Ange ➳ jjk+kth

i

Imagine that his other arm is also tattooed.

Slim fingers curl at the sleek, black trigger, the sound of leather against the rough surface of the floor echoing across the stone walls.

The room is not too big, rather spacious for a place where lives are plucked from their withering bodies, tucked away without a trace.

A rusted light flickers feebly among their heads, the quiet sound of the buzz from overhead moths that claw at the bulb filling the tensed air. The light's attempt at brightening the darkened room hopeless, thick shadows slanting among the cracked walls.

A man sits in the centre of the hushed room, head hung low as he gasps for air. His knees cut against the concrete, the layered material of his jeans futile in shielding his pale skin.

"Did your mother ever teach you a thing or two about manners?"

Dominance oozes the standing man, his defined figure detectable in the dimmed room as he glares down at the quivering male.

Tattoos swivel over his muscular arms, the black ink sweeping over his pale skin reciting stories no one would dare question nor indulge themselves within.

His eyes are dark and cold, empty black stones that bore into your soul, ripping away the feebly layered bricks of protection that you had once prepared, forewarned of the danger you may once encounter.

"I'm s-sorry! P-Please, have m-mercy!"

Dark, brooding eyes watch the writhing figure beneath him, finding sadistic content at the crimson liquid that pools under the man's legs, his wounded arms the criminal for such a mess.

He tuts, the sides of his pale lips curling upwards, "Already spoiling my homely abode?"

The weak man ducks his head, body shivering, rather from utmost fear to what awaited him than the chill temperature of the musky basement.

"N-No. I'm s-sorry, p-please just - "

His words are cut off, the side of the Glock 17 meeting his trembling jawline, the sharp cry of pain splitting the tensed air.

His skin is now spoiled with the purple tint of an ugly bruise, a single crack splitting the pale skin that emits the large flood of metallic tasting liquid.

"Did that hurt?"

The choked sobs of the crying man is an adequate answer, a cruel smirk playing at his lips as he releases a sinister laugh.

Humiliation wracks at the sobbing man, as he struggles against his bonds, the pain in his jaw pulsating across his neck.

Cold fingers meet his chin, jutting it upwards, sharp nails digging into his skin. His cries submerse as he meets those soulless eyes, the man before him admittedly rather attractive with his prominent jawline and high cheekbones. There would have been countless numbers of women who would fawn over the said man, if only he wasn't known to be the possible reason for the suspicious disappearance of their loved ones.

A strangled gasp leaves his lips, the feeling of cool metal against his Adam Apple chilling his entire body.

The cruel man grins at the fear that swirls in the man's eyes, adrenaline pulsing in his veins as he digs the head of the gun into the other's throat.

"Trust me Mr.Kim, it's going to hurt a hella lot more than this."

A split second of confusion flashes in his dark eyes, before they widen, catching sight of the gleaming metal tucked gently in the demonic man's fist.

It's too late to scream out. Shout. Cry for help.

The knife embeds itself into his stomach, ripping at his skin and tearing at his guts, the pointed metal twisting within his body. 

And even if he did, no one would've heard.

Nor helped.