Eight: Blood and thoughts

Saint's POV.

They were not beating him up properly or that was what it looked like and I was pretty much starting to get impatient.

The guy who had been together with Tequila the past month coughed up blood as one of my men kicked him in the stomach several times. He was a tight-lipped person and this kind of ones needed some special kind of treatment.

We were at a partition of the bar basement or the 'dead hole' as I've heard some others call it. It was where everyone who crossed me ended up at. Nobody had ever made it out of here alive and it had always continued to be that way. Once you were taken into the dead hole, it was over.

I put up my hand, motioning for my guy to stop kicking him. I took a huge breath and uncrossed my legs, rolling my shirt sleeves up to my elbows.

"You're not going to make it out here alive, so you might as well start talking," I told him walking over to where they were.

I grabbed his face making sure my fingers were digging into his cheeks which made