Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
He won't be leaving the basement, and the kid already knows that. The only thing left in his control is how painful his death will be. If he gives us the answers we need, I can end it with a single bullet between the eyes. If he wants to give me problems, then I can draw out his pain.
Much like fucking, I can be a very patient man with killing.
“Is there a reason this became a family issue?” I ask him, wondering why our made men aren’t breaking the kid. If he was in worse condition, I would assume our high-ranking men could not break him. Instead, he’s tied to our chair.
“He hinted the information Petrov was after was more personal this time. He admitted to telling him about shipment times, but apparently, Petrov wanted information a little closer to the family. That’s when the kid got caught. He was trying to snoop for information he didn’t need,” Andy tells me. I nod my head. Arrogance is a tricky thing. It’s necessary for the confidence needed to survive in this kind of work. Too much, and confidence becomes recklessness.
Despite the busted lip, black eye, and bloody fingernail beds where there should be nails, the kid has the audacity to give me a cocky ass smile when I walk into the room. He’s going to keep me out of bed for far longer than I want to be.
And here I was, hoping for a peaceful night.
“Why don’t we make this quick? You tell me what information you were snooping around for to give to Petrov, and I put a bullet between your eyes and call it a day,” I tell him. This is his only opportunity. If he doesn’t give me the information I need, I won’t waste time building rapport. The kid chuckles, shaking his head.
“You’re fucking crazy,” he tells me. He spits the words, and I have to lean back to avoid being within spraying distance.
His choice is obvious. Not bothering to waste time playing games, I bring my heavy boot down on his bare foot, no doubt breaking several bones as he cries out. He grits his teeth together, tears welling in his eyes as he spits at me.
“You think that’s the way to get someone to talk? Maybe you should try wining and dining me first.”
The cocky little fuck. If I had my way, I would just beat him to death. He already lost the privilege of dying by a bullet. “You think you’re in charge here?” I ask him, walking over to the fireplace that already has a fire burning in it. I pick up a metal brand and heat it. The metal turns from black to red before I bring it to the kid. Andy, reading my movements, cuts his clothes off.
I’ll start with his calves, and every time he’s smart with me, I’ll move the hot brand up higher. By the time it gets to his upper thigh, I’m sure he’ll figure out where it would go if he doesn’t talk.
“Tie me up and cut off my clothes? I heard you didn’t fuck your wife after you got married, and I think I know why now,” he growls at Andy. Andy quirks an eyebrow at him.
“Do you think insinuating I’m gay is an insult? Or is the insult thinking I would ever be interested in you? Trust me, I could pull much better,” Andy replies.
Petrov went for the wrong man. Anyone capable of getting sensitive information would realize Andy’s brother is gay, and he doesn’t find it insulting to have his sexuality questioned.
I press the hot metal into his skin just barely above his ankle. He hisses out while Andy moves a heating lamp towards us. Sure, using a hot metal brand is painful, but the constant heat on freshly burned skin is excruciating.
For good measure, I slap him hard enough that Andy flinches at the unexpected noise. The movement catches him off guard, and he must bite his tongue pretty hard because a trail of blood rolls out of his mouth.
“Being a stubborn ass isn’t working out well for you,” I tell him as I heat the metal brand again. “Want to try a different method now?”
“Fuck you.”
The metal rod needs more time to heat, so Andy jumps in, bringing a bat down on his arm. The bat breaks, and so does his arm. Thank fuck for soundproofing because his scream is enough to wake the entire house. Before he has time to get his bearings, I bring the hot rod back to his calf, this time closer to the knee.
“Your fiancée,” he cries out as I pull it away from his skin. The word takes a moment to register in my mind as I try to interpret whether he’s answering the question or trying to get out another insult.