"Don't touch me!" I screamed, crossing my hands in front of me as a shield.
He chuckled darkly.
Not bothering to listen to anything I just said and ignoring my actions, he brought his hands to my face.
"And tell me, what are you gonna do?" he says a...
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The basement was a pit of shadows and concrete, a fitting home for the sort of business I conducted in the dark. The flickering light bulb overhead barely illuminated the grimy walls, but it cast enough shadow to hide the truths I preferred to keep hidden. I descended the stairs with deliberate slowness, each step echoing like a death knell in the silence. Ian and Spencer followed closely behind, their muscles taut under the strain as they contained the struggling figure flailing between them.
With a grunt, they tossed the hostage onto the floor of the small, concrete room. He landed hard, the thud echoing off the walls, and for a moment, he lay there, dazed and gasping, disoriented. I stood, arms crossed, observing him with a chilling detachment , a predator tasting the fear of its prey.
The kid squirmed, shooting anxious glances at my men, his breaths quickening like he was trying to determine if he could still find a way out of this nightmare. But there was no escape from here. Not for him, not tonight.
"Pick him up,"I said, my voice low and steady, devoid of impatience. Blaine stepped forward, his expression grim as he grabbed the hostage and pressed him against the cold concrete wall, the glint of malice in his eyes reflecting my own. The kid looked like a deer caught in headlights, dread spilling over him as he realized he had no power here.
"Who do you work for?" I demanded, my tone colder than the space we occupied. He opened his mouth, restraint flickering in the depths of his terror—only to have it snuffed out.
"F*ck you!" he spat, his resistance a flicker of flame in the face of my wrath. I couldn't help but admire his spirit, but spirit did little against the methods I was prepared to utilize.
"Strip him," I commanded, an icy tone coating my words.
With a swift motion, Blaine tore away the kid's shirt, exposing skin marked by the grime of the streets. The atmosphere thickened as I pulled a lighter from my pocket, igniting the flame and holding it upwards. The flickering light danced unnaturally on his bare flesh, illuminating the fear etched in his eyes.
"You think you're brave?" I queried, stepping closer, letting my voice slither through the despair thickening the air. "Let's test that." The flame hovered precariously near his collarbone, the heat noticeable close enough to cause him to recoil.
He flinched, eyes widening as I brought it dangerously close. It would only take a second, a moment of weakness, and I'd make my point. His body trembled, yet he remained silent, a small victory in his battle against fear that I would not allow.
"Rasheed's kid, aren't you?"
The chill in my words sent another wave of silence crashing into the room. I savored the realization that splintered in my mind—a bitter taste of vengeance that boiled beneath my stoic exterior. This was no mere hostage; he was a direct line to my enemy, the one bold enough to challenge me.
The room was thick with tension, the kind that wrapped around you like a suffocating fog, and as the words left my mouth, I could see it register in his eyes—the recognition, the dread. It was almost poetic, really, the way fate had twisted this moment into something darkly significant.
