Leave a Trail (Signal Bend #7)(108)

“Por favor. Please,” Santaveria whispered. The room stank with the smell of his sweat.

“It’s said that if the condemned withstood all that and died without crying out, he would retain his place in Valhalla. The Valkyrie would sweep him up to a warrior’s reward.”

Isaac leaned back and stretched awkwardly. Badger could tell, and he could see in his brothers’ eyes that they, too, could tell, that Isaac was really struggling with his own pain, but he was focused. “And that’s where I hang up. I thought that would be a good, painful death for you. A death that honored our Viking heritage. But you know what? That’s an execution of respect. For an equal. That’s a warrior’s death. And you, Julio, are No. Fucking. Warrior. You wave your flaccid hand and have other people fight your battles for you. You are a vile piece of excrement who thinks he’s strong because he doesn’t care about anything.

That doesn’t make you strong, Julio. That just makes you an *. So no Blood Eagle for you. You are unworthy of that death.”

Santaveria sighed. “Gracias a Dios! ”

Isaac laughed and stood. “Show, Len—strip him bare and string him up—face to the wall. Badge, bring that cart in. Bart—keep a gun on him.”

Isaac’s brothers did as he instructed. When Santaveria was naked and chained to the wall, his arms outstretched and slightly raised, his head turned sharply to the side, his feet barely touching the floor, his bladder went. Badger enjoyed watching the skinny little worm he’d seen between Santaveria’s legs ooze dark piss down the wall.

Again, Isaac laughed. “Something tells me you wouldn’t have made it to Valhalla anyway, Julio. Your piss is rank, by the way. I’d suggest you get that checked out, but we’re gonna cure you right up right here.”

He opened the rolling cart. “This isn’t an execution. This is a debt collection. That’s our way, too. So here’s how the rest of today is gonna play out for you, Julio. The men in this room—the ones that can be here—you owe them. And they are going to take what you owe.”

He turned, “Show, you want to start?”

Show stared. “This was the plan?”

“Not until you told me what Vega left us. He understands our way. This is right. This is justice.” He looked at Bart. “You can stand in for Hav. You want that?”

“Yes. I do.”

“I want the kill.”

Bart nodded. Badger didn’t think anyone would have disputed that Isaac should have the kill.

Show took off his bulletproof vest and picked up the bullwhip. The Horde backed out of the room and gave him the space he needed. He unwound the whip and cocked his arm. It cracked viciously against Santaveria’s back, and the king of the Perro Blanco drug cartel yelped.

By the time Show was finished, Santaveria had stopped screaming, the sound coming from his mouth a pathetic mewl instead. His back and legs were bloody, raw meat. And Show was dripping sweat.

Santaveria was fading into unconsciousness. Without being asked, Bart brought Isaac an ampule of smelling salts, and Isaac snapped it and waved it under Santaveria’s nose until he was fully alert.

“Len. Your turn.” Show and Badger turned Santaveria around and chained him again. When his back hit the wall, he howled. Len chose a thick gouge. As he came on, Santaveria’s scream became an undulating siren that hit an earsplitting pitch when Len got to work. When he turned away, his hands and face were bloody. He tossed the eyeball to the ground and stepped on it as if it were a cockroach.

“Badge.”

Badger didn’t move. He could not believe the horror of this day, this year. He was sick and exhausted.

He harbored hatred for Julio Santaveria in his every atom, but this…this freakshow that made him relive his nightmares—made him perpetrate them—he couldn’t make it right in his head. He couldn’t. He understood the debt. He understood that this was the Horde way. He did not judge his brothers. He understood. This was their justice.

But it was not his.

“Badge?” Isaac’s voice was gentle.

“No.”

Isaac came over to him. “Brother?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t. It feels—I can’t. I’m sorry, Isaac. I don’t mean to let you down.”

Isaac looked down at him for a terrifying moment. Badger could not read his eyes. Then his President pulled him into an embrace. “Don’t be sorry for following what you know in your heart is right. There’s never shame in that. You can take ten, little brother.”

“No. I want to stay. I just…can’t do that. Not even to him.” He rubbed his chest. Even through the Kevlar vest he was still wearing, it seemed he could feel the ragged flesh of his scars.

Isaac nodded. “Bart?”

“Yeah. I can.” He walked to the cart and took a large pair of bolt cutters. When Santaveria’s fingers and thumbs were scattered on the floor at their feet, Bart went for the blowtorch.

By the time Isaac walked up to the thing that Julio Santaveria had become, the Horde’s great enemy had lost the ability to make any sound other than a hoarse, halfhearted keen. But, with the help of the ampules Vega had left them, he was conscious. With a silent plea in his one remaining eye, he watched Isaac approach.

Using the long blade he’d worn tied to his thigh, Isaac sliced Santaveria from hip to hip. He did not reach in for his intestines, but they fell out anyway. As the man who had made the orders to perpetrate unspeakable horrors on the Horde and untold others faded from this life, Isaac leaned in and growled, “Paid in full.”