Page 27 of Whispers of Fire

“Alright, alright, go get yourself some food.” I chuckle, cracking my fingers and getting suddenly in the mood to break skulls.

How can such a giant fuckin’ killer like him can lose it if he doesn’t eat every few hours?

He puts down the machete he had in his hand and gets his cut from the coathanger we’ve put next to the door.

“He spilled out almost all of it. We just need the last name of the food chain,” he says, adjusting his leather on him. I nod and give him a tap on his back. “Good job, Cart,” I say. Even though Carter can’t exactly feel, I still want him to know we appreciate what he does.

When I see torture as a means, Carter makes it an art.

That’s his thing.

Closing the door behind him, I roll up my sleeves and step toward the guy bleeding in front of me.

“Novac? That’s right?” I say casually. The body barely moves, just a small moan escaping the guy's lips. Carter has skinned his left leg and cut him in about ten places then sewed it back together so he could keep on with the interrogation.

Like I said, a fuckin’ artist.

I’d say he’s still got one or two hours before dying so I’ll make this quick.

“Not a patient man, ya know… So what's the name of the guy you last sold to?” I say while searching for the hammer on the desk at my right.

“F, F… fuck you,” he manages to say.

I sigh and shake my head. “See this hammer?” I show him the tool casually. “I’m about to smash your skull with it in about one minute if you don’t talk.” Fear flashes in his eyes. He’s a big guy, bold, bulky, but I can see the exhaustion in his gaze and the knowing fact that these are his last minutes on this earth. I continue, “You’re bleedin too much to make it, so you can either choose to die quickly with a bullet in your head, or badly with a hammer.”

“Your choice.” I mimic the gesture of rising the hammer to him, but his voice breaks the silence of the dark room.

“W-wait.” His voice is as dry as sand, his body trying to move but struggles while his arms have dislocated due to hours of being hung.

“There’s a guy,” he says, out of breath.

“A guy? Who?” I ask patiently, waiting with the hammer in my hand.

“Don’t know his name… but he’s like a religious chief of somethin’.”

Fuck, I already know who’s name he’s gonna drop and I don’t fuckin’ like it.

“Be more specific.”

“He, he said he needed money.”

“Why?” I fire back at him.

“Cause he’s getting married and he wants to have a big wedding and shit.”

Fuck no, please say it’s somebody else.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, he said he needed to impress his people, like a fuckin’ messiah.” I am almost one hundred percent sure who we’re talking about by now, but I need to know more.

“Did he say anything else?” I ask, tilting my head.

“Nothin’ important.”

“Talk.” I get closer and push a finger in the wound of his shoulder.

“Stopp, plea-please.” I remove my finger after digging into his flesh to my knuckles.

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