NICO
“You’re gonna have to lie better than that,” I tell Sasha’s guard as I tighten my grip on the pliers and give one of his fingers a sharp twist.
The joint pops like a champagne cork under pressure. The scream that tears out of him ricochets off the concrete and metal walls, raw and feral.
So. f*****g. Loud.
I lean back on my heels, letting the noise wash over me like static from a busted radio. The guard’s face is a ruin, veins bulging in his neck, eyes squeezed shut as tears stream down his cheek. He’s a big guy, built like a goddamn tank, but right now he’s folding like wet cardboard, his body jerking against the ropes binding him to the metal chair.
“P-please,” he chokes out, voice cracking like brittle glass. “I swear on my mother’s grave—”
“Save the theatrics,” I cut him o
