𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 || 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐨

Chapter Fourty one

Joshua sped through the dimly lit streets, his bloodstained clothes clinging to his skin, the smell of iron heavy in the air. His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, his veins bulging in his arms, tension coiling tightly in every muscle. His bloodshot eyes, wide and unblinking, showed the madness lurking beneath his skin—a madness driven by fear and desperation. He hadn’t slept for days, maybe even weeks. The exhaustion gnawed at him, but none of it mattered right now.

Seokmin had been taken.

Joshua’s heart pounded against his ribs like a war drum, the weight of his gun in his jacket pressing heavily against his side. The image of Seokmin’s face burned into his mind—his smile, his soft laughter, the way he used to look at him when they still had a chance at something more. But now, all Joshua could imagine was Seokmin in danger, at the mercy of someone cruel. The thought made his blood boil.

His car screeched to a halt at the entrance of a narrow, shadowed alleyway. This was the place. He had gotten word that Seokmin was here, held by men who knew too well how to break a person. Without a second thought, Joshua got out, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun. He moved slowly, cautiously, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of danger. The dim glow of streetlights barely touched the darkness ahead, and the silence was deafening.

Just as he took a step forward, a shadow moved. Joshua barely had time to react before he felt two sets of large, rough hands pin him to the wall. His head slammed against the brick, stars dancing in his vision. His gun was knocked out of his grip, clattering uselessly to the ground.

Before he could gather his senses, fists started pounding into his stomach, ribs, and face. The men were enormous, their fists like sledgehammers, and each hit sent waves of pain through Joshua’s body. He grunted in agony, trying to fight back, but the strength of these men was overwhelming. They were too big, too strong.

I can’t escape like this.

But the worst came when he felt one of the men’s hands slide down his body, fingers groping at his waist, tugging at his shirt. The man’s breath was hot and disgusting against Joshua’s neck, muttering something vile—slurs and insults in Italian.

"Slut," one of them growled, his breath reeking of alcohol. "What a nice body... just like they said."

Joshua’s skin crawled as their hands roamed lower, tugging at his clothes, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Panic flooded him, but he forced himself to remain calm. He knew he couldn’t overpower them, not with brute strength. He had to outsmart them.

So he played along.

He went limp in their hold, letting his body go slack as if he had given up. The men smirked, their grip loosening slightly as they fell for his act. Joshua’s mind raced. He was running out of time.

As one of the men leaned in closer, distracted by Joshua’s apparent submission, Joshua’s fingers slowly slid into his pocket, feeling the cold steel of his knife. In one swift motion, he struck. The blade flashed under the moonlight, and before either man could react, Joshua had slit both their throats with surgical precision.

They fell to the ground, gurgling and choking on their own blood as Joshua stood over them, panting heavily. His face was bruised, his vision blurry, but the fury in his eyes burned bright. He spit on their lifeless bodies, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Horny bastards," he spat, his voice cold and sharp.

But before he could gather himself, a shadow loomed behind him. Joshua turned, but it was too late. Another man—bigger, stronger—grabbed him by the throat and slammed him to the ground. The force knocked the wind out of Joshua, and his vision darkened as the man’s massive hands wrapped around his neck, squeezing with brutal force.