🔱 BROKEN 🔱
A feeling of hopelessness, loneliness and despair. A feeling that leaves a person empty, blank and stone cold because of it. Usually accompanied by a lack of self worth.
Cause: Trauma, depression or loss of a loved one. Sometimes all of...
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《Seb Aesthetic Above》
He scowled and looked to his right at the guy next to him. He was seated casually on his chair, barely saying anything ever since they caught the pleading man in front of them.
Seb gritted his teeth and looked back at the man, his eyes following the gush of blood running down from the side of his right eyebrow to his cheek, chin and dripping down his white shirt.
Brock stood by the man his hand resting on his seat as he leaned back on the wall behind him. The man was tied up and the cloth that had been over his mouth now on his neck, simply resting there and not necessarily choking him; not yet anyway.
"I—I don't know, I—."
Eros sighed and leaned back on his seat, crossing his arms,
"The truth." He said, watching the shaking man.
Vincent looked away, his teeth gritting, "I can't believe he sent kids to come after me."
Eros looked at Brock who nodded and took out his retractable knife, his face blank as he walked in front of the man, bending his knees so he was eye level with him. He tilted his head to the side and held the knife up at the guys face. Vincent stiffened,
"Last chance to talk and walk away from this." Brock said.
The man searched his gaze for a while before he scoffed stubbornly. Brock huffed and brought the sharp point of his knife to the man's throat applying no pressure as he trailed it down to in between the man's collar bone then trailed a path to the man's left breast through his white shirt.
"Do you really want me to cut you open while you're conscious?" Brock asked, his eyes darkening as he held himself back.
"You won'tdo shıt."
Brock gritted his teeth and maneuvered his right hand—the one with the knife—and pushed it through the chair; right between the man's little and ring fingers. Vincent let out a startled noise from the back of his throat as he jumped slightly.
"Talk." Brock gritted out, "—where is he?" He added, tired of playing soft.
Vincent gaped, colour draining on his face as he realised he really was screwed. This wasn't a joke, the three gentlemen in front of him were actually going to kill him. He gulped.
Brock gritted his teeth and pulled the knife off roughly before he brought the sharp edge to his throat, this time adding pressure. The man gritted his teeth as the knife pierced through the skin of his neck.
A wave of satisfaction rushed through Brock as blood begun to trickle down his neck, he pushed the knife deeper. Vincent panicked and his eyes widened,
