18. Cast
18
CAST
The warehouse smells like sweat, fear, and blood. Dim overhead lights flicker, casting shadows over the men bound to chairs, their heads slumped forward, their bodies trembling from pain, exhaustion, or both. My boots echo against the concrete floor as I take slow, deliberate steps, letting the silence hang heavy in the air. Letting them stew in their own terror.
I roll my shoulders, flex my hands. This isn’t just about finding the traitor—it’s about sending a message.
“You disappoint me,” I say, voice smooth, but edged with the promise of violence. I crouch in front of one of the men—Luis, a mid-level enforcer, someone I’ve worked with for years. His face is swollen, one eye nearly shut from the beating he took an hour ago. Blood drips from his split lip, trailing down his chin.
“I—” He swallows hard, shaking his head. “I swear, Cast, I don’t know anything. I wouldn’t?—”
I sigh, disappointed. I really don’t want to waste time on someone who’s innocent, but the problem is, everyone swears they’re innocent. Until they’re drowning. Until they’re gasping for breath.
I nod at Matteo, a young kid I scouted myself who barely leaves my side. “Again.”
Matteo yanks the burlap sack over Luis’ face, pulling it tight before tilting his chair back. A second man, Emilio, pours a steady stream of water over the fabric, soaking it instantly. Luis jerks, choking. The sound of his panicked gurgling fills the room, his body bucking against the restraints.
I watch, unmoved.
Waterboarding doesn’t leave marks. It doesn’t break bones. But it makes a man feel like he’s dying over and over again.
“Tell me who leaked the safe house,” I murmur. “And this stops.”
Luis thrashes harder, his muffled screams dissolving into wet coughs. I let it continue for another twenty seconds before I nod, and Matteo lets the chair slam back onto all fours. Luis gasps, sucking in air like a man who’s just crawled out of the ocean. He heaves, gagging, spitting water onto the floor.
“Fucking—” he coughs violently, chest heaving. “I don’t—know—anything.”
I lean in close, voice quiet. “Then you’re no use to me.”
His bloodshot eyes widen. “Please, Cast. You know me. I’ve been loyal?—”
I push to my feet and motion for Matteo to drag him away. He sobs, begging, but I don’t waver. If he’s innocent, he has nothing to worry about. If he’s guilty, his body will never be found.
I turn to the next man. Ramón. Another soldier in my organization. His knuckles are raw, fingers bent at odd angles from what I assume was Matteo's handiwork. He watches me with barely concealed terror, his chest rising and falling too quickly.
“You look nervous, Ramón.” I tip my head. “Something to confess?”
“No, Jefe,” he rushes out. “I would never betray you.”
“That’s what the last guy said.”
I grab the pliers from the table. His eyes go wide, locked on the metal as I twirl it between my fingers. Then, without warning, I grab his hand and clamp down on his pinky finger. I twist. The bone pops, and he screams, thrashing in his chair.
I wait. Give him a chance to talk.
Nothing.
So I keep going.
His screams fill the warehouse as I take another finger. Blood drips onto the floor, his body convulsing from the pain. “You’re wasting my fucking time,” I growl. “I want a name.”
Tears streak his face. “I—I don’t—” His breath stutters. “It—it has to be one of the higher-ups! Someone who knew about the safe house?—”
“No shit.” I grip his jaw, forcing him to look at me. “Who?”
“I don’t know!” he sobs.
Useless.
I nod to Matteo, who pulls his gun and fires a single shot to the head. The sound echoes, sharp and final. Blood splatters across the floor. I don’t flinch.
The remaining men in the room freeze. Some look away, some stare at Ramón’s body in horror. But I don’t stop. I keep moving, keep pulling them apart, one by one. Fingernails ripped off, bones snapped, knives dragged through flesh. Their screams become a symphony of suffering, echoing off the walls.
By the time I reach the last man, I’m covered in blood that isn’t mine, my pulse steady, my hands steady. Santiago. His face is a mess—one eye swollen shut, lip split wide, blood crusting in his nostrils. He shakes as I grip his jaw, forcing his head up. His breath rattles, short and shallow, like he knows what’s coming.
I crouch in front of him, my knife resting against his cheek. “You’re the last one,” I murmur, my knife tapping against his cheek. “And I don’t have time to play anymore.”
He trembles in his chair, lips quivering. “Please,” he whimpers. His breathing shudders, tears spilling down his face.
“Give me a name,” I murmur. “Or I swear to God, you’ll wish you died tonight.”
His body trembles. “Jefe… por favor…”
I press the blade harder, just enough to break the skin. A thin line of blood wells up, trailing down his cheek. “Give me a name, Santiago. Or I swear to God, I’ll start carving pieces off you until there’s nothing left.”
He swallows, his throat working against my grip. Then, finally, his voice cracks. “There—there are rumors.”
I go still. “Rumors?”
He nods quickly, desperate, licking his cracked lips. “That’s all I know, I swear. There’s talk… whispers about a girl.” His breathing turns shallow. “No name. No details. Just that someone—a woman—knows things she shouldn’t.”
A girl?
A cold sensation slides down my spine. Every man I’ve interrogated, every lead I’ve followed, and this is the first time I’m hearing this.
I tilt my head, watching him. “And where did these whispers come from?”
He flinches. “It’s been going around… no one knows where it started.”
I study him. The terror in his eyes is real. He believes what he’s saying.
I nod once to Matteo, and before Santiago can even process what’s happening, Matteo fires a bullet straight through his skull. The sound is sharp, final, and his body slumps forward, lifeless.
Silence fills the warehouse.
A girl.
I exhale slowly, wiping the blood from my hands. If this is true, if a woman has been feeding information to the wrong people, I’ll find her. And when I do, she’ll wish she never opened her fucking mouth.
I turn to Matteo. “Put the word out. Ten million for the traitor. Dead or alive.”
I glance at the bloodied bodies scattered across the room, at the fear still lingering in the air.
“The hunt begins now.”
The metallic smell of blood and fear stick to me like a stink that I love to be in normally. I would be more than excited, overwhelmed with the feeling and need to fuck and show more people how to depraved I can be. I would go to Vincent and tell him that I am on a high and he would bring me down. This time the thing that brings me back to earth is the lost look on Willow's face as I pass her bedroom in my apartment.
She’s staring at nothing. Her hands are folded on her lap and part of me wants to go inside and pull her into my madness. Let her know that it’s safe in all my crazy, but I don’t because she’s been covered in enough blood today. As I walk further down the hall, I bump into Damien exiting the shower. A towel is wrapped around his waist and he looks exhausted.
“Where have you been?” he questions because he’s the only one besides Vincent, who could ask me where I have been and I feel obliged to answer. Even Willow would get an asshole response from me because some of the places I have been and will be cannot handle all the light that she is.
“I have been having fun with our guards and enforcers.” The smile that digs into my cheeks is comically large, and I wiggle my eyebrows at Damien, who only gives me a scowl in response.
“You think now is the right time to have fun? I thought you were just gonna talk to them.”
I lean against the far wall, stuffing my bloody hands into my pockets. “I did talk and they all looked at me as if I’m not a monster to be feared, so I gave them a reason to be scared.”
I am the youngest Cartel leader to ever run the Castillo family; therefore, to my delight, and the terror of many, I must be the most ruthless or people will come for my head. Worse than they are now.
“One day your people will riot.”
“One day my people will not betray me the way they have now.” I growl.
The frustration of the disappearance of Ricardo still burrows in my chest, and the death of my father is still a mystery to me that eats me alive. I know there are bigger monsters to fear, and I know my crusade to be the biggest could be the death of me, but there is no other choice. There is no such thing as kindness in my world. There is no such thing as benevolence. There is only pain and death and fear and when you sign your life over to the Castillo’s, you know what you’re signing up for.
“Did you get any news worth all your death?” Damien sighs.
I flash him my Cheshire smile. “Of course I did. There is a girl that is hanging around and getting information from my men.”
“A girl?” He rolls his eyes. “Your men have thousands of women around them every day. How do we know one girl who is trying to bring you down?”
“It is very easy to find a girl scorned.” I say, shrugging. “She’s young, naive. She will make mistakes.”
Damien laughs. “If this was a man I’d say give you three days and he will be gone, but a girl?” Damien’s laughter only grows louder. “Good luck.”
His hand pats my back as he walks past me. I stand in the hallway for a moment until I hear the quiet sobs of Willow and against my better judgment, I turn back around and lean against the frame of her door covered in my crimes.
I don’t say anything, afraid to break her anymore than she already is broken, but when she looks up at me, her tears stop. “Cast, oh my God, what the fuck happened?”
She is on her feet in an instant, running to check me for any wounds, her hands raised across my skin as she looks at me with concern. She is the only person besides Rosemary to look at me as if losing me would be the end of the world. And when she looks at me like this, I know that she believes that if I died, some part within her would die, too.
I grab her hands in mine, a small smile on my face. “It is not my blood, Carina.” I whisper.
Willow pauses, staring at my chest. “Whose blood is it?”
“The blood of the people who failed to keep you and Vincent safe. The men who betrayed me.”
Willow’s breath shudders against my chest, her body trembling so violently I can feel it through my own bones. She grips my shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to reality, and when she finally speaks, her voice is barely more than a rasped whisper.
“I killed a man who betrayed you.” She whispers.
“What?”
“I ran away because I killed him.” She shudders. “Dad told me to run.”
My grip on her tightens, “Who did you kill?”
“Ricardo,” she breathes his name like a curse, like a wound that still hasn’t healed. “He—he came after me. That night. He—” Her voice breaks, her fingers digging into my skin. “I fought. I tried to run, but he was bigger, stronger. He had me pinned, Cast.” Her breathing is too fast, too erratic, her eyes wide, distant, like she’s still trapped there. “I could feel his breath on my skin. He told me—” She swallows hard, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter what he said. He was going to?—”
Her fingers twist the fabric between her hands. She pulls back slightly, just enough to look at me, her eyes wide and glassy, her lower lip trembling.
“There’s something wrong with me,” she whispers, barely audible.
I frown. “What are you talking about, Carina?”
Her throat works around the words like they taste bitter. “When I killed him…” She takes a shaky breath, her nails digging into my chest like she’s afraid I’ll let go if she tells me the truth. “I liked it.”
A chill slides down my spine, but I don’t react. I don’t flinch, don’t look at her any differently, even as her words settle between us, thick and heavy.
Her voice wavers. “I liked hearing him die, Cast.” Her breath hitches, like she’s afraid of her own confession. “I liked watching the life drain from his eyes. I thought it would make me sick, that I’d feel guilty, that I’d want to take it back. But I didn’t. I still don’t.” Her lips part as a shudder runs through her. “It felt… good.”
I cup her face, tilting her chin up so she can’t look away. I see the fear in her eyes, not of me—but of herself. She thinks I’ll push her away. That I’ll be disgusted. That I’ll think she’s some kind of monster.
She doesn’t understand.
I press my forehead against hers, my voice steady. “Good.”
She jerks slightly, eyes widening. “What?”
“Good,” I repeat, my grip tightening. “Because he didn’t deserve your mercy.” I brush my thumb over her cheek, catching the last of her tears. “You know what that makes you, Carina?”
She swallows hard, shaking her head.
I press my lips to the corner of her mouth, my voice dark, reverent. “Mine.”
Her breath catches, her lashes fluttering as she stares at me, searching for a reaction—guilt, judgment, disgust. She won’t find it. Not in me.
I stroke my thumb along her jaw, my voice dropping lower. “You think you’re alone in this? You think I don’t understand?” I tilt my head, watching her. “Carina, I like the sound too.”
She freezes. Her pupils dilate, her fingers twitching against my chest.
“The gasps. The gurgles. That last, wet little sound they make when they realize it’s over.” My grip tightens just slightly, not in restraint, but in possession. “It’s a symphony. One that means justice. That means vengeance. That means power. ”
She exhales shakily, but she doesn’t pull away.
“You’re not broken, Willow.” My lips brush against her temple. “You’re free. ”
A fresh tear slips down her cheek, but this time, there’s no fear in her eyes. No doubt. Just something raw, something unspoken.
She belongs to me. And I belong to her.
And we’ll burn the world down together.