My hostage’s eyes go wide. “No.”
“Yes.” I walk slowly around the chair. Each step echoes in the cold, damp air of the warehouse. “And you know what? I won’t just put a bullet in their heads. I’ll make it hurt.”
“Why don’t we ask Lefty?”
Snap. Crackle. Pop goes another shoulder.
It’s so satisfying—the crunch of bone and resolve. I haven’t been here even half an hour, and already, my mood has improved. I can feel my stress melt with every moan of pain.
But every game must be ended at its highest point. So I peel off my gloves, put away my toolbox, and make my way out the door.
“Wait!” the man calls, terrified. “Wait, you can’t—”
“Actually,” I call through the shut metal door, “I can.”
I go outside. The crisp morning air hits my face, coaxing me back into the world. On the sunny side
