"Speak up!" I snapped, my voice echoing through the cold, concrete walls of the garage.
The place stank of oil, blood, and rust. Perfect for what I used it for....punishment.
I was sitting on a metal chair, the only one in the room. My gun was in my hand, c****d, aimed loosely at the man kneeling before me, tied up with ropes digging into his wrists. His face was bloody, jaw swollen from the last punch one of my men gave him.
He trembled but still kept quiet. Stupid.
I stood up slowly.
The chair scraped against the floor with an awful sound as I pushed it back. I walked up to him, the heavy boots I wore thudding with each step until I stopped right in front of him.
I didn’t say a word.
I simply bent down slightly and placed the cold barrel of my gun on his forehead.
He gasped, but
