I step in close, crowding him until the pole digs into his back and he runs out of places to look.
He has no choice but to look down at me and his gaze at last drops to mine.
I don’t look away. I want him to get a good look at the person who is about to ruin his night.
“Now,” I tell him, my tone cold enough to bite, “we talk.”
His chest strains against the strap, testing its limits. Sweat is now slipping down his temple and dripping off his jaw. His eyes dance from the floor, wall, Tyler, anywhere but me.
I let the silence stick around and let him sit in it.
“You don’t look likewanderingwolf5.” I sneer.
His gaze snaps to mine. There he is.
I tilt my head, the corner of my mouth lifts in amusement, since I’ve already figured him out. Now I’m just waiting for him to figure out how screwed he is.
“Smaller,” I add. “Less impressive.”
He clenches his jaw, and a flicker of anger crosses his battered features.
“Two more,” I speak softly enough to make him listen. “I want two other sex traffickers in the area.”
“I don’t fucking know anything!”
I stroll over to the corner where I spotted a red pipe wrench, and my fingers grip the bottom of the handle. I turn and head back toward him. Instead of lifting it, I let the wrench trail behind me. Metal grinds against the concrete, unleashing a shrill screech that tears through the silence and ricochets off the walls.
When I’m directly in front of him again, I trace the end of the wrench along his foot and slowly slide it up to his kneecap. Before he can make sense of what I’m doing, I surge forward, gripping the handle with both hands. I draw back and bring it down hard. The impact explodes through the room as metal collides with bone.
CRACK.
His body folds in the restraints, as he lets out a mangled cry.
“Then scream it louder.” I draw back the wrench in my hand, my expression unchanged. “Maybe it’ll sound more convincing.”
I swing, connecting with his other kneecap.
CRACK.
He moans in agony, his body bucking against the restraints before his head slumps forward.
I press in close and snatch his jaw, my fingernails dig into his cheeks and he hisses. His eyes squeeze shut before they are forced open and locked on mine.
“They all operate under aliases,” I snarl, “Same as you. Same network. Same circles. Same depravity.”
His head moves in denial, but it’s more sluggish now.
I don’t say anything.
Walking back over to the car tools I hum to myself as I gather supplies as though I’m picking flowers for a bouquet. A can of brake fluid, gloves, and a gasket scraper.
I saunter back in front of him, an ominous smile forming.
I place the brake fluid and gasket scraper aside as I fit the latex gloves over my hands, letting them snap loudly.
His breathing dissolves into a series of strained wheezes.
“Two screen names,” My tone softens in a way that feels far more dangerous. “That’s all you’re giving me.”
