Parties and late night drunken states meant everything when it came to Clover Paige; especially if it meant leaving her wild thoughts behind and losing herself in a bottle of Jack Daniels. Her name is just an illusion, you would think anyone named C...
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"If not for fear, sin would be sweet." - proverb
SWEAT AND SIN rolled off his back like it had no business being there. Weston Knight had always been a troubled man, and tonight was no different than a regular Saturday night with the boys. A small glass of gin rested well in his left hand. The young man currently was dressed up in a black suit that hugged every right place and shouted 'rich' and 'dangerous.'
"I'm going to ask you one more time —" he began, his tongue rolling with hidden threats that would shaken up almost anybody. Weston cracked his neck before settling his dark brown eyes back on his person of interest. "— where are your men hiding the documents?"
The man he was speaking to, whom was covered in his own blood and bruises, grunted and spat on the floor. "I don't know, why don't you ask your mother?"
Weston's demeanor didn't change, which wasn't surprising, but what came out as shocking was the swift movement of his hand and the spiraling bullet he had just released. He had just shot the guy in the leg.
"Your dick is next if you don't start talking."
"Fvck!" The man seethed out, groaning in agony. His face turned a bright crimson color as he strained himself. A pool of blood began forming on the ground. "You bastard!"
"Where are the papers, Thomas?" Weston asked in all seriousness, as if he hadn't just shot a guy in the limb.
The guy, Thomas, cursed out profanities like it was his first language. He looked Weston completely in the eyes and said, "Go to Hell."
Weston laughed in a cruel way after his words. "Been there already, not such an exciting place if you ask me." And for the second time tonight, another gunshot rang through the air. The fast moving bullet took little to no time to bury itself in the captive's other thigh.
He didn't care that he was hurting someone; someone whom was vulnerable and weak. Weston didn't have any emotions or feelings regarding himself or other people. The man simply didn't care. The 'give no fucks' motto became attached to his name the day he turned seventeen and it would be that way for a very long time, possibly until the day he dies.
But the young man was getting frustrated. He was annoyed, irritated at the fact he wasn't getting his way. Weston resisted the urge to smash his glass of alcohol against the wall and then choke his hostage to death; but he knew better than to lash out. He was an experienced guy and knew that allowing your feelings take over completely was not the way to solve things.
"I'm begging you, please let me go. I don't know anything!" Thomas cried out, tears prickling his eyes from the amount of pain that was jolting through his body. Another bullet wound and Thomas knew he would be done for. "Please, man, I have a family."
