Operation SK ✔️

Prologue

At The Warehouse:

Blood.

Red, thick and velvety blood dripped out of the man in slow and grizzly movements. One could occasionally hear him gulp in huge gasps of breath. Saying that he was hurt was a huge understatement.

The broad-shouldered man in his early twenties was tied up in a wooden chair. His fingers were shaking, and the air seemed to be burning the flesh where his nails had been plucked out. His face was beyond recognition as it was now coloured with blue-black swells around his lips, cheeks and his left eye.

"You were with Mr Bakshi. Who gave him the info ?" a tall young man questioned the half-dead person.

The man weakly shook his head and rolled his eyes as he coughed painfully. He saw his interrogator eye him worriedly and slightly smirked at him.

"No?" he heard a deeper voice say. He couldn't see properly though he sensed the bulk of a man kneel before him.

A shriek roared through the entire place as someone pressed on his bleeding fingertips.

"Liked it better when you had nails right?" his original interrogator sneered.

Amidst the torture, the screaming man spat a mouthful of blood, mucus and saliva onto the person before him. Every ounce of his remaining energy was used up into rage for the one man he hated wholeheartedly at the moment.

"I.... won't .... e-ever.... tell.... you," he managed to say through gritted teeth.

The man who was kneeling stood up and chuckled in a deep voice. He took out a gun and immediately put a bullet through his head. Wiping the spit off his face in disgust, he turned to look at the tall guy who was eyeing him with slight umbrage. His long nose was flaring as he gritted his teeth tightly.

It was an amusing sight.

"Did you have to kill him sir?" the bulky guy asked him.

He simply shrugged. Being the boss, he could do whatever pleased him. There was no way he was going to allow that sneaky bastard to live. It was the only way his identity could be hidden.

"He knew too much. Don't waste time on this bastard. There's a woman we must go after. Supposedly a girl," the man answered grimly, after some time.

"How do you know she might know something?" the tall guy wondered, his bushy auburn eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Sources, Jordan. Sources."

*

At Home:

The window smashed into a thousand pieces like a shower of rain.

Catherine yelped as she carried her daughter down the stairs of her house. She was careful to not trip on her way.

Instead of the front door, she made her way to the opposite part of the house, away from the stairs and the front door.

The back door.

A doubtful thought crossed her mind that perhaps they already had it covered, but she quickly dismissed it. The back door was the only choice.

She set a crying and squealing Cinereal down and brushed her sweaty, light brown hair off her face. Her mother's heart pierced with pain when she saw her child bleeding from an eyebrow cut. Perhaps broken shrapnel of glass had struck her daughter's sweet temple when they were hurrying down the stairs.

Catherine forced a calming smile on her face.

"Cinereal baby, I want you to run out the back door and go to the police station daddy always took you to. Okay?" she instructed slowly despite the sounds of banging and shooting.