by Tl Reeve
The man removed his jacket revealing a shoulder holster, holding two 9mms. He took his time, first removing the diamond cufflinks from his shirt, then rolled up each sleeve to his elbows. From the backs of his hands to where the shirt cut off Scotty’s view of his arms had been covered in tattoos. The Virgin Mary graced his left hand while the right was covered by the face of a reaper. A symbol for life and death was quite the juxtaposition for a cartel member or at least he thought so anyway.
The man covered in tattoos pulled the 9mm in the left holster with his right hand showing off the rosary-bead tattoo wrapped around his wrist with the cross pointed toward his fingertips. Scotty snorted, not missing the context there—a prayer for the souls that man reaped. It was subtle. The man’s lips moved as he said something. Unfortunately for Scotty, he couldn’t make out. He didn’t know Spanish. Two men he hadn’t seen when he stumbled out of the building, brought the asshole who’d shit-kicked Scotty, around the back of the black SUV.
Hannah caught his attention and began to sign. This him? He do that? She motioned to Scotty as the man beside her stared a hole in Scotty’s head.
Scotty bobbed his hand up and down. He didn’t feel an ounce of remorse snitching on the fucker. Half of him wanted to ask for the gun and put the fucker out of his misery, but he also couldn’t show he had too much skill, if anything, even with being caught, he was still undercover. Without knowing what they’d seen of him before the abduction, he couldn’t blow his cover or the mission.
The leader of the group, lifted his hand, giving the guy with the tattoos the signal to dish out whatever flavor pain he wished, Scotty assumed. He half expected the tattooed cartel member to shoot the guy, ending prematurely in Scotty’s book. He wanted the fat bastard to pay for shoving his boot into his ribs and stomach. Instead of killing the guy straight away, though the tattooed man placed the weapon on the roof of the car, then said something to the guy. The asshole who kicked Scotty smirked, running his tongue along his bottom lip. Scotty glanced at Hannah who kept her head down while the head man in charge petted her.
Scotty tilted his head. The distinguished man appeared to get off on touching Hannah in such a manner. His eyes were closed, and his lips were parted as if the experience was euphoric. It didn’t make any sense to Scotty. Then it hit him, the man had to be Raul Iniguez, leader of the Nieto Cartel.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the tattooed badass cartel member squaring up with asshole who’d kicked Scotty. The man had a good thirty pounds on his opponent, but if the man covered in tattoos had been nervous or out of his element, he didn’t show it.
He played it cool. He sized up his opponent. When the fat bastard came after the guy, he sidestepped him and kicked the asshole in the ass with his expensive ostrich-skin boot, sending the jerk sprawling. He yelled something again and motioned for the guy to get up. A smirk of intention pulled at his mouth, giving the man a devilish quality. There was no fear in his features only intention and death. The simple grace of his movements, for being a thug, surprised Scotty. Yet, he’d also seen steps like that before, he couldn’t place where, though.
Scotty fisted the side of his shirt as he continued to watch the scene unfold. Even as injured as he was, instinct told him to rush headlong into the fight. Allowing others to fight his battles stripped him of his dignity. Reminded him of a time when he couldn’t defend himself. Tension filled his body. Hurt or not, he’d been poised to take control of the situation should the asshole overwhelm the tattooed man. A hand landed on Scotty’s shoulder and he glanced to his right. The man standing next him gave him a curt shake of his head. Scotty frowned as he let out a breath and continued watching the scene unfold.
In the time it took Scotty to formulate a plan, the man with the intricate tattoos had walloped the asshole. Blood poured from the asshole’s nose and the cut above his eye, causing it to swell shut. His lip was split in two places, and he wobbled on his feet, yet he didn’t give up. The confident smirk on the tattooed badass’s mouth curved into death-filled grin while he maneuvered them, pushing them back toward the SUV. Scotty figured it out then. The badass offered up the man’s freedom: fight and get the gun. If he could do so, then he’d get to leave, or so Scotty suspected. The only downside to that promise was the fact the guy who appeared to be an important member within the Nieto Cartel, still had a 9mm in the right holster.
The man who’d kicked Scotty went down again in a heap. His hands skidded across the desert sand, kicking up a dust cloud. He scrambled away from the tattooed man while at the same time palming a hand full of the dirt. He went to his knees then, positioning himself close to the vehicle. He swayed, bending his head while trying to catch his breath. Blood dripped from his face forming a disgusting pool of clotted sand in front of him. Scotty didn’t like it. He knew what the guy was about to do. Yet, the man beside him kept his hand on Scotty’s shoulder, holding him in place.
As the asshole got to his feet, he threw the sand in his hand at the tattooed man. Instead of it going into his eyes as Scotty expected, the tattooed man turned at the last second, allowing the dirt to pelt him in the back. The flourish of his spin as he came back around, pulling the 9mm from his holster, was a thing of pure beauty and badassery. He fired twice, hitting the asshole in the chest and thigh. The man crumpled to the ground onto his back, grimacing in pain. Fresh blood stains formed on the front of his shirt as he scrambled to get away. The tattooed man in the suit followed him, keeping his gun trained on the other man.
The leader, who continued to pet Hannah’s hair, made the international sign for death—a finger across his throat—and the man with the tattoos pulled the trigger once more. The asshole’s head snapped forward then fell backwards. His body arched off the ground before going still, except for his foot which twitched for a good minute after the asshole had been shot.
The leader curled his lip in disgust. He left Hannah’s side momentarily and spit on the asshole who’d kicked Scotty before bringing his fingers to his mouth and whistled. The man standing beside Scotty, along with the one waiting off to the side by Hannah, sprang into action while the badass holstered his gun. With the firearm secured, he grabbed the second weapon he’d left on the roof of the SUV.
It was then Scotty noticed the clip was missing. Whoever the man was, he’d been good. Really good. When he pulled it from the holster, Scotty hadn’t seen him hit the release for the clip, nor had he seen the man palm it. Once the man had it reloaded, he placed it back into his holster. He glanced up and stared at Scotty for a second. There wasn’t even a scratch on him. Not even a drop of blood touched his crisp white shirt. The tattooed man tilted his head to the side, smirked then walked to the hood of the vehicle.
Hannah wheeled herself over to where Scotty stood. We go. Oscar will clean you up.
Oscar?
She pointed to the man standing by the hood of the SUV. He threw back his head and laughed, accepting a bro-hug from two of the other men with them. Oscar.
Scotty nodded. Where to now?
Hotel. Shower. Eat. Begin training. She spun around and pushed herself toward the vehicle where the leader waited.
Training?
He didn’t like the sounds of it. If he had to base it on the research they’d done for the emporium, it wouldn’t be anything like what Thomas showed him and AJ. He’d still have to remain the submissive and do what was asked of him. The thought sent a shiver down his spine and made his stomach twist in revulsion. Shit... Yet, he couldn’t continue to stand there. If anything, the little display the leader put on, convinced Scotty, he shouldn’t go against the flow. Scotty wrapped his arm around his middle and tried to take a step. His ribs protested. Any air he’d had in his lungs left as if it’d been stamped out of him. A shout vibrated from his chest and he crumbled, falling to the hard ground. Pain ripped through him. His side was on fire. He couldn’t catch his breath.
The man named Oscar rushed to Scotty’s side and put an arm under his, which only cau
sed more agony when Scotty stood up. The world spun and his vision darkened. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing through it, but it was like trying to inhale through a straw. Fuck, this sucks. He probably had a broken rib or two, he’d be lucky if it didn’t puncture his lung, not something he wanted to contemplate, especially without backup.
The man peered into Scotty’s face and mouthed, I got you. Put your weight on me. For his size, the man was deceptively strong. Scotty gave over to the request, not caring if he looked weak. With each step they took, his heart hammered, and his vision dimmed more. What he wouldn’t give to be knocked the fuck out one more time, so he didn’t have to experience the pain. Scotty stumbled losing his footing and the man who’d kept his hand on Scotty’s shoulder, grabbed him up, keeping Scotty upright. Together, both men got Scotty situated inside the white SUV while the leader climbed back into his vehicle as well.
Oscar turned Scotty’s face to his. “You good?”
Scotty nodded.
“Drive, Carlos. Get us back to the compound.” Oscar met the man named Carlos’ gaze in the rearview mirror before they pulled away from the building.
Scotty leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes, trying to focus on breathing. The simple task he normally took for granted was a struggle. Oscar shifted beside him and Scotty opened his eyes. The man pulled a knife, which curiously reminded him of the one he, too, carried. Tex had given it to him as a Christmas present one year, and there’d been a few times the sharp instrument had come in handy. He only wished he had it now. It was probably still in the bathroom at the hotel, where he’d left after cutting AJ’s skirt off. The thought sent a bolt of lust through him, but was tempered by the pain Scotty was in.
Oscar flicked open his knife. “Sorry man. I gotta see the damage.”
Scotty gave a weak nod then signed, Do it.
Oscar grabbed the collar of Scotty’s shirt pulled it tight between his fingers then sliced through it. When he got to the bottom, he pushed it aside, revealing Scotty’s chest and stomach. Two purple and black bruises covered his entire left side, including his stomach. It was bad. Oscar snarled something he couldn’t make out, but Scotty agreed. According to the information they had on Emporio de Monstruo, none of the submissives were supposed to be abused or battered. They were to be used appropriately. The Cartel couldn’t make money off of them if they were messed up.
Bad. Scotty mouthed.
The man nodded. “Real bad, kid.” He tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Take him to the clinic, kid needs to be patched up. Call Raul and tell him the damage.” He glanced over at Scotty. “You read lips pretty good, don’t you?”
Scotty nodded.
“Spanish?”
He signed, No.
“I don’t speak sign, kid. Hannah does. She’s real good. Spanish and English.” He glanced down at the bruising. “No bueno.”
Now that, Scotty did know and mouthed, hurts.
“You do know Spanish!”
Scotty gave a quick turn of his head. “Simple.” Then pointed to his lips. “Words seen.”
“You speak?” Oscar’s eyes lit up. “Fuck me.”
Scotty cringed. He didn’t know what he sounded like or if he was too loud. “Only when I have to. Don’t like.”
“Understandable,” Oscar said.
“Too loud?” Scotty popped a brow.
Oscar laughed. “It’s all good, homie.” His attention snapped to their driver then he glanced at Scotty. “Hannah will meet us at the clinic. Mr. Iniguez wants to supervise your treatment, since one of his men damaged the product.”
Scotty flinched. He knew way too much about the man who wanted to supervise anything. He had a daughter who languished at home, in Virginia, because she wasn’t perfect. Of course, the idea of Raul keeping her there until he could put her up for auction had occurred to Scotty one too many times.
“Don’t worry, he’s a good, Jefe.” Oscar patted Scotty’s leg. “He’ll get you fixed up in no time.”
They pulled up to a small corner building and the door opened. A woman, no bigger than AJ came rushing out. A cigarette dangled from her wrinkled lips as she eyed Scotty. The woman had to be in her sixties, yet she still had black hair—a shade darker than should’ve been natural. Her eyelids drooped into her line of sight and Scotty wondered how she could see, let alone work. On her neck was small prayer hand tattoo with the Virgin Mary blended in, something he realized, rather quickly, all of the Nieto Cartel members had. She motioned for them to follow and Oscar helped Scotty out of the SUV then into the office.
Once he was situated on the table, Hannah came in followed by who Scotty still suspected was Raul Iniguez. She gave him a small smile as she wheeled closer. This is Mr. Iniguez.
The man nodded at Scotty. Without his sunglasses on, Scotty could see the similarities between the man and Bex. He had short black hair, greying at his widow’s peak. Like the doctor and Oscar, Mr. Iniguez also had a prayer hands tattoo on his throat. Scotty hated the man instantly.
Mucho gusto. Mr. Iniguez stepped forward. “My men said you only understand ASL.”
Scotty schooled his features as he glanced at Hannah while she signed for Mr. Iniguez. Both Carlos and Oscar knew he could read lips, which begged the question, why didn’t they tell Raul? He inclined his chin, answering the man.
“You’re not much of a talker,” Mr. Iniguez said.
No. Hurts too much to sign. Scotty closed his eyes, playing up the pain.
A hand landed on his shoulder and he opened his eyes. Mr. Iniguez stood over him, concern filled his features and Scotty wanted to spit in his face. He saw money where Scotty was concerned, not a person. From what he learned about Raul Iniguez; the asshole didn’t have an ounce of compassion in his body. Why he attempted to show it for Scotty, he didn’t understand. “I understand. You rest. We’ll get you patched up.”
Again, Scotty kept his eyes on Hannah as she signed. Sure. Sleep.
The door opened and the older woman stepped back into the room. She carried a syringe and a bag of saline. She spoke in rapid Spanish Scotty couldn’t keep up with, but whatever she said, Raul ushered Hannah out, leaving Scotty by himself with the woman.
The doctor, if she was one, rushed around the room, her lips moving a mile a minute while she gathered different things. Then she stood over Scotty. She continued to speak while she held up the needle. “Drugs. For pain. Sleep.” She then took his arm and laid it flat on the bed.
Within seconds she had the IV placed and began pushing the pain meds. He sighed. The warmth of the medication spread through his veins, until his eyes were too heavy to hold open. Scotty didn’t know how long he laid there, and he didn’t care. When he opened his eyes again, he was back in the SUV with Oscar and Carlos, driving down the road. The pressure on his chest eased a bit but he was still doped up on whatever the woman gave her.
“There he is,” Oscar said. “You’re fucked up, bro. Two broken ribs and you have a bruised liver.”
Fuck. No wonder why he hurt so bad and was coughing up blood. He stuck up his thumb and drifted back off.
When he came to once again, he was inside a building, but what it looked like, he couldn’t tell yet. He lay on a crushed-velvet couch with a blanket over him. He didn’t know how long he’d been there, but he felt hungover, and his mouth tasted like shit. Probably has something to do with puking and the blood... He scrubbed his face. Shit. Being drugged sucked ass. He felt around where he laid when he opened his eyes and found everything blurry. His hand knocked around on a small table beside him and found his glasses perched on the top. Thank fuck. Scotty put them on.
The room was spacious. A bed sat in the corner while a dresser was almost directly in front of him. The hardwood floor had a simple rag rug covering it. The walls were painted a deep shade of purple and trimmed in gold. Not a typical combination of colors, but it worked. He turned over on the couch and found the windows had heavy curtains over them. The light had been from a lamp in
the corner of the room, illuminating the space.
Curious as to how he looked, Scotty pulled the blanket down and found someone had removed all of his clothes. Fuck me. What the hell did she give me? The fact he’d been so out of it, he hadn’t realized someone was removing his clothes, disturbed him. He took in the brown wrappings of bandages used for his broken ribs and the compression binder, holding him in. Being cinched in, as he was, made it easier to breathe, but it also meant he couldn’t move freely like he wanted.
A delicate touch at his shoulder signaled someone had joined him. He glanced up and a girl—he wouldn’t consider her a woman—was there, smiling down at him. She had Down syndrome and appeared to be his age, though she probably had the mentality of a child. Then Hannah was there beside him along with Mr. Iniguez.
“Ah, you’re awake, good,” Mr. Iniguez said. “Feel better?”
The young girl who’d joined him first sat down on the couch beside Scotty. She continued to smile at Scotty while running her fingers up and down his thigh. He glanced at Hannah who kept her gaze on the floor until Raul spoke again.
Tired. Sore. What’s this? He motioned to the girl.
Mr. Iniguez grinned. “She is a present. An apology for being roughed up earlier.”
His gut twisted. An apology? He jerked as the girl ran the palm of her hand over his blanket-covered junk. Words work just as well for me.
Raul laughed. “My way is more fun. Endorphins help the healing process while also diminishing the pain.” He said something to the girl in Spanish. Hannah didn’t translate it. “Her name is Monique. Treat her well.”
The girl stood and removed her robe. Underneath the silk material, she had on a small, lacy baby-doll nighty and panties to match. She grabbed the hem of the blanket and pulled back, revealing his naked state to everyone in the room, including Hannah. Scotty swallowed hard, desperately willing his cock to stay soft. He figured, with as much drugs as he probably still had coursing through his veins, it would be easy.
