Loving a Killer | 18+

0.9 - Resistance

Xander to the side or above ^>

| Maddox |

"Stop fucking lying to us. Tell us what the Russians know!" I snapped, two weeks of silence and countless 'I don't know's testing my patience. He had a long bruise going across his throat and his fingernails on his right hand ripped off.

Two weeks of torture and he still hadn't broken.

Whoever was on shift to try and crack the little bitch had their own methods. Ricardo liked the fingers the most. Snapping, crushing, tearing the nails off, you name it and that man had utilized it before. Luca was the sly one. He wiggled himself into your soul with just a few words and could bring a rise out of any man with a pulse. Usually, he didn't speak much, he just let them question him while he prepared for torture. He didn't have to say much to drive the victim mad with anger towards his silence. Matteo was the sarcastic one, he liked to play games. He'd make bets with those in the chair, asking them how quickly they thought they could last as he burned and carved away the answers out of them.

Me? I didn't have a preference. I was a killer by job description; I worked differently. I brought death to those I was told to, and that was that. Trying to keep an asset alive was a hard pill to swallow at first, but I found my ways to bring death without actually killing them. I went for the more vital parts of the victim, finding their human weakness to stay alive and to avoid death at all costs. I brought them to the edge, and let them stare death in the face until they finally caved.

But this kid.

This Russian snake of a boy.

He was a tough case to crack, and hell, I didn't expect much out of him to begin with.

Now, I was impatient.

"Fine," I shrugged and turned to the table filled with bloody knives, a single fingernail left behind, and miscellaneous objects that had collected. I grabbed a small revolver off the table and opened the cylinder. It was filled with three bullets out of the seven slots. I pulled out two of them and discarded them on the table, turning to him with a smirk on my face.

"I'm done with thinking of ways to get you to talk, so let's let fate decide," I spun the cylinder and walked closer to him. "You refuse to talk, and I pull the trigger. Got it?"

Of course, he didn't nod. He just looked at the gun with a blank expression, but eyes filled with terror.

I pressed the gun up against his forehead.

"What do the Russians know?" I asked calmly, looking him dead in the eyes. He started to vibrate in fear but continued to clamp his mouth shut.

I rolled my eyes and pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked, causing him to flinch, but no bullet proceeded.

By now, he was shaking as the gun still pressed firmly to his head.

"What luck," I murmured to him in a low voice. "Now, how much luck do you think you have left?"

I pulled the trigger again.

Click.

"How about now?"