Hector was a tough bastard, I’ll give him that, sabes? Most fools pass out the second they lose a shoe, let alone half a fuckin' leg. But this guy? He clutched his bloody stump, gritted his gold teeth, and spat a thick wad of red spit right onto the toe of my boot.
"Fuck you, pussy," he gasped, his eyes wild with adrenaline and sweat. "Cruz is gonna skin you alive... you ain't getting shit out of me."
I couldn't help it, bro—I laughed. A big, dark belly laugh that echoed through the burning timber behind us.
"Órale, respect, homie," I whispered, kneeling down so close our foreheads were almost touching. "I respect a guy who doesn't bitch out right away. Makes the work feel meaningful."
I didn't reach for the heavy bowie. I brought up my serrated karambit—that curved, gut-hooking little devil designed for surgical precision. I took his left hand, pinned his wrist flat against the oak bark, and slid the hooked edge right under his thumbnail.
Pop.
Hector shrieked, his whole body violently convulsing against the trunk, but I held him solid as a rock.
"Let's try again, Hector," I said, my voice smooth, calm, and completely unbothered by the screaming. "Where’s Cruz setting up his main camp?"
He shook his head, cursing in Spanish, screaming bloody murder, trying to bite my forearm. So I kept working. I carved a slow, neat line right down his forearm, peeling back layer after layer of skin and meat like I was prepping a section of heavy canvas. Blood soaked into the dry dirt, hot and metallic, filling the cool night air. Ten minutes went by. Then fifteen. The guy took a beating that would’ve made a lesser man faint three times over. He held out longer than any of Cruz's other grunts ever could. I actually admired the grit, dog—it’s rare to find somebody with that kind of fight left in 'em when the steel starts biting deep.
But like I always say... everybody cracks. It's just simple math and anatomy.
By the time I started gently tapping the exposed nerve cluster near his elbow with the flat side of the blade, Hector broke into a desperate, sobbing mess.
"The gravel quarry!" he wept, his voice cracking into a high-pitched squeal. "The old rock crushing plant off the main highway! Cruz... Cruz is in the main office building on the second floor! Fifty guys... heavy machine guns on the watchtowers... two armored humvees at the front gate! I swear to God, that's everything! Please, man... just kill me!"
"See?" I smiled, patting his sweaty, blood-stained cheek. "Was that so hard? Good talk, homie."
I stood up and brought the sharp edge across his throat in one clean, merciful slice. Sssssk. He went limp against the tree, his eyes staring blankly at the moon.
Now, it was time to craft the message.
I walked over to the flatbed truck idling at the edge of the wreck—miraculously, the engine was still thrumming, the front bumper just a little banged up. I dragged Hector's heavy body across the dirt, hoisted him up, and flipped him over into the truck bed. I pulled his big gold chain off his neck and wrapped it tight around his cold, bloody knuckles.
Then I grabbed a slab of thick cardboard from the cab, dipped my finger straight into the warm pool of blood on the tailgate, and wrote out a message that was gonna make Cruz pull his fucking hair out and lose his mind:
"HEY BITCH. YOUR THREE DOGS DIE EASY, AND YOUR LIEUTENANT CRIED LIKE A LITTLE GIRL BEFORE I TOOK HIS LEG AND HIS THROAT. I'M CARVING MY WAY TO YOUR OFFICE NEXT, YOU COCKSUCKER. GET ON YOUR KNEES AND PRAY."
I pinned the cardboard straight into Hector’s chest with one of my throwers—right through his tactical vest—so it'd be the first thing Cruz sees when he pulls back the tarp.
I jammed a heavy cinderblock onto the gas pedal, tossed the transmission into drive, and slammed the door shut.
VROOOM!
The flatbed roared to life, tires screaming on the asphalt, barreling down the winding mountain road like an unguided missile straight toward that gravel quarry. Cruz was gonna hear that engine coming from a mile away, thinking his boys were rolling back victorious. Instead, he was gonna open up that truck and find his top lieutenant chopped to pieces with a note letting him know his time was up.
He was gonna be pissed off beyond belief, bro—rage burning his chest—but when he looks at the way I carved Hector up? When he realizes those booby traps swallowed his whole advance squad without me even taking a scratch? That motherfucker’s heart is gonna freeze right in his ribs, sabes? He’s gonna realize he ain't dealing with no ordinary recruit no more.
I racked a 3-inch magnum slug into my 12-gauge shotgun, adjusted my tactical vest, and started walking down the ridge through the dark shadows.
Time to crash the party, dog.