𝐈𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 [𝟏𝟖+]

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 2

⪻Luca⪼

Somewhere in New York 

My footsteps echoed through the corridor of our otherwise silent basement. Each cell I passed cleaned off of the bodies of our prisoners with powdered bleach and acetic acid. The smell of bleach and vinegar permeated the air as my feet carried me to the last cell which held the Mexican squealer. This was going to be the best day of his life. We didn't particularly have any issues with the Camorra until now so this might be the beginning of a series of similar incidents to come and truth be told, I can't wait.

As I neared the cell I could hear muffled cries and begging to which I'm sure Mark would pay no heed. He was the best at squeezing out every bit of information from the scums who dare to work against us. He showed no mercy and his ruthlessness is enough for a person in the receiving end of it, to shit their pants and sing like a canary. I rolled my sleeves and took out the packet of Marlboro I always keep in the back pocket of my pants in situations like this. When you're thrust into a world like this, enjoying every bit of drawn blood and earned name is better than sulking in the corner and ending up dead while doing it. We people have targets of various sizes and forms from different directions on our backs . So I might as well relish in the power I hold while I can.

I reached the bars and extracted a single cig out of the pack with my index and thumb fingers and put it in between my lips. Mark's back was facing me and his body shielded my view from the man who was tied and gagged on a metal chair . The moment I barged in the cell with both of my arms pushing against the bars, Mark turned around and reached back to pry out his lighter and walked towards me. The guy is a tough nut. I'll give him that. Even after facing Mark's wrath, he was glaring daggers at me. I mentally scoffed watching his pathetic state.

"He isn't spitting" Mark muttered as he lit the cigar in my mouth for me and I hummed taking a long drag and then exhaling the smoke from my mouth. Mark moved aside so that I could take over. Walking backwards with a smirk until his back hit the walls and folding his arms on his chest. I bet a 1000$ that he must be wishing for a bucket of popcorn to watch the show. But there won't be a show. Not today. I want to get this over with as soon as I can and if he doesn't spit soon, we're gonna have a problem.

Taking one more long drag of smoke I leaned over until I was face to face with the now-not-so-daring bastard. He was beginning to tremble under my gaze while trying hard to keep the hard front. But I smell fear from a mile away. It is one of the many advantages I acquired over the years of service as a Caption. I blew the smoke right to his face then rested the burning end of the roll just under his left eye and pressed it against the skin while he screamed in pain. It was like Mark knew what I was about to do with my cig because he pushed himself off the wall to stand behind the chair and grabbed the scum bag's face hard, to lessen his struggling so that the burn reaches deep and injures his skin and eye. I gestured Mark to take ahold of the cigar and keep it pressed against his eye bag, nodding towards the roll.