Dry Your Tears [Z.M]

Nineteen

"Tu chi sei? Per favore, ti dirò quello che vuoi sapere! Non uccidermi per favore, ho una famiglia!" John and Harry stood side by side, both their arms crossed against their chest as they stared amusedly at the Italian bound to a chair in the middle of the room.

"Do you happen to be fluent in Italian?" John asked and Harry chuckled slightly,

"No, I'm not, but I'm pretty sure he's begging us to not kill him."

"Ar, bit of a shame ain't it? He's a handsome lad." John added after eyeing the man up and down, and Harry turned his head curiously towards John upon hearing his words.

"What are you? Gay?" He questioned jokingly and John eyed him with an amused expression.

"Aren't you?" He asked and Harry opened his mouth to speak but not a word came out.

"You two can discuss your interests some other time, for now please shut him up!" Zayn demanded not even bothering to turn around and face them, keeping his gaze out the window towards the thick forestry that surrounded them, Harry didn't hesitate to cover the man's mouth with tape. Zayn let out a sigh, rolling up his sleeves as he moved away from the window and moved towards the little Italian. The man stared at him with wide eyes, sweat dripping down his forehead both from the harsh Mediterranean heat and the fear that coursed through his veins.

"Let's start off easy, what's your name?" Zayn asked, the man looked at him, silence as he waited expectantly. "Oh, my bad." Zayn laughed humorlessly before ripping the duct tape of his mouth with such vigour, the skin around the man's lip started bleeding as he let out a yelp. John and Zayn cackled cruelly at the man while Harry bit his lip, he hated the man and who he worked for but that didn't mean he wanted to see him get tortured.

"Your name?" Zayn asked again, a serious expression on his face.

"Thomas." He whimpered, cowering slightly under Zayn's harsh gaze while still trying to come off as thought.

"Now, Thomas, you understand what I'm saying? Do you speak English?" Thomas nodded weakly, "Good, you're not a complete idiot." Zayn muttered, he grabbed a desk chair and slid it over so that he was now sitting opposite Thomas.

"John, Harry, you may go, I'll call you if I need you." The two men looked at each other before wordlessly leaving the room.

"I have a few questions for you, and I'm going to need you to answer them as honestly as possible or, " Zayn brought out his gun and twirled between his fingers. "I guess we can find out what happens if you don't." He said with a sinister smile. Thomas gulped, staring between Zayn and the gun he was toying with, his legs were trembling and Zayn's intimidating gaze alone, was enough for him to want to piss himself.

"First, where's Olivia?"

"Chi?" Thomas asked in confusion and that was enough for Zayn to draw back his fist and hit him square in the nose. His head flew backwards, vision blurry as he blinked and tried to ignore the pounding in his nose as blood dripped down on to his clothes.

"Don't fucking play games with me. " He seethed angrily, a strong hand wrapped around the man's neck, his enraged eyes staring into that of Thomas, filled with fear.

"I-I swear, I swear I'm not playing games with you. I don't know who you are talking about." Thomas pleaded, crying like a child. Zayn released his neck, grabbing a picture from his pocket and putting it up in front of Thomas.

"T-that's me." He stammered and Zayn rolled his eyes.

"No, it's my fucking Grandma, no shit it's you." He quipped back harshly and Thomas kept his mouth shut. "This picture was taken of you about a week ago, you took a phone call and then the same day you came to England, to my town, asked a few pretty questions about Olivia, the person you claim not to know, and then came back. Thomas, I'm going to ask you again, and it's the last time I'll ask kindly. Where's Olivia?"