Swamp Murder

Swamp Murder. 72

Zhan's Pov.

Wang disappeared down the hall without a word, and when he came back, he was dragging a heavy black duffel bag. He dropped it on the floor in front of Ziyi with a dull thud. The zipper ripped open, and the contents gleamed under the lights, handcuffs, knives, syringes filled with clear and colored liquids.

Ziyi's smirk faltered, her mask of bravado cracking just a little.

Without hesitation, Wang yanked her from the chair, twisted her arms behind her back, and cuffed her wrists. She thrashed, but it was useless, the steel bit into her skin as he strapped her legs apart, each ankle cuffed to the chair legs. The image was raw, humiliating, and she knew it.

He picked up one of the knives, the blade catching the light, and leaned close. Slowly, deliberately, he cut through her red dress. The fabric split, sliding down her shoulders, exposing her in nothing but her bra and panties.

The look in her eyes, fear laced with disbelief was almost satisfying. She thought he would stab her. She thought her life would end right there.

Wang crouched, his voice calm, almost gentle. "I'll ask you a question. You will answer correctly. If you don't, you get one of these injections." He tapped a syringe, the needle gleaming. "Do you know what they do?"

Her lip curled. Even chained, even stripped, she found a way to sneer. "You're just a sick boy. A child whose parents didn't give him time. Then you met a wretched little whore who gave you attention, and now you think you're dangerous."

Wang's smile stretched wider, sharp as glass. "I like that," he murmured. "But I do the talking. You answer."

And before she could spit another insult, he drove one of the syringes into her thigh.

She screamed, the sound piercing, echoing off the walls as her body jerked violently against the cuffs.

I swallowed hard, watching the life drain from her arrogance, and for the first time, I almost felt pity. Almost.

Surprisingly, her body slumped forward, knocked out cold. Wang didn't even flinch. He calmly drew another syringe and plunged it into her again.

Her eyes snapped open instantly, chest heaving, sweat beading across her forehead. "What the fuck was that?" she spat, panic bleeding through her bravado.

"One puts you to sleep," Wang said evenly, holding up the empty syringe, "the other rips you awake. But your heart—" he tapped her chest with the needle cap, "can only take so much before it bursts. So, I ask questions. You answer. Simple."

Her throat bobbed. For the first time, the fear in her voice was unmistakable. "O-Okay..."

"Good." His smile was thin, deadly. "How many people did you push into the swamp?"

She clenched her jaw. "I don't remember."

Without hesitation, Wang slid another injection into her thigh. Her body went limp, and five minutes later, he pierced her again, jolting her awake with a strangled gasp.

"You bloody psycho!" she screeched, thrashing weakly against the cuffs.

"How many?" he repeated, his voice calm, patient, cruel.

"I don't remember, I swear I don't," she gasped, her voice cracking. "I wasn't keeping tabs. I only did it because of the look on Zhan's face."

My stomach twisted, but Wang's voice cut in, calm and cold. "You pushed them into the swamp... just because he looked terrified?"