10 The Lighter and the Lever

Mateo's Pov 

The heavy garage door had barely finished shuddering in its frame with a thick and charged silence that left behind a physical presence. Kane stood as a silhouette against the metal, and the click of his lighter was unnaturally loud in the quiet.

"Hey… big guy…"

His head didn't rise, but his gaze snapped up from the task of lighting his cigarette and the flame, a tiny, dancing orange teardrop, hovered just below the unlit tip. But I had his attention since his eyes, glinting in the sudden light, were flat and suspicious.

"Why are the items in the briefcase so important…? And why did your big brother seem so… upset about it?"

He cleared his throat, forming a rough and gravelly sound. 

One hand fiddled nervously with the lighter still in his back pocket. "Uh… They're just weapons he needs to torture you, to make you tell him the truth about who sent you." 

He snapped the lighter shut, plunging his lower face back into shadow. His hands curled into massive, rock-like fists at his sides, and the veins continued to bulge under his skin. 

He clicked his tongue, lowering his voice, but in the dead space of the warehouse, it was still a clear, rumbling mutter. "Who needs weapons when he's got me…? He just doesn't understand me at all."

So the old punk thinks I'm working for one of his rival gangs, I thought. Typical. 

A dry, silent scoff echoed in my mind. But I don't need gangs to bring you down… I'll do it myself if I have to…, I'll bring you all down.

I let him see me take a deep, weary breath. I furrowed my brows, injecting a dose of strained discomfort into my expression. Then, I sent my gaze straight back at him.

"Do you mind taking this off me?" I curled a faint, pained smile and extended my cuffed hands towards him as the metal gleamed dully in the low light. "It's really uncomfortable with the humid space and all."

He finally brought the cigarette to his lips, flaring the lighter to life again. "Why should I listen to your orders?" 

His eyes stayed down, fixed on the flame as he touched it to the tip of the cigarette. It caught, and he took a long, deep drag, making the ember glow in the dimness.

This was it. The moment to play the only card I had.

"Because if you don't…" I deliberately paused, letting the unfinished threat hang in the smoky air between us. I also saw a slight tension seize his shoulders. "...I'll take away your stuff."

The reaction was instantaneous and more potent than I could have hoped. Whatever that 'stuff' might be, it's this guy's panic button.

He froze. The hand holding the cigarette stopped halfway to his lips. 

His wide, and suddenly uncertain, eyes locked onto mine, and with a slow, deliberate movement, he slid the lighter back into his pocket. 

Then, he pulled the freshly lit cigarette from his mouth, holding it pinched between his thick fingers.

He pushed himself off the large door with a slow, purposeful force that screamed of contained power, and each step towards me felt majestic and predatory. 

He halted before me while folding his arms across his barrel chest, and glared down at me with a piercing, simple hatred.

I slowly rose from the iron chair, with the cuffs still dangling from my wrists. I had to raise my head just to meet his gaze, putting me at a distinct disadvantage I couldn’t afford.

He brought the cigarette to his lips for one last, contemptuous drag, then used his thumb to press down on the glowing red ember. 

There was a faint hiss of burning flesh and tobacco, a smell that was oddly, nauseatingly sweet and disturbing. 

He didn’t even flinch. He just flicked the dead stub away, not even glancing as it landed on a dusty, empty shelf.

“No one,” he growled, under that sound rumbling from deep in his chest, “but my big bro takes away my stuff. And no one but my big bro…” He took one final, massive step forward, closing the distance.

And in a flash, his left arm, thick as a railway sleeper, shot out. I saw it coming... I could have twisted away, maybe taken the blow on my shoulder. But I didn’t. I needed that pain. I needed the proximity. Against a man this size, you don't win by dodging.

His hand clamped around my neck, and his steel-cabled fingers dug into the sides of my throat, cutting off the air. 

He squeezed and slightly raised me up, making me scrape my toes for purchase on the floor. I could feel the red throbbing wave and hot pressure building behind my eyes. 

The blood roared in my ears, and spots danced at the edges of my vision.

“For that,” he snarled, pouring his breath containing a foul mix of tobacco and rage towards my face, “I’ll torture you to death myself before my bro comes back... I don’t care about the consequences, small man. I always break anyone who dares to threaten me.”

Okay, I thought, the world was starting to tunnel. Meaning that the pain is just enough, and the distraction is perfect.

I clenched my teeth against the screaming need for oxygen. With what little strength I had, I raised my right leg back, then swung it forward, aiming the hard, sharp edge of my black office shoe directly into his shin. 

Mind you, I desperately put my entire body into it.

Crack!

The sound was sickeningly satisfying. I’m sure he felt the pain, a jolt of pure agony that would have dropped a normal man. But he didn’t flinch. 

He just let out a low grunt, and his grip on my neck tightened even further. 

Damn, he’s really tough.

Blackness was creeping in. This was it. On my last breath, I acted. I stopped trying to pry his hand away. 

Instead, I grabbed onto his massive forearm with both of my cuffed hands, using his own immovable strength as an anchor. 

With a final, guttural cry, I used that leverage to raise both my legs, wrapping them around the very arm that was choking me, and scissored one tightly around his thick neck.

He was surprised, and more importantly, off-balance for a split second. He instinctively used his other arm to grab hold of one of my legs, trying to peel me off. But that’s what I’d been aiming for. 

With one eye battened shut against the pressure in my skull, I managed a pained, bloody grin.

I raised my free leg just above the middle of his head, and with every ounce of will I had left, I swung it back downwards.