A book in which you, the infamous ability stealer, are the newest member of the Port Mafia and as witty as they come. Being the constant centre of attention, you have managed to catch the eye of the notorious young executive; Chuuya Nakahara, but no...
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A/N - I highly recommend that you press play on the song above and let it run throughout this chapter! ;)
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When you entered the room despite Hirotsu's many warnings and protests not to—the sight that you were bestowed with as soon as you had pushed down the metal handle and opened the door was certainly not pretty, yet it was the most beautiful thing that you had ever seen.
There, in the middle of the interrogation room, the room that was entirely covered in white; from four white walls, a low white ceiling, and a white ceramic floor—the colour enough to drive absolutely anyone to the brink of insanity, was a small table and two chairs. But that wasn't what had instantly managed to capture your attention though, rather, it was the fiery midget grabbing a fistful of the dognapper's hair, and then viciously slamming his head down on the table; the impact and ferocity of Chuuya's smooth hit causing the man's head to bounce against the sharp edge of the hardwood.
You almost grimaced as you saw the horrific state of the unnamed man—who was currently handcuffed to the table so that he was unable to retaliate. Chuuya was merciless. Damn. He had taken no notice of you though, and neither did Kouyou or Tachihara as they were instead, both simply watching the live horror show take place right in front of their eyes; allowing Chuuya to take the lead of violently coaxing answers out of this man, this man who had no intention of ever letting anything slip even if it meant his tragic demise.
Stubborn piece of ass.
The man groaned in despair with every hit that came his way, and yet, he still chose to remain silent. Props to him for staying somewhat resilient despite being absolutely tortured to hell and back, but the sight of him almost made you laugh out loud. His face was a canvas of deep purples and reds, and his fingernails were lined in grime and dried blood. Portions of his neck were caked crimson, torso decorated with whiplashes, hundreds upon hundreds of them, to the point where they were even forming a pattern of their very own. He had been mercilessly hit, partially healed wounds from the two of you beating him up in that dingy ass alleyway now freshly opened.
Yikes.
"I give up," Chuuya grunted under his breath, his tone now extremely annoyed. He slammed the man's head down on the table one last time, before he finally turned away from him, unable to look at his ugly ass face any longer than he needed to. Chuuya began walking towards Kouyou and Tachihara with slumped shoulders, and you noticed that a little blood had splattered his face—not his blood, though. "That man isn't going to talk."
"Or so you think." The sound of your alluring voice had cause Tachihara's amber eyes to glimmer, whereas Chuuya's, on the contrary, completely darkened; now a pool of deep cerulean. Kouyou's reaction remained entirely indifferent, as all three of the notorious Port Mafia members had simultaneously turned around to greet—or berate, depending on how they felt about you—the owner of that saccharine sweet voice sprinkled with fraudulence. "Hey guys. Am I late to the party?"
