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2025-12-11 16:06:21
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The Bad Gentleman 7.
Christian "Put out your hands." I'm not usually a patient person, but during torture, I found out patience is my forte. I believe it stems from the fact that the criminal is under my mercy, and no matter how much time they waste, no matter how much they fight, their next breath is solely dependent on me.I peer down at the two fools, C and Marco, who almost cost me Giorgio tonight, with disgust, wondering when I started having sloppy dickheads around me."I don't have all day and I won't repeat myself. Put. Out. Your. Fucking. Hands."The torture room echoes with my voice and my irritation peaks.We've already been here for half an hour, and though the streaks of blood pouring from the side of their faces are proof I've been at this for a while, I'm barely satisfied. My bloodlust is hardly impressed by streaks from a head bash.C put his shaky hands out first, on the wooden slab right in front of both of them, taking a deep breath because he'd seen this scene too many times to know
The Bad Gentleman 6.
Christian Soft open-mouthed breaths fill my ears in a sweet song and I find I don’t mind it; if anything I like it, given it is as a result of fear.Her brown eyes are wide and searching, but there’s some anger in them. She looks like a wet cat in need of cleaning and petting, and I’m tempted to clean and pet her, but I don’t because I’m more interested in seeing how she plans to break free from me with that anger in her eyes. “You don't seem pleased with my proposal.” I point out, fishing into my pocket to pull out my cigarette pack and lighter.I peel my eyes from her, focusing my attention on lighting the stick.“I—”“I was told you were desperate to save Giorgio. Don’t you want to save him anymore?” I exhale.She sucks in a deep breath and coughs, fanning away the fumes from my cigarette, then turns to look at me.“I don’t think you should smoke in here,” she says. She doesn’t dare meet my eyes like she did that blessed Friday. In response, I suck in another bout of tobacco and
The Bad Gentleman 5.
Hannah The seductive scent of pine and whiskey fill my lungs, accompanied by dreadful footsteps I know are coming in my direction, but I fold my lips, lowering my head, just in case I'm not the object of focus. But just like I feel it in my guts, I'm not surprised when I feel his presence right in front of me. I am, however, shocked to my toenails when he peels the blindfold from my eyes and it seems I'm staring at the devil himself. My heart stops, and my limbs and arms are too weak to respond to me, but my mouth isn't. "It's you!" I blurt out, which I realize is the worst thing I could've done in such a situation. My body seems to understand the situation now and suddenly my arms move, slapping my bloodied, bound hands across my lips in shock and embarrassment at my own actions. Mr. Green-eyes, I confirm now, isn't someone who should be trifled with, and if his dark eyes and smile doesn't tell you that, then the way he's dressed; in a pair of black pants and a matching black d
The Bad Gentleman 4.
Hannah "Can you tell me once more what happened?" The paramedic asks. He's a tall older man, but he looks firm and dependable, so a summary of what just happened rolls off my tongue. However, my focus is on the injured man and the relief that I would get to keep my promise to him. "It doesn't seem like he's lost a lot of blood, but his pulse is weak, we need to get him in right now," the paramedic is saying, and I'm nodding while wondering what had happened out there, if the injured man had been in a fight, if whatever the altercation was, was worth pulling out a gun for. Different thoughts keep infiltrating my mind when a small tap on my shoulders startles me. "You zoned out there, but you have to come with us," he says, his eyes slightly narrowing in concern. I drag in a breath and nod. “Of course, I have to come. I work at St Marie,” I say to the man. He looks down at me, sarcasm blatant in his eyes. “You don’t say.” I narrow my eyes at him, holding my tongue because I have
The Bad Gentleman 3.
HannahMost people hate hospitals because they usually represent sickness and death. Some hate hospitals because of the strong smell of antiseptics, but strangely enough, that’s one reason I love them; the smell of antiseptics, not sickness and death.Growing up with a nurse as a foster mother meant spending most of my teenage days in a hospital, being loved and cared for by nurses, doctors, cleaners, and other employees. I fell in love with the work that doctors and nurses do in the hospital so much that when I was old enough to decide, I knew I was going to work in a hospital, as a nurse. I had wanted to become a nurse just like my mother.I walk through the clean, white halls of St. Marie Memorial Hospital, with a little swagger in my step and a little chip on my shoulder at securing a job at one of the most sought-after hospitals in the city, extremely thankful that I didn’t fall for Connor's lies and reject the job, simply because he couldn’t grasp the concept of me being better
The Bad Gentleman 2.
Hannah "No more dares, Princess. No one else touches you, and you don't touch anyone," he warns smoothly with no expression on his face, then releases my wrist and goes about adjusting his coat. I don't spare a second more in the room. I run out immediately to meet Sophie, who, from the look of things, is already on her third shot. At least she is still sitting at the bar, where I left her. "Oh, there you are! I was beginning to think you'd never return, so I continued without you," She slurs, baring her pearly white teeth at me with a sheepish smile. Just wow. "Take your bag, Soph. We have to leave. Now." I say to her immediately, grabbing her arm, but then I stop, feeling the dreadful sensation of being watched. I turn, looking around, back to the section of the bar where the green-eyed man had been sitting when I walked up to him earlier, and sure enough, I'm right. He’s sitting still, his fingers interlocked together and his eyes narrowed, as he stares at me intently. A
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