ISAIAH
I called one of my boys over and told him to pour water on the bastard. They did it without hesitation, a splash of cold hitting his battered skin. By the time Musty woke up, the pain was written all over him, raw and sharp. His body trembled with every movement, and every breath came out ragged. The agony from his broken knee had settled deep, a constant reminder that I wasn’t here to play.
After several back-and-forths, his desperate denials slowly chipped away under my stare. I didn’t need to hit him much anymore, the first blow had been enough to drive the message home. His voice cracked, his spirit cracked with it, and finally I got what I wanted. When I walked out of that warehouse, the weight of his screams still hung in the air like smoke.
Fabian and Ian were waiting for
