[18+] - CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
Traumatized by life and grief-stricken, a young ex-soldier returns to his hometown hellbent on pursuing the woman he loves - a woman who is now someone else's fiancée.
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When she was fourteen, Love Johnson wrote a lett...
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He splashed the ice-cold water over Benedict's unconscious face, causing the man to force his eyes open at the sensation. He sucked in a heavy breath, gasping for oxygen. He blinked, struggling against the restraints of the ropes that tied him to a chair in the Fureys' basement. The man groaned, befuddlement masking his fear as he looked around the room, at the white light that fell on his face from a camera Jonathan had placed in front of him.
He squinted, trying to see past the flash in the darkened room. When he noticed Jonathan was sitting across him, his legs spread shoulder width and his elbows resting on his knees with his hoodie up, the fear that had disappeared returned.
Jonathan saw Benedict experience various mental breakdowns as he recalled the incident that led him there.
He had knocked Benedict down, then dragged him to his basement, before tying him to the chair he had brought in from The Fureys' dining room. He then scrounged the condo, upturning every nook of it until he found Benedict's personal belongings, including his phone, laptop, and the various other devices he had in store.
He had then taken his time going through his plan, arranging the setting to his own needs to make it look like an interrogation room rather than a basement with loitered objects around. He had help; Benedict didn't need to know that though. He would find it all out in good time.
"Let me go!" Benedict bellowed, making Jonathan cringe at the sound of his nasal voice. It sounded harsher when he was in panic mode. "You freak! Let me go!"
"Shh..." Jonathan pressed an index finger to his lips, gesturing for the man to be quiet. "You're in no position to negotiate with me, Benedict. It's me who does the talking here."
"Who the fuck is Benedict? I'm Landon Furey!"
"Landon Furey is dead," Jonathan boomed, his voice laced with extreme loathing raising the hair on Benedict's arm. "He has been dead for three years now."
Benedict's face crumpled, his lips quivering in pure fear as he blinked nervously. He was visibly shaking, sweat drops trickling down his face and neck as the white light shone over his face.
"I'm gonna ask this just once, Courtland," Jonathan continued. "Where is the video you recorded of my sister?"
"I...I don't know what you...you're talking about," Benedict stammered, making the chair drag across the floor as he tried to wriggle his way away from Jonathan.
Jonathan worked his jaw, his patience turning thin as he got up to his full height and took hold of the chair Benedict was tied to.
In one swift move, the chair had been brought closer and Jonathan's face was looming over the man.
He trailed his eyes, soaking the fear in Benedict's expression, the agony that made him feel violent with the need to fucking destroy the man.
"The video, Benedict..." he enunciated, slowly this time. "Where. Is. The. Fucking. Video?"
