puta?” he snarls, driving another blow into my ribs. “You’re the same stupid biker kid who was fucking her years ago, aren’t you? The one who thought he could investigate me?”
He grabs my jaw, fingers digging into my skin.
“I showed you mercy then,” he sneers, shoving my face aside and stepping back, letting me swing from the hook. “But you won’t see mercy from me again, pendejo.”
He inhales deeply and straightens the cuffs of his shirt.
I could kill this fucker right now. He has no idea.
Fuck. Patience. I need patience. Follow the plan.
“Now tell me,” he says slowly. “Where are the other–”
The door slams open before he can finish.
“Jefe, everyone is ready. You need to leave. Now. One of the outside alarms was tripped,” the stocky man from before blurts, breathless and wide-eyed.
Right on time.
“Was it an animal?” Sombra asks, glaring at the man.
“We don’t know yet,” he answers, still a little breathless.
Sombra throws me a murderous look, then turns to the man gripping his AR15 like it’s his only reason to live.
“Interrogate him,” he snaps. “Find out if Santiago betrayed us.” Then he points at me. “He gets ten minutes. If he doesn’t talk, kill him.”
I almost burst out laughing.
He strides toward the exit, then pauses at the doorway and looks back at me.
“Have a nice trip to hell, hijo de puta.”
Then he’s gone, the stocky man following behind him.
You’ll see hell long before me, fucker.
When the door closes, I prepare myself. I need to do this fast if I want any chance of catching up with that bastard. I want to be the one who finishes him. No one else.
The cuffs groan every time I shift my weight, metal screaming just enough to remind me they’re my ally. That all I need to do to get out of them is press one of the bolts the right way.
The AR15 guy steps closer and starts circling me slowly, a smug smirk carving across his face like he’s savoring the moment.
“You know,” he drawls, “I never met one of you Vultures. But I heard the stories.” He huffs, disappointed. “Have to say, pendejo, I expected more. Starting to think those stories were bullshit.”
He stops in front of me and, before I can act, slams the butt of his gun into my face.
Motherfucker.
Pain explodes through my skull and ripples all the way down to my toes. Fresh blood floods my mouth. I let my head drop and suck in a few rough, ragged breaths. My fingers flex in preparation, slow and deliberate.
“That was just a taste,” he continues. “So you know what happens if you don’t answer my questions. Your choice. Slow death or a quick one.”
I close my eyes.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I let the noise fall away. Let the silence take over.
Then I move.
In one swift motion, I grab the hook I’m dangling from. The chain between the cuffs is short enough — something I planned for, after Santiago told me how Sombra likes to run his interrogations.
I haul myself up, muscles screaming in protest.
My legs shoot out and coil around the fucker’s neck before he even has time to widen his eyes.
The momentum slams him backward with a startled grunt. His gun clatters uselessly to the floor. His hands claw at my thighs, frantic, panicked, but I lock my grip tighter. Squeeze harder.
His gasps turn wet. Desperate. His knees buckle as his strength bleeds out of him.
I hold on until he goes completely limp.
Then I press the bolt on the left cuff and let go of the hook, dropping into a crouch beside his unconscious body.
My hand flashes out, gripping the knife at his belt. One clean slash and his throat opens. Blood pours out fast, pooling beneath him in seconds.
“The stories were right, pendejo,” I murmur, rising to my feet as I shake the last cuff loose from my right wrist.
My pulse is steady now. Controlled.
I’m exactly where I need to be.