FALLEN | The Devil of Caracas

Chapter 18 | Diego Perez

Her heart pumps harder in anticipation of the coming agony. Her mind races. Can she risk the lives of her friends? Would it really end her suffering?

She turns her eyes from the device and stares down her oppressor. She slows her breathing. She focuses on his eyes. She bares her teeth. Then finally, she lets out a defiant, "Go fuck yourself."

Lexi braces. Her eyes close. Her jaw clenches.

He drives the taser into her stomach, just above the belt, and holds it there. Again, her body stiffens and she's unable to fight against it. He holds it there longer than before. A lifetime, in her mind.

Finally, he pulls it away and her body sinks low. The rope tightens. She's desperate for oxygen, but struggles to stand. Her trembling legs push her body upward, just enough to suck down a few gulps of air. Tears form in her eyes, as she continues to gasp.

Then the wet towel stifles her breathing again. The process starts over. Her tormentors cycle between methods of agony over and over again. The taser assaults her again and again. The rope strangles her. The wooden baton beats nearly every available inch of her body.

Something warm spreads along her inner thighs; her body has betrayed her and emptied its bladder without her consent. She's breaking down.

The door bursts open and three figures move into the room. Lexi's vision is blurred through her tears. She blinks rapidly, as the three men come into focus. The first one through the door approaches her. She recognizes the face immediately. His dark hair, speckled with gray, and the thick black mustache hanging over his upper lip match the profile she and her team were provided - Diego Perez. The target.

He wears a button-down shirt, tucked into a pair of black slacks. His shoes look well polished and shine in the poorly lit room. He's a stout man. Barreled chested and perhaps only five-foot-eight-inches. But he compensates his height in the authoritative way he carries himself. His presence immediately demands respect from his subordinates. 

On either side of Perez stand two men. They both appear to be seasoned fighters, but from starkly different worlds.

On his left hand, stands Tex. His thick beard is trimmed to a narrow point like a greek philosopher. He wears a green tactical vest over his T-shirt, as well as a pair of light-blue jeans. The American carries an M4-Carbine rifle, hanging from a sling across his chest.

On Perez's right, stands Nicolás. His dark features are contrasted by the American. His jet black, medium length hair is slicked back and he adorns a well-groomed goatee. He too wears civilian clothes, a black tactical vest, and carries an AK-103.

Perez steps in front of Lexi and stares into her bruised eyes. After a long moment he finally speaks.

"You seem to have made a mess of my home," he says, attempting to suppress his anger. Still looking at her, he asks the interrogators, "What has she told you?"

"Nothing yet. We've only just started," says the interrogator, still holding the taser in his hand. "Give me some time with her. We'll find her friends."

"I don't care about the others," replies Perez, maintaining eye contact with Lexi. "I want to know who hired her."

The room is silent, aside from Lexi's heavy panting and the sporadic rocking of the stool.

"Now go ahead and tell me who hired you... and we can make the suffering disappear," he addresses Lexi. "You can go home."

Lexi continues to breath heavily. 'Go home?' she thinks to herself. 'What kind of bullshit is that?'