Chapter2: Remember her
957 Words
“Type away, dear soul,” he said, trying to hide his smile. And like he wanted, he was typing away. The buttons of his laptop kept making tiny sounds, except they were drowned by a bigger, fiercer groan.
No… it was a cry, one that rang through the basement.
But his hands did not leave the laptop. He kept typing, fully focused, as though the other man’s pain meant nothing.
Well, it did mean nothing, because the torturer was Emiliano Francisco, who looked innocent typing away, but was far from it.
“Five minutes more,” he winked, taking his eyes off the screen to face his prey.
The man was tied to an electric chair, screaming his lungs out as the chair burned his skin and the ropes around him shocked him every second. He jolted again in excruciating pain. As if that was not enough, another man sat on a stool and pulled the man's toenails out without mercy. With each pull, he screamed.
They didn’t just pull with the scalpel; they peeled the skin along, making it more excruciating. A loud groan tore from his throat as another nail was bluntly pulled out. He wanted to die, but they wouldn’t let him.
“Music to my ears. Go on, Parker,” Francisco intoned, hitting his keyboard again.
You guessed right.
Emiliano Francisco—CEO of the Emiliano Empire and biggest gaming conglomerate in Paris. That’s what the media described him as. But the other side no one talked about was the dark, aloof, psychopathic part, where he was the Mafia lord of the underworld: the Liano Clan.
The gaming conglomerate was just a cover. Real killers, that’s what they were in the underworld. They slaughtered without sympathy, ripped out body parts without batting an eyelid.
The typing finally came to an end and he raised his head, revealing dark tousled hair with some locks falling over his face. His eyes were a beautiful pair of oceanic blue, thick sexy eyelashes that could leave a woman’s mouth hanging open if he dared to wink, and lips as red as zobo leaves.
Francisco was effortlessly handsome. The same face that could make ladies’ hearts race was the same innocuous look that had sent many to their grave.
One look at him and you would mistake him for an angel visiting Earth, but those innocent features had lured many into their graves.
“I lost my patience,” he sighed, standing up to reveal his magnificent body. He wore a black tux, a white sleeve beneath it, and his shoe ? shone like the morning star.
Who knew those same shoes would be smeared in blood a few minutes later?
His pair of luxurious, limited edition X Louis Vuitton shoes strode gracefully toward Parker. As if not wanting to get his high-profile, sophisticated suit stained with blood, he stopped at a bearable distance. Another chair was placed for him and he sat gracefully, picking up his laptop again.
Another ruptured scream finally made him look at the pathetic Parker. He was proving a point by typing away.
No one kills Emiliano Francisco and goes scot-free.
“What a handsome young man,” Francisco sighed, sarcasm dripping from his tone.
“Too bad the world will never see this handsome face again. I’m pained,” he continued, wiping nonexistent tears.
Parker was about to give Francisco a piece of his mind when a scalpel was dug into the skin of his toes. This time he screamed so loudly the foundation of the basement felt it.
“Go on, go on!” Francisco clapped. “What a good performance. Sweet melodies to my ears.” He smiled, finding pleasure in the torture.
Parker’s bloodied self tried to get up from the chair and claw at his face, but the shock from the rope made him retreat.
“You might have the last laugh today, but you won’t have it forever, bastard,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Oh, I’m scared,” Francisco mocked, his demeanor suddenly turning cold.
He crossed his legs as if saying, let’s get down to business. His eyes stayed on the target. He took off his coat and handed it to one of his men. Then he loosened his tie—two buttons came off, enough to reveal his hard chest beneath. If it were a woman, a lot would have been running through her mind, but the same couldn’t be said for Parker.
At this pose, Parker knew it was a plot to scare him. He knew it because he saw the two guns hanging from Francisco’s waist.
“Who sent you?”
“Like I would say?” Parker fired back, breathing hard.
“You’re replying to my question with a question? I didn’t want to do this the hardest way, but you asked for it.” Francisco gestured with his eyes and the man torturing Parker’s toenails shifted.
Francisco stretched his leg out and pressed his shoe into the freshly opened wounds that were already bleeding.
“Ahhhhhhhhh!” His scream pierced the four walls, but Francisco didn’t stop.
“Kill me already, bastard!” Parker groaned with disdain as Francisco finally released his boot.
“I won’t kill an assassin when the real enemy is hiding in the shadows. That is quite unfair, don’t you think?”
“You’re wasting your time then, ’cause—Ahhh!” he groaned again.
“My lips are sealed. I’ll eventually get used to the torture.”
“Really?” Francisco asked, picking up his laptop again.
This time he turned it to face Parker.
“Remember her?
”
He watched as Parker’s face instantly lost all its color when he saw her.
- Writer
