Jordan finally stopped in front of his captive and stared intently at him before signalling to one of his guards to get him a chair. Taking his seat gracefully before his prisoner, he crossed one of his legs over the other and removed his sunglasses before resting his hands on his knees.
His prisoner was no longer brave enough to look him in the eye and resultantly, his eyes stayed glued to Jordan’s sleek black shoes.
“Details,” his glacially deep voice resonated round the place, softly yet dangerously bouncing off the walls.
“Name: Patrick Domino, known as the Python by his clan. Age: 39. Status: Single. Been with the Timos for as long as 25 years,” Skull stated as Jordan’s eyes continued to scrutinise his next prey.
“Family status?” He asked.
“Orphan. Neither in a relationship nor married,” Skull reported again.
Jordan nodded as he tilted his head impishly, his eyes gleaming with a deathly murderous glint.
“Patrick,” he spoke after agonizing moments of silence.
The man before him shook intensely at the sudden call of his name. The mere sound of his name on the boss’s lips were bone-chilling and he didn’t want to live to experience what his actions could do to him if his mere words could invoke such Brobdingnagian torment.
“So I heard that you and your fellow gang members broke into one of my warehouses. Yes?” Jordan asked but was only met with silence in return.
Skull immediately attempted to move towards the stubborn prisoner but with one index finger raised by Jordan, he stilled and returned to his former spot.
For a few minutes, Jordan continued to stare at the man before him. He took in his appearance; his hairy torso glistened with sweat as his chest rose and fell-a sign of fear. He had a bloody nose that left a trail of the red pigment slowly flowing into his pursed busted lips. He was sporting one black eye and one swollen eye.
Letting his gaze fall down his body, he saw his untreated leg injury, where he must have been shot. A small bullet hole with dried up blood surrounding it-it was an ugly and disgusting sight to behold but Jordan wasn’t irritated. He was used to seeing such things.
Giving the man’s body a general survey, he arrived at a conclusion; the punishment was not enough. He needed to break him, to destroy every ounce of resolve he had and since this man had no family whatsoever, the predictable option of using the lives of his family members to threaten him would be null and void so there was only one thing to do.
Make him go through hell and back.
With that thought, Jordan raised his hand and signalled at Skull, who nodded once before collecting a black metallic briefcase from one of the guards.
As Skull stepped closer and began opening the case, Patrick couldn’t control the recalcitrant palpitations of his heart against his chest. His heart was beating so fast that he could hear the out-of-rhythm tempo in his ears.
Bile rose up his throat as his eyes remained glued to the briefcase. Anything, just about anything could be hidden inside that roguish receptacle but he didn’t want to stick around to find out and suddenly, his earlier prayer to God that had been about being saved was nowhere to be found. The reiterating prayers that went through his mind now were prayers for fast death to arrive.
He didn’t want to die in the hands of this Beelzebub before him and if he were to die in his hands, he wanted a fast and painless death but he knew that was a far-fetched dream, a mere fairytale wish that could never come true.
This man before him was no wishing star to grant the ignorant wishes of a child, he was the type of man who would crush the hope in a child awaiting his wish. He was the type of man that would tell the child straight away that that was a meteor and wasn’t some shit-ass wishing star.
He was snapped out of his hopeless thoughts when the last lock on the metallic hell cage popped open and the lid was lifted. His eyes shifted to the boss’s face to try to fathom or unravel the mystery the briefcase held but as expected his expression was indecipherable as it gave nothing away.
He looked at the boss’s right-hand man, Skull but his expression was just the same as the boss’s as he stared straight at a far off wall, awaiting his boss’s decision.
Patrick gulped thickly, his heart beating even quicker, if possible as he noticed the inhuman glint in Jordan’s eyes as they glimmered with murderous intents while an evil smirk spread across his lips.
Finally, the mystery the briefcase held was finally revealed. A well sharpened silver dagger. Patrick’s lips began trembling as Jordan’s evil smirk widened into an emotionless smile, showing off his beautifully aligned white set of teeth.
Jordan moved closer to him while staring at the dagger as he twirled it around in his hand.
“I’m sure you know I’m not one to give second chances and you already let the first opportunity slip past your fingers but being my merciful self, I will grant you one more chance. Now I’ll ask again. . .” his eyes became serious as he looked at the panic-stricken man who had frozen in place out of fear.
“. . . Did you or did you not break into my warehouse?” he stilled as he awaited his response but once again the man gave no reply as his lips continued to tremble in horror.
“I see you’ve refused to grasp onto my once in a lifetime mercy.” And swiftly, his hands moved and the next thing everyone knew, the blade of the dagger was embedded in Patrick’s lap as immediately, an ear splitting shrill broke out of his lips.
Pained, hot tears ran down the corners of his eyes as his dread spread when he saw Jordan reach for another dagger. This one was a tad smaller than the one that was currently in his right thigh.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Patrick. I’m starting to get pissed off and when I’m pissed off. . .” he left the sentence hanging as he circled round his prey while playing with the new dagger before leaning towards Patrick’s left ear.
“. . . All hell breaks loose,” he whispered, making Patrick shiver and release another deafening scream as the second dagger collided with his left thigh.
▬▬▬▬▬
A persistent ringtone pierced through the eerie silence in the dark torture room. The familiar lone figure was seated on his chair with his usual catatonic stance. His eyes were empty as they stared at the limp body of the dead man bound to the chair before him.
Few minutes ago, the man was still breathing-in unimaginable pain, yes, but still there was life in him until he happened.
He continued to torture himself as he stared at the state the now dead man was in; the state he had put him in. The daggers were still in both his thighs and there was dried blood all over his ripped and dirty black slacks.
This sight was nothing compared to what he had done to successfully get the information he needed out of him. He looked at the spot where the man’s eyeballs were supposed to be and what was left of that spot was an empty space void of the organ of sight.
He had gouged out both his eyeballs. Like a perfect carver, he had carved out his prisoner’s eyes. The man had begged to be killed. He had begged Jordan to end his pain and suffering but as far as his heartlessness could carry him, he had not listened and had only laughed sadistically as he watched him plead for death.
Ultimately, the man had bled to death and just then, a certain realisation had dawned on Jordan.
The man’s existence had been wiped out. His lineage had ceased to exist on the face of the Earth.
And he let himself dwell on that piece of information as he let the overwhelming guilt eat him up and consume his entire being.
Some minutes later and the phone had not stopped ringing. Jordan could already guess who the persistent caller was. There was only one person that had the guts to call him and that was his beloved sister, Carolyn but he didn’t want to speak to her when he was still in such condition. When his hands were still stained with the man’s blood.
Having no other choice, he wiped his bloody hands off with a black handkerchief, leaving patches of dried up blood all over his arms as he reached for his phone in his pocket but as he pulled it out, the implacable caller finally relented as everywhere went silent again.
As Jordan inhaled a deep breath and exhaled, a message entered his phone. It was a text from Carol.
‘Ignore me all you want. Dinner tomorrow at Masa. 5p. m prompt. Do. Not. Be. Late.’
He heaved a tired sigh.