The cool concrete felt like a godsend. He pressed his face against it, blood pooling around him. The bruises and cuts on his face burned and the floor alleviated the irritation. Turner’s low growl rumbled as he grabbed Quinn’s shirt, yanking him up to meet his blue eyes.
He furrowed his dark brow. “Too bad you don’t have information to share.” He smiled. “I enjoy when they beg for their lives,” he said, his voice low. Turner pulled his arm back, crashing his fist against Quinn’s face. The crack echoed, sending pain shooting through Quinn’s body.
He became limp in Turner’s grasp, hoping it would end soon. What this ending looked like didn’t matter at the moment. Death would release him from this bondage and the one looming at home, with his pack. Even though he was innocent, he grew tired
