Page 19 of The Bratva Queens' Kings

Twitch raises an eyebrow in question, but I don't give him the chance to voice his confusion. "Get some water ready. We'll coax it out of him, but we need him alive for now."

The other men exchange looks, but they know better than to argue. They've seen death and destruction at the hands of their leader, and they understand the value of a captive.

It's my job to extract information, no matter how grueling or agonizing the process. I've seen countless men broken down to nothing, only to have their will to live restored by the prospect of information.

"Alright," I say, my voice low and menacing. "Tell us who sent you. We can make this quick and relatively painless, or we can drag it out. Your choice."

The captive, a scrawny man with wild eyes, looks at me defiantly. "You'll never get anything from me," he snarls.

I smirk, reaching down with my gloved hand to grip his jaw. "I think you underestimate us," I say, my voice dripping with threat. "We're not the type of people you want to defy."

He sputters, his eyes wide with fear, but remains stubbornly silent. I release his jaw and stand up, crossing my arms over my chest. Time to change tactics.

"Alright, then. If you won't tell us willingly, we'll find other ways to make you talk." I turn to Twitch. "Get the salt."

I nod at Twitch, who retrieves a small bag of salt from his pocket. The man watches in horror as Twitch pours it onto his wounds, the coarse granules stinging like needles.

"Who sent you?" I demand, my voice low and cold. "And what do they want from us?"

The man grunts in pain as the salt eats away at his flesh, but he doesn't falter.

"I won't tell you anything," he gasps, his voice hoarse from the agony. "You'll never know our secrets."

I smirk, a cold sensation spreading through my veins. This man, so determined to keep his secrets, has no idea what he's getting himself into.

"Fine," I say, my voice dipped in menace. "We'll see how long you can hold out against this." I gesture for Twitch to pour more salt onto the wounds, and the man screams in unbearable pain.

But I can see he's not giving in. His eyes are still locked onto mine, full of defiance and the promise that he will never crack under pressure.

"We're going to kill you slowly," I say, my voice icy. "And trust me when I say, that's the easiest way out for you."

With a deep breath, I wave Twitch over. "Bring me the electric prod."

Twitch brings me the electric prod, and I hold it menacingly in front of the man. "Last chance," I hiss. "Tell us what we want to know, or we'll make sure you regret it."

He looks at me, his face twisted in a mix of fear and contempt. "I'll never tell you anything.”

I press the prod against his skin, and the electricity courses through him, lighting up his body with a blue hue. He screams in unbearable pain, but still doesn't falter.

I release the prod, watching as he convulses on the ground. Finally, he looks at me, his eyes pleading for this to end.

"You know," I begin, my voice low and mocking, "you're the first one to ever last this long. I must commend you for your... persistence. “

I watch as Twitch prepares the next round of agony for our captive, bringing him back to consciousness with a splash of water. He looks at me, his eyes filled with despair, and I can see the breaking point is imminent.

"Fine," I sneer, my voice dripping with contempt. "We'll see how long you can hold out against this."

I motion for Twitch to continue with the next form of torture, and he moves to secure the man's limbs to the rusted metal frame. The man's screams fill the room as twitch applies the electrical currents and tightens the screws.

As the man writhes in pain, his teeth gritted, the scent of burning flesh fills the air. The once-scrawny man becomes a skeletal figure, his once wild eyes now dull and lifeless.

The man's resolve, once unbreakable, begins to crack. His voice, once full of defiance, now pleads for mercy. "Please," he whispers, “Please kill me.”

This whole scene was starting to wear thin on my patience anyway. Torture for information is one thing; endless groveling is another. And truth be told, I'm in a relatively good mood today—a rarity that shouldn't go to waste on the likes of him. Besides, it's clear he won't talk, no matter what we do.

Without a word, I draw my gun, the weight of it familiar and comforting in my hand. Then, with a precision born from years of practice, I pull the trigger, shooting him right in the eye.

I holster my gun and leave without a backward glance, the man's lifeless body a mere detail in the grand scheme of things.

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