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“Yep.”
“Anyway, enough of the chit-chat. Get me proof.”
“Got it,” I reply, waiting for the heavy iron door to click shut before I turn my attention back to this stupid fucking cunt who is rapidly ruining my night.
Rolling my head, I drop the serrated knife onto the metal table, droplets of blood splattering across the surface as I pick up a pair of gardening shears. Rusty and covered in dried blood, they’re about as sharp as a butter knife, making them perfect for what I’m about to do next. I don’t profess to like chopping off a man’s dick, not because I feel bad about it or anything, but because it makes my own dick metaphorically shrivel up, and that ain’t good for my mental or physical health, particularly not the way my balls are feeling tonight.
“Just fucking kill me and be done with it, coz I ain’t talking,” the guy mumbles, bashing the back of his head against the metal table like he’s trying to do the job for me.
I lean over him and press my palm against his forehead to hold him still and get real close. “Okay, I’ll level with you. You were right, you ain’t walking, or hobbling, or fucking crawling out of here for that matter. These will be your last few minutes on Earth, so I’m gonna give you a choice. You tell me what Carter wants to know, and I can make this quick. Or you can choose to hold out on me, and I’ll make sure you bleed out slow. But I can assure you, you’ll tell me what I want to know regardless. So what’s it to be?” I ask.
“Go fuck yourself!” he shouts, the veins in his neck straining as he bares his teeth at me.
“Yeah, I figured that’s what you might say,” I reply, lowering the shears towards his dick. “But that’s alright, I can get some pussy later. I’m more than happy to wait until the drug you’ve taken has worn off and all your nerve endings are back to firing properly.”
There’s a flicker of fear in his eyes, and whilst that isn’t unusual given the circumstances, I recognise that fear for what it is. This man ain’t afraid to die, but he is afraid of what will happen if he talks and we all know that grassing usually ends with not only your death but the death of your loved ones too. If that cunt Saxon is behind this, then he’ll already have a marker on this man’s family. No question.
“Fuck, man! I never wanted to bring them into this.”
“Okay, spit it out,” I demand, tapping his limp dick with the shears. “Whose life has Saxon threatened if you talk?”
He meets my gaze, his fear barrelling out of control now.Bingo.
“My kid sister. She’s only fucking ten.”
“Ah fuck.” I let out a heavy sigh. Dealing with toerags like this man ain’t usually an issue for me, especially when they work for a prick like Saxon, but when you start bringing innocents into the mix… “You know what, sometimes I hate my fucking job.”
“What?” he asks, blinking up at me.
“Does she have anyone else?”
“Anyone else?” he asks, a flash of confusion crossing his features.
“To look after her?”
“She lives with my aunt.”
“Not with you?”
He shakes his head, his teeth rattling now with adrenaline. Looks like talk of his sister has sent his system into a downward spiral. Believe it or not, physical pain can often be controlled by people in situations like this. I’ve witnessed a lot of men take their fair share of torture before cracking, but as soon as you bring up something that will fuck with their head and their heart… Yeah, most don’t last five minutes.
“Where?”
“Essex.”
“Address?”
“Why?” he asks, suddenly testing the restraints. I know he’s wondering if he can somehow escape and get back to his little sister. We both know that ain’t happening.
“Because,Einstein, I’m gonna send some men to go collect her and your aunt. We can protect them.”
“Why would Carter do that?” he asks, surprised.
“Carter wouldn’t. I would.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re innocent and don’t deserve to die because you’re affiliated with the wrong fucking man. Do you want their deaths on your conscience?”
