Lola Williams is exhausted from the same schemes and the same easy kills every day of her existence. Working as an assassin for the French mafia was supposed to be exciting but lately it's been more than lackluster.
It isn't until another easy kill...
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"Wake up." I demanded, but met with no avail. A few minutes later as I slap him hard across the face. He doesn't budge. "Hello?"
I don't have time for this. Walking over to the waterboarding sink I fill a bucket of crippling cold water and then splash it over his head.
The water coated me too but I barely flinched. The man inhaled sharply but it wasn't like in the movies. A moment passes, "I said to wake the fuck up!"
Placing my pistol on his head, his eyes jet open wide as if his skull is going to explode. I drop the bucket and it slams and echoes against the cemented floor. Walking in front of him and bending over right in his face, he tilts his head down to the floor to avoid my eyes. "Who do you work for?" I asked as I roughly cocked his face back to mine forcing him to make eye contact with me.
"Fuck... off little girl!" The prisoner snapped his head to the side and a low grunt escaped his lips as a chunk of hair ripped from his scalp.
"I see how it is." I tsk and shake my head. "Idiot."
Walking into the shadows of the room, I turned the corner into a closet, opening the door a dim light spilled out of it and brightened the shadows. I entered my beloved weapon chamber. I knew it was only a matter of time before my father would have his way with him, so picking a pair of needle pliers, I made my way back to my prisoner. Trust me, I lied before, I was not the nicer one out of the two of us.
The creaking of the pipes and the scraping of the chair I have gripped into my hand are unwelcomed sounds. The chair screeched to a stop as I placed it in front of him, I took a seat and made sure to make a show of the pliers in my hand. "We're going to try this again, darling." I placed his finger in the middle of the plier. A slight smile molded onto my face, as his eyes grew even wider with fear of what could happen -- of what was going to happen.
"Last chance, who sent you?"
Our eyes locked as his lips quivered, his hands trying to pull away but it only resulted in the pliers gripping harder on his ring finger. It trapped it in place and squeezed tighter and he struggled wildly and it began to turn a dark blue.
"I don't know." He answers groggily. "Wrong answer." A howl escaped his lips as his head shot up in pain and I twisted the pliers. Blood begins to peak out and I watch as droplets flee to the ground.
