The gang member's eyes opened, slowly scanning his new surroundings. He registered the rusted chair he was tied to, the faint smell of old cigarettes, and the lingering scent of cigarette smoke mixed with decaying wood.
Henry emerged from the darkness, his face half-lit by the dim bulb above. In one hand, he held a cigarette, and in the other, a lighter.
Henry flicked the lighter open, the tiny flame casting flickering shadows across the room. He brought it to the cigarette, taking a slow drag before exhaling a thin stream of smoke that drifted toward the gang member.
"You know," Henry began, his voice smooth and low, "a cigarette can tell you a lot about a person. It tells you how they started..." He glanced at the cigarette, the ember glowing faintly in the dim light. "...and how they end."
Henry stepped closer, his words deliberate, each syllable hanging in the air. "In case your end point is here."
The gang member stiffened, his bravado cracking just slightly.
"Fuck off."
See, the thing is, I don't care how tough you think you are. You can tell me to 'fuck off' all you want, but it won't change a thing." Henry paused, letting his words sink in. "You're the one tied to that chair, not me. And as much as you'd love to believe you've got some kind of power here, let me tell you—you've got nothing."
Henry leaned in slightly, his voice low but steady. "You think your boss is going to save you? Or maybe you've got some backup coming? Because let me tell you, that backup? They're not gonna get here in time. And when they do, well..." He smiled faintly, almost mockingly. "They'll find you sitting in the same spot, just like you are now."
He straightened up, the cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers. "So, here's the deal: You can sit there, keep spitting out empty threats, or you can start talking. Because the longer you sit in silence, the more time I have to figure things out on my own. And trust me, that's not a gamble you want to take."
"I'm not telling you shit."
Henry chuckled softly. "Man, you really don't understand what I'm saying, huh? How about this? What if I cut off every single finger you have until you tell me what I need—starting with your trigger finger, ensuring you'll never pull another trigger from a firearm."
Henry took a step closer, the cigarette still burning between his fingers. His eyes locked onto the gang member's, unrelenting and cold. "I'm not asking anymore. I'm telling you. You can sit there and play tough, but here's the deal—if you don't start talking, I'm gonna start cutting."
He raised a knife from his pocket, the blade glinting under the dim light. "One finger at a time. Starting with your trigger finger. That way, you'll never pull a trigger again."
"Okay. I will tell you what you need to know." Henry grinned, "I knew your senses would come to you soon enough. First question: where's your boss?"
The gang member hesitated, his eyes flicking between Henry's steady gaze and the blade still glinting under the dim light. "I don't know," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.
Henry leaned in closer, his tone sharper now. "You don't know?" He let the words hang in the air, his cigarette smoldering between his fingers. "That's not gonna cut it. Either you know, or you don't. So, which is it?"
The gang member clenched his jaw, reluctant to answer, but the pressure was mounting. Henry tightened his grip on the knife, keeping his eyes locked on the man's face. "You've got one more chance before we move on to the next finger."
"So, where's he?"
"I swear I don't know."
"No isn't an answer."
Henry cut the gang member's finger.
The gang member let out a pained scream as the knife sliced through his trigger finger. Blood splattered onto the floor, and he convulsed, writhing against the restraints. "No! Please!" His voice cracked, filled with desperation. Tears mixed with the blood streaming down his face as he struggled to catch his breath. His breathing became ragged, every movement sending fresh waves of agony.
Henry remained calm, almost eerily so. "I told you, no isn't an answer," he said with a steady, emotionless tone. He watched the gang member closely, his face void of any sympathy. "You can keep screaming. You can keep begging. But I'll keep cutting."
The gang member, barely holding himself together, forced himself to speak through the pain. "Okay, okay! I don't know exactly where he is, but... but I know who he is!" His voice trembled, the words barely forming due to the pain. "His name's Vic... Vic 'The Butcher.' That's all I know! I swear!"
Henry lowered the knife, observing the gang member with a cold, calculating gaze. "Vic... The Butcher," he repeated, testing the name in his mind. "That's a start. But I need more."
Suddenly, a deafening explosion shook the building. The wall beside them blew open in a storm of dust and debris. The gang member toppled over in his chair, his body convulsing as the shock-wave hit.
From the chaos stepped the right-hand man, now free, his eyes wild and filled with rage. He lunged forward, aiming for Henry, his gun drawn and firing.
"Henry, we have to go now!" Ray burst through the smoke, his voice panicked.
Henry didn't hesitate. With one swift motion, he grabbed the right-hand man and slammed him back into the chair. "You're not going anywhere," Henry growled.
The right-hand man thrashed, but they managed to restrain him again.
"Drive!" Henry barked.
Without another word, they yanked the struggling gang member into the back of the van. Henry jumped in, dragging the right-hand man with him, while Ray slammed the van doors shut.
As they peeled away from the building, the sound of gunfire erupted behind them. The right-hand man fought against his restraints, screaming, trying to break free as the chaos of the shootout followed them.
Bullets slammed into the van's sides, sparks flying, but they didn't stop. Henry gripped the wheel tighter, the sound of sirens growing louder in the distance as they fled into the night.
19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2vOiMKpBxN
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