VII

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The place was quiet, outside of his shallowing breathing, perfect for what they needed to accomplish. The giant stood nearby, preparing himself for the next round of punishment.
Martin was fading in and out of consciousnes. He had been their hostage for about 8 or 9 hours and he was ready for them to kill him. The man that worked him over never said a word to him; just constant torture. He used his ribcage as a punching bag, broke bones, and even sliced into his skin with a surgical scalpel. Begging and pleading fell upon deaf ears: he wasn’t the person in charge.

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Six.

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Alice scurried down the stairs to the front door and straightened out her clothes. She hadn’t seen Andrew in two days and she was prepared for a lifetime of groveling and ass-kissing so that he would forgive her. Those days gave her insight to what she really wanted: her husband, her home, his child. She sighed and whipped the door open, but it was not her husband waiting for her. Roman looked up from his cell phone and smiled, the bright, hypnotic smile that left many women breathless in his wake. “Hey Blackbird,” he said to his former flame. Alice stood, mouth agape, confused, excited, scared at him. He was no longer the skinny, corner thug she was madly in love with. Continue reading