TW: TORTURE
Diego
Leo and I are both in the cold, soundproof basement covered in blood from head to toe, exhausted from our tedious labor. It has been three days since we were targeted and the stubborn motherfucker we captured still refuses to talk.
The man I'm standing before is strapped in a metal chair naked, surrounded in his own urine. The mixture of fresh and dried blood adorns his battered body, a canvas painted with the various wounds we've inflicted upon him. Groans of pain escape his cracked lips, echoing deliciously throughout the dimly lit room.
Torturing people isn't exactly my favorite part of the job. I prefer to shoot and keep it moving, but the Russians tried to take what is mine and they will pay. One at a f*****g time until the entire clan is dead. Until they are wip
