Page 20 of Iced Out

“No! NO! God DON’T!! Please DON’T—” His cries twisted into screams as the liquid spilled from the jar in a thin stream and splashed onto his skinned member.

The flesh bubbled and sizzled, the acid burning through the muscle.

The man shrieked, whipping his head from side to side as foamy spit spewed from his mouth. His body convulsed and thrashed against the springs, heedless of the wires grinding into his skin.

Cochise continued to dribble the acid over his cock until most of it had melted away, oozing through the coils in grotesque droplets of dissolved flesh.

The two Spaniards were slightly shocked but impressed by the old-school creativity.

The guest’s convulsions tapered off, an occasional spasm twisting through his body as his screams turned into gagging, bubbly sounds in his throat. Heavy, foamy saliva spilled over his lips and down his chin, draining onto his chest. The man’s eyes glazed and rolled in his head.

But he wasn’t quite gone.

Not just yet.

Cochise grabbed the man’s face, his gloved fingers digging into his jaw. “You still there, motherfucker?” He squeezed until the man flinched and his eyes focused, tears flooding out. “You put your hands on my son. You tried to rape him. Your dick learned its lesson. Now, it’s your hands’ turn.”

“No…” the man protested weakly, barely audible.

“No one put their hands on my kids,” Cochise hissed in his face. He drew back and lifted the jar, pouring the contents over the man’s right hand, then his left, the flesh immediately melting away from the bone. He moved back as the guest found his voice again, his shrill screams bouncing around the guest room with no means of escape.

Cochise took a couple more steps back—then threw the remainder of the acid onto their guest, the deadly liquid splashing his chest and up into his face.

The four gangsters stood side by side, watching the pedophile’s skin and muscle melt away from his skeleton, the last of his screams dying out as his throat dissolved into an oozing flow of waxy flesh.

Rodriguez nodded, unfazed by the gory scene, and whispered, “Nice touch, big guy.”

CHAPTER 9

“Are you doing okay?” Cruz asked from the passenger seat of the Mustang. They had pulled into the driveway of the Santiago mansion moments earlier, but Rodriguez made no move to get out of the car.

The young man stared out the side window, a tightness in his face that hadn’t always been so common for him but had become a constant companion these days. A strand of black hair hung over his brow, damp from his shower back at the Sanitini mansion. “It’s just…” He cleared his throat, then swallowed hard. “… being back in that room.” His throat worked. “I can still see him like it was yesterday, making the scourge for Clint.” His lips pressed tight as his chin trembled. “I told him… I said… it was so fucking sexy.” His chin trembled harder. “He… He laughed and said it was supposed to be scary.”

Cruz looked ahead through the windshield, his eyes swimming as his heart knotted with pain.

“I was like… for our guest, yeah, but for me…” Rodriguez bit his lip, tears welling. “… for me, there was nothing more cock-hardening than watching a man forge weapons of mass destruction. And he said…” Rodriguez choked on a shaky laugh that turned into a sob. “He said… I got a weapon of ass destruction for you.”

Cruz swallowed with a quiet laugh. “I loved his humor. He could always make me laugh.”

Rodriguez buried his face in his hand. “It’s not getting better,” he whispered, brokenly. “I-I feel stuck there, like… like time stopped, and I can’t move forward from that moment.” A sob shuddered through him. “I want to get better… for Darío. But I just… can’t. I don’t know how.” He leaned forward, pressing his face into his arms against the steering wheel. “His last words to me… he said…” Rodriguez shook with sobs. “He said he loved me for real… and he would’ve married me.”

Leaning over, Cruz gently squeezed the back of his neck, allowing the young man to let it out. He had held everything in since losing Greco, never talking about him and walking away whenever someone mentioned him. At Greco’s funeral, Rodriguez stood stone-faced, staring blankly at the ground throughout the service, eyes dry and vacant. Cruz had given the eulogy. Cruz hadn’t seen him shed a tear since they returned from the Canada trip, though he had often heard the young man cry himself to sleep at night.

“He said he’d never loved anyone… before me.” Rodriguez gripped the steering wheel, crying as hard as he had the night Greco was shot. “And he would… he would love me for… eternity.” He let go of the wheel and grabbed Cruz, breaking down as he clung to the man. “What am I gonna do?” he cried into Cruz’s shoulder, shaking badly. “It gets worse every day. It feels like it just happened.” His fingers dug into Cruz’s back. “I-I have panic attacks… at night… I feel like I-I can’t breathe.”

Cruz hugged him tightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You already worry about me too much,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he held onto Cruz like a frightened child.

“Emilio.” Cruz kissed his head. “We’re family. You’re my brother. Don’t ever think you can’t tell me when things are bad. I want to know. Always talk to me, or Papá. Don’t hide these things from us. Promise me.”

“I’ll try.” Rodriguez trembled, pulling out of Cruz’s arms. He wiped his eyes, still leaking tears, and looked out the side window again, his mouth clamped against his fist.

“Come on.” Cruz squeezed his shoulder. “Let’s go inside. I’m sure little Darío misses you.”

Rodriguez nodded, swallowing thickly. “Yeah.” He sniffed. “In a few minutes. You don’t have to wait with me.”

“All right,” Cruz murmured. “But if you wait too long, your little boy will come looking for you.”