TAKEOVER

15

"I don't know what you're," a fist landed on Stan's jaw before he could even finish, his head snapped to the side. Stan grunted

"Let's not waste time here, kid. Tell me what you were doing with the Kosmas family," the tall guy ordered. But Stan was too consumed by the pain inflicted on his face to even hear some of the words; a high-pitched sound reverberated in his ears.

"Enough talk, Sam," the short one answered, as he stepped forward. He grabbed a handful of hair and he yanked, forcing Stan to face him.

"It seems he needs a little. Push"

Another whack to the jaw followed suit; blood splattered on the floor. The pain was becoming unbearable, and his breathing laboured, shallow, almost forced.

"P-please" Stan didn't realise how much his voice was shaking. He couldn't think straight; every plan he had had gone through the window, and the only thing he could think of was.

I'm going to die.

"We need him alive, Rama."

Rama scoffed. "This little shit? I don't think the boss will even ask for him." His palm connected with Stan's cheek as he finished the sentence. Pain radiated throughout his whole face; a weak scream escaped Stan's lips.

Rama chuckled, a sinister smirk on his face. "Scream all you want, but nobody's coming to save you."

All hope was lost. Stan's mind was blank; the situation he was in was inescapable. Even if he was to snitch and tell them about the books, he knew that would only mean speeding up his execution.

He had no means of escape. If he spoke, Isack and Matthew were going to end him. And if he didn't, the two captors in front of him surely were going to end him too.

His mind drifted to Martha; he wasn't going to see her ever again. He had lost his chance to apologise; he couldn't tell her how he felt. Her brown eyes, the curly hair, her face, her lips. He wasn't going to see her ever again.

No.

"I....I'll talk," he mumbled, his throat dried with every sentence, making his voice hoarse. His eyes felt heavier with every passing second.

"Now," Rama crouched, a grin on his face. "Was that so hard?"

The dim flickering light above cast a shadow over his face, and Stan's eyesight had become blurry. He mumbled something that Rama couldn't hear purposely.

"Speak up, you little shit," he struck at his ribs; a small snap followed. Stan gritted his teeth as he struggled to catch his breath. The metallic tang of blood had become strong in his mouth, and his body ached all over from the beating he had endured.

Why me?

Why should I suffer?

Why me?

Stan could feel his resolve crumbling with every minute. The looming doom pressed down on him, like a weight that suffocated his chest.

"C...C...Closer," Stan whispered in a low voice.

"Wait. He's trying to say something." Sam interrupted Rama as he was readying for another strike. He pushed Rama aside and crouched down, leaning closer to Stan.

"Speak up!," Rama ordered.

In a swift motion. Stan lurched forward, the ropes dug into his skin, and pain increased with every movement. He bit down on Sam's ear as hard as he could; a metallic flavour filled his mouth.

Sam let out a scream, which startled Rama for a moment. Sam grabbed Stan's throat and squeezed, which was able to stop him from ripping out his ear.

"You little shit!" He squeezed, now with both arms.

Stan struggled. He could feel his consciousness slip away; the room started spinning in his eyes, with every detail around him becoming a blur.

"Sam!"

Stan presumed it was Rama; he couldn't see anything by then. His eyes now had become so heavy he couldn't keep them open, and with a final glance at the door.

He gave in.

***
Roger was first to step through the wooden doors of the bar, followed by Matthew and the two enforcers. The room was alive with the murmur of conversation and the occasional laughter.

The recently polished counter was at the far right, facing the crowd, which consisted of randomly set tables and chairs, and a door beside the counter that Roger presumably thought led to the back rooms, which were mostly for people who wanted to continue the party more intimately.

The room reeked of cheap cologne and beer; the clicking of glasses and shifting of tables filled the room.

Roger smirked as he saw the bartender behind the counter; he was well in his mid-fifties, and his hair clearly had diminished, but his build was still intimidating; anyone with experience in the business knew him. He was probably the only one that kept the bar from becoming a war zone, and Roger respected that.

"Well, well, well," the bartender said as Roger and Co. reached the counter.

"It's been a while, Stephen," Roger asked, a small, forced smile on his lips.

Isack inspected the bartender. From the way Roger and Matthew were acting with the bartender, they were acquainted with each other. He also noticed some knife scars on his forearms, as well as how big his knuckles were. If anything, the bartender was no pushover.

He shifted his gaze to the crowd.

"Two years is more than a while. You owe me an apology present. How about donating some dough to renovate this dump?"

"Done," Roger answered, their gazes transfixed on each other. "You remember Matthew, right?"

"Of course!. How can I forget the one that almost put me out of business?" Matthew's eyes rolled playfully.

"Come on. It was an accident!" Mathew protested

"Accident my ass!" Stephen threw a white cloth over his shoulder. "So. What can I do for you?"

Roger leaned in. "My intel tells me some idiots took one of mine. I'm here to teach a lesson."

Stephen's expression remained emotionless.

"I think you're mistaken," he calmly answered.

Matthew reached for his wallet and pulled out a bundle of red 10k notes. He didn't bother counting, as he slid it slowly across the counter.

"How about now?"

Stephen stared at the cash on the table for a while.

"Nope, sorry guys."

Matthew took out the rest of the cash in his wallet and added on the one already on the counter, a questioning glance at Stephen as he put the money on the counter.

Stephen stared at the money for a moment before returning his gaze to Roger and Matthew.

"Second door to the right."

Roger and Matthew headed for the door beside the counter. But Matthew noticed the two enforcers weren't behind them; he headed in anyway.

Protecting the boss was his first priority.

"Rog, maybe you should wait in the car. You've already done enough."

The door led to a long hallway, with dim lights that flickered above; the air was filled with arousal and bed screeching. Roger headed straight for the door Stephen had told them; he stopped at the door.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," Matthew answered.

"Do you think I became the leader of this family by standing on the sidelines as my men took care of everything?"

Mathew paused for a bit. Although Mathew never liked Roger being alone, especially now at the eve of a full war, some low-life criminals may take their shot to rise to fame by taking him out. That's how dangerous this business was. The bigger you are, the bigger the target on your back. And the target behind Roger's back was enormous.

But Roger wasn't the type of guy to order people around; he liked to be the example to his men. That was what made the family formidable during its early days. A family that fought as one.

"No, but we have to be careful."

Roger chuckled and faced Matthew.

"It's just a clean-up job. Besides, it's not like I can't handle a few kidnappers," he let out a smile.

A scream echoed through the room. It originated from the room facing the one that they were told by Stephen.

The two shared a glance for a moment; no words were spoken, but each understood their roles.

Roger turned to the room where the scream originated from and, in a swift motion, kicked the door open, almost ripping it from the frame.

The two gentlemen in suits turned to face the duo, and they were startled to say the least. They surely hadn't expected the bosses of the Kosmas family to show up. One of the two was holding his ear, which was bleeding; he was probably the one that screamed thought Roger.

In the middle of the room sat Stan. He was slumped, his face bloodied and bruised, his arms tied tightly on the armrest, same with his legs and chest. But he wasn't moving.

Matthew's jaws tightened.

Roger stepped inside, his gaze focused on the two men standing before him.

"Gentlemen, I see you have what is mine," the two men took a step back. "I have come to collect."