Hayden's rash admission bounced clear around the still as graveyard room.
He hadn't planned to confess that easily, but King's adept and pernicious assault wrenched out the truth from him.
Steaming beads of sweat pooled out of his pores, quickly soaking him up as his gaze darted around the floor.
Hayden registered his bloodied men, battered beyond remedy.
He found their unused machetes, noticing their wrecked aftermath.
Just like the damaged door, King had rendered the tools irredeemable.
An awful dread embraced Hayden upon realizing that he could be one of the casualties on the floor.
King could easily grab him, squeezing out his beloved life without wasting much time or putting in any struggle.
As if to shield himself from such an act, he wrapped his hands around his neck
