[𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫]: Join Elena and Jake on journey around Los Angeles no one has seen so far, where they battle personal demons and emerge as a reunited cooperators. In a reunion marked by unraveling truths, they confront memories and face a myster...
Grumbling under his breath, he snapped, spraying not just spit but a little blood too.
No shocker there; I'd have a mouthful of blood too after enduring hours of interrogation from someone like me, plus the mix of tortures I threw in along the way.
Ian Jordan, 40, runs one of the largest illegal scooter racing tracks, raking in millions through fake bets, theft, and drugs.
Just your usual social nuisance.
Some wannabe acting tough, got nabbed by yours truly on the first try.
I didn't even have to try, though.
And now he's stuck in this room, surrounded by four dreary grey walls, with nothing but a lone bulb dangling from the ceiling to light up the darkness; strapped down to that old wooden chair, limbs tied tight, back pressed against the icy wall.
Got a bunch of knives stuck into the wall real close to him, like trophies from our little game.
They're everywhere—near his neck, almost slicing his veins; around his head, almost nicking his ears off; by his arms, tempting me to aim for the shoulder; and even under the chair, near his crotch, nearly making me cut his dick off.
Oh, and there's already one buried deep in the middle of his gut, leaving a massive bloodstain on his fancy, yet dirty, white shirt;
Couldn't help myself.
Gotta give credit; he's in that category of hostages who are a bit tougher. Usually, a few close strikes around head are all it takes to give them a heart attack before I even get to the fun stuff.
But not him.
Sitting there all tough, his face battered from the beating I dished out when I nabbed him at the nightclub.
Well, I bet his fancy clothes being all dirty would give him a heart attack long before my knife-play that turns him into my personal dartboard.
He's frontin' all tough, but deep down, it's just a facade.
