Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 100063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
That motherfucker.
But he’d deal with the back-stabbing giant later. Now was all about taking off the head of the snake.
Once Montilla entered the bedroom, One-Mile slipped out of the shadows and crept across the floor toward him.
His heart revved. He gritted his teeth and put a chokehold on his fury. God, he’d love to raise his gun and double-tap the slimy son of a bitch. It sucked that he couldn’t.
A few feet in front of him, the drug lord eased toward the bed, bare hands outstretched menacingly, then yanked back the blankets on the big bed. “Get ready to die, bitch!”
“Sorry. You get me instead.” Before Montilla could whirl and attack, One-Mile smacked the drug lord on the head with the butt of his weapon. The sadistic bastard crumpled to the ground.
Time to take this fucker down a few notches…
Yes, he should just call the cops and wait for them to come arrest Montilla. But where was the fun in that?
Besides, he’d come so far and given the silent bird to so many people just to have a few minutes of quality time with this fucking asswipe. One-Mile intended to enjoy every moment.
He withdrew a blade from his pocket and cut off Montilla’s shirt. Then, with a smile, he hogtied the son of a bitch—one of the many useful skills his granddad had taught him during his summers in Wyoming—and hauled him to the bathtub, setting him facedown. He closed the tub’s stopper and flipped on the cold water.
Montilla came up howling and sputtering in the dark. “Son of a bitch! Who are you? What do you want?”
“Shut the fuck up and listen, Emilo. First, you’re never getting your hands on Valeria or Laila again. I’ve made damn sure of that. Second, I owe you for the sparkling hospitality you showed me in Mexico.”
“Walker?” When One-Mile flipped on the glaring overhead light, Montilla turned his head and met his gaze with a scowl. “Let me go, and I might allow you to live.”
“I don’t think so, you lying sack of shit. You almost killed me the first time. But I’m going to be a nice guy and show you a little mercy. Not much…but you’ll live. I think. If not? Oops.”
With a chuckle, he splashed water across Montilla’s back, dipped the sponge-cushioned clamps of jumper cables under the tub’s spray, then hauled the car battery he’d procured near his feet. Finally, he attached the cables to the top of the power source.
As he leaned in, Montilla’s eyes went wide. “No!”
“Oh, yeah.” He laid the wet sponges coursing with electric current against Montilla’s ribs.
The asshole jolted, bowed, and screamed before he sniveled and begged.
After a satisfying series of uncontrolled twitches and a hint of burning flesh, One-Mile lifted the jumper cables away. “Are we clear?”
Montilla panted. “I will kill you.”
“Those are big words for a guy with his wrists attached to his ankles behind his back. Besides, you’re on US soil now, motherfucker. I’m sure the feds would be very interested in knowing your location…”
Montilla spit at him, his eyes full of fire and hate. “Killing is too good for you. I will capture your family and torture them slowly until they die like the pleading, whimpering dogs they are.”
“Wow. That sounds really dramatic. I’ll bet that threat usually works well—on other people. Me? Sorry. I don’t have any family.”
“Every man has a weakness. I will find those you hold dear and—”
One-Mile jabbed the wet jumper cables against his ribs again and listened to Montilla scream. “Shut up. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that acting like a dick won’t make yours bigger?”
After a few more seconds of uncontrollable jolting and hair burning, One-Mile retracted the cables.
Montilla panted as his body went limp—until he realized he was belly down and face first in a tub with the water level rising steadily.
“Turn it off!” the drug lord demanded.
“Because I’m a good guy, I’ll show you more mercy than you showed me.” One-Mile turned the water flow down but not off.
Montilla eyed the still-rising water. “Are you trying to drown me, you crazy bastard?”
“I’d be doing the world a favor, but no.”
The drug lord ripped a murderous stare in his direction. “I will find those you love and make them suffer.”
“Blah, blah, blah. If you can’t shut the fuck up, I might have to rest my boot on your head for a few minutes. You know, with your face in the water. Just until you stop breathing.”
Montilla jerked and cursed. “I heard that, when you were in the hospital, there was a pretty brunette who never left your bedside. My men said you were smitten.”
One-Mile froze. Montilla’s thugs had seen Brea?
He tried not to show any reaction. “She’s not mine. Girlfriend of a teammate. I don’t do permanent, and I don’t believe in love.”
Well, the old him hadn’t. Brea had changed him.