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July 4th, 2020
Opening his eyes, Muerte was met with the sight of a katana sword in his face, touching his nose. One wrong move, and the sword would draw B- blood.
Not wanting to move, he allowed his eyes to wonder. He was placed in what he would guess was the attic of the warehouse. It was dark with the only light coming from a few dangling, lightbulbs that were dull. On each wall stood a woman with a different weapon used for torture. He could see ninja stars, spiked gauntlets, flails, scythes, and other weapons that he thought he would only see on television.
The sound of a knock came from behind a door, before it was opened and a weed smoking Madame Sinclair came out. The female holding the sword in front of him began to back up, disappearing into the shadows.
The sound of her heels could be heard as her feet slowly stalked towards him, in no rush. Once she made it before him, she bent down, so that she would be at the same eye level as him.
Tilting her head to the side, she released the smoke that was once in her chest, blowing it directly into his eyes.
Quickly closing his soon to be irritated eyes, Muerte scrunched his face up at the stench that filled his nostrils.
Looking at the blunt in her hand, Madame Sinclair realized that she had to put the ash out. Instead of looking for an ashtray, she pressed the tip of the blunt against Muerte's tied down hand, rubbing it across it.
Muerte quickly began to thrash in the chair, trying to move so he could take the burning ash off of himself.
"Bitch!" He shouted, or thought he did, realizing that he had thick tape covering his mouth, withholding his thoughts from them.
Madame Sinclair smirked at him, before taking another pull of her blunt.
"It might not have come out clearly, but I know what you said." Moving her blunt away from her lips, she placed it back on the same spot on his hand, twisting it around. "And I am a bitch. The baddest one around."
High pitch screams could be heard through Muerte's taped mouth. He kept trying to move his hand away from her reach, but the thick rope tying his arms down, denied him that right.
Lifting the blunt off of him, Madame Sinclair snapped her fingers, leaving her hand in the air. One of her workers quickly came and grabbed the crushed blunt, placing another one in her hand. Still holding her hand up, she allowed her worker to light the blunt, before placing it between her lips.
"What I want to know is why you really came here? Are you working with the Wests'?" Madame Sinclair asked ripping the thick tape off of his mouth.
"My mustache!" Muerte screamed feeling the hairs above his lip being ripped out. "Once I get out of here, I'm gonna fuck you up!"
