Dangerous Game
The other two slumped in their seats, their heads lolling and their blood hitting the floor in a steady drip, drip.
Several of their limbs bent at unnatural angles.
“You talk too much.” Brax spat out a mouthful of dark red liquid.
Brax Miller. Ex-con with a mile-long rap sheet, balls of steel, and a brain the size of a walnut. I smiled, then hit him again. His head snapped back, and a pained groan filled the air.
My bruised knuckles stung. The room jokingly dubbed the Holding Cell in my private security headquarters smelled like copper, sweat, and the thick, cloying scent of fear.