“Oh? Consequences? You really think you’re getting out of here alive?”
“I do. I don’t think you’re a cold-blooded killer, Rebel. More’s the pity. I would respect you more if you were, I think.”
There’s only so much of this baiting Rebel will take before he eventually does snap. I’ve only seen it once before, and it was messy and brutal, and it took three weeks to get him to calm down afterward. If we can avoid that outcome, that would be great, but Mother loves to wind a guy up. She teased and tormented me for hours and hours at a time. Difference is, I handled it. Rebel will wrench her head off before he puts up with this much longer.
He slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans, looking around the room like he’s never been in here before and all of this is new to him. Like we haven’t had these kinds of conversations plenty of times before, with plenty of different people. This is the first time we’ve had a ‘chat’ with a woman, but then again Maria Rosa hardly counts. She loves to skin people, for fuck’s sake. She’s wielded the blade herself more times than any of us can count.
Rebel walks over to the container filled with water and plunges the rag he’s holding into it, so that his hand comes up running water everywhere. There’s no showmanship, no bravado. No drawn out production over it. He knows it’s pointless trying to scare Maria Rosa, just like I do. This won’t be about terrifying her into telling us everything she knows about Hector. This will be us bending her to our will, and then when bending doesn’t work, breaking her. And then she’ll tell us.
That undoubtedly makes us evil people, but this is a very unique situation. Maria Rosa really fucked up with that stunt she pulled. She should have gone back to Colombia and continued trafficking her blow. Threatening Rebel and then framing the club? Yeah, that was never going to end well.
“Open wide,” he tells her.
“I’m not normally so eager to please, but…whatever you say, my love.” Maria Rosa opens up, unflinching, unwilling to show that she’s even slightly afraid. Sophia reminds me of her a little, in a way. While Soph is admittedly a little more intimidated by our fucked up world, she wears this look of defiance wherever she goes, like she’s ready to throw down should the need arise. I respect that about her.
Rebel jams the rag into Maria Rosa’s mouth. He then gestures for another one from me. I wet it in the container and hand it over. That goes into her mouth, too. And then another. And another. He’s hitting her with this hardcore. She really won’t be able to breathe in between rounds of water being poured into her mouth, but it doesn’t look like Rebel cares. He kicks out Maria Rosa’s feet from underneath the chair and grabs her by the ankles, pulling her down so that her head is tipped back. The position looks sexual, especially with Rebel standing with one leg either side of hers, but it’s not. He stands like that in order to lift up the heavy water container without tearing open his stitches anymore. Maria gives Rebel a dead-eyed smile around all of the material he’s forcing into her mouth.
He smiles back, holding her face in both of his hands. “What happened to you, Mother?” he asks. He genuinely looks like he wants to know, though there’s a touch of madness to him. “Something fucking terrible must have happened to you.” She looks up at him, not even attempting to speak, not even attempting to answer his question.
He tilts the water canister, and we begin our adventure.
No matter who you are, no matter how strong your will, if someone pours a gallon of water into your mouth when it’s stuffed full of rags, you’re going to choke. You’re going to splutter. You’re going to half drown. Maria Rosa does all of these things as Rebel pours and breaks, pours and breaks with a grim efficiency.
Predictably, she doesn’t tell him a fucking thing. Eventually she loses consciousness. Rebel straightens, glaring down at her limp, soaked body, and shrugs his shoulders. “Well. I guess that was a pointless exercise.”
He sounds way too calm. Frankly, it’s a miracle that he’s functioning on any rational level at all. “You’re not gonna wake her up?”
Rebel grunts, tips his head back, closes his eyes, and then draws in a deep breath. “No. No point. If I carry on with this shit, I won’t be able to stop until she’s fucking dead.”
At least he knows this. That in itself means he’s keeping his shit together. Kind of. “Can you stay with her?” he asks. “When you leave, have Carnie come sit down here and watch both rooms. Make sure Mother and Dela Vega are behaving themselves. In the meantime, do what you have to. Find out what she’s doing in New Mexico, and why the hell she thought it was a good idea to come here.”
“Has to have something to do with Ramirez, right?”
Rebel slowly shakes his head. “Maybe not. Remember that DEA agent she wanted me to sort out for her?”