The Relic Runner Origin Story Box Set by Ernest Dempsey (non fiction books to read TXT) 📕

That question would have to wait until later. His phone buzzed on the desk. He took his eyes off the computer and looked down at the text from Will.

"Carina Perez," Dak said. "Looks like I'm in for some tequila."

Four

Uruapan

Luis stepped into the dark basement. The sound of water dripping from a leaky faucet in the corner echoed through the room like a slow, persistent hammer. He quickly surveyed the room as he always did, taking in every detail. Even as one of the top men in the organization, Luis knew things could change quickly. A man who was an ally one minute could be the one to stick the knife in your back the next.

His senses always remained on high alert, whether he was eating a bowl of cereal or dolling out punishment on behalf of Mendoza.

Not counting himself, the headcount in the room was five: two of his security men on the right and two on the left, the fifth man sat in a metal chair, hands bound behind him and his feet clamped together with zip ties. Duct tape was wrapped around his belly and lower ribs to keep him firmly attached to the chair.

More duct tape stretched across his mouth, sealing his lips shut. His swollen, bulbous eyes barely allowed the man to see. Luis' men had been thorough in their beatings. If he had to guess, the prisoner probably had a few broken ribs, too.

The man's head sagged so low his chin nearly touched the top of his chest. His black hair was caked in sweat and blood.

Luis moved deeper into the room like a ghost floating above the floor. He stopped a few feet from the chair, hovering menacingly until the man raised his head, staring out through narrow slits.

"Why, Eduardo?" Luis asked.

The gangly man stared back blankly. His white shirt and blue jeans were stained with dirt, sweat, and splotches of blood—the poster child for torture.

Eduardo's breath came in heavy, labored gasps. Exhaustion had set in. Over the last 24 hours, Luis instructed he not be allowed to sleep, knowing that would weaken the man's will to resist the truth.

"I… I didn't—" Eduardo muttered. Spittle and blood spewed out from his lips.

"Yes, you did," Luis interrupted. "Yes, you did." He stepped closer to the prisoner and grabbed him by the back of the skull, propping the man's head up so he could look nowhere else but into Luis' probing brown eyes.

"I swear, Luis. It wasn't me."

Luis cocked his head to the side, feigning sympathy. "Oh? But you were the one who gave us the intel about the convoy. You were the one who told us when they would be passing through that route. You gave us the exact time and location, Eduardo."

He shook the man's head, clutching a fistful of hair, then shoved it down. Luis stood up and cracked his neck in both directions, dusting off his hands at the same time as if that would get the congealed blood off his skin.

"See what you did, Eduardo? You got blood on my hand."

One of the guards stepped forward immediately with a wet rag, extending it out to their general.

Luis accepted the proffered cloth with a nod and worked meticulously at getting his skin squeaky clean before handing it back to the guard.

"Gracias," he said.

The man accepted the gratitude and stepped back into the shadows near a sink to the right. A bucket sat on the floor next to him.

"Do you know what that is?" Luis asked, pointing to a plank five feet away in the middle of the room. It was propped up by cinder blocks, a metal drain cover underneath an ominous clue.

Eduardo barely had the strength to look to his right, but he managed and then brought his gaze back to Luis. "No," he said, weakly turning his head.

Luis squatted down so he looked at eye level. "You see, Eduardo, Senior Mendoza doesn't like traitors." He pouted his lips and bobbed his head as if making a concession. "I realize that in our line of work, that sort of thing is common." He raised a finger. "That doesn't mean we have to accept it."

"I didn't—"

"I wasn't finished," Luis said, raising the back of his hand to threaten further punishment. Eduardo's chest heaved as sobs climbed up into his chest and spat out of his mouth. "I want to know why. I want to know who put you up to this. Give me every detail, Eduardo."

"I swear, Luis. Please!"

Luis drew a long breath through his nostrils and stood up straight again. He flattened his black, button-up shirt and matching pants. "Okay, Eduardo."

He looked over to the guard who had brought the rag and nodded.

The man picked up the bucket at his feet and brought it over. Water sloshed over the sides and splattered on the floor. The other three guards immediately moved to the center of the room and picked up the chair holding Eduardo.

"What… what are you doing?" the prisoner asked, panic suddenly giving him a short burst of energy.

The men positioned the chair legs over the plank and then tilted it until Eduardo was on his back, staring up at the ceiling, head resting on the wooden board.

Luis shifted his feet and looked down at the man. "Have you ever wondered what it feels like to drown, Eduardo? Did you know you can experience this wretched feeling on dry land?"

Eduardo knew then what was about to happen. Dread filled his swollen face and his head rolled back and forth as if that would somehow keep his inevitable fate from knocking.

"No," he blathered. "Please, don't do this, Luis. I've always been loyal."

Luis leaned forward menacingly. He hovered over the man's face for a moment. The smell of sweat, the acrid scent of blood, and the pungent odor of desperate fear hung in the air. "Loyal to who, Eduardito?"

Luis turned to the man with the rag and gave a nod.

Eduardo shouted his protests, twisting his head violently back and