"You have two choices—an easy death, or you beg for it."
I stood transfixed, watching the scene unfold. In that moment, Killian's expression was so inhuman it sent a chill down my spine.
The man before him finally seemed to find his courage and scrambled to his feet. The blood had drained from his face, leaving him pale and drenched in sweat. He looked at Killian like he was staring at the Grim Reaper. Or perhaps, if Killian was the Grim Reaper, it would have been a mercy.
"Go sit over there," Killian ordered.
The man obeyed as quickly as if he had been struck, his movements sluggish, as though his feet were made of lead. He sat on one of the wooden chairs, the ropes still dangling from its arms. Killian followed, and the moment the man sat down, he struck him with the back of his gun.
