Mr & Mr Hitman

Before the Storm

"You- you-", Matthew exclaimed, he couldn't find any profanities as his mind was emptied by the flaming pain. He slowly lowered himself onto the ground, holding his knee; the place just below where the bullet had hit. As much as he yells charisma, holding a still bleeding wound is something he'd rather avoid.

Which gives us an insight of how absolutely stupid this 'villain' is, continuing to lose blood profusely.

"I what?", Samuel chuckled, taking a step forward, "Please do reward me with one of your oh so unique insults," he grinned at the sight of the soaked red denim jeans his victim was wearing.

"You're going to pay for this," Matthew spat, breathing through his teeth, hatre and pain seeping through his words.

Samuel laughed, still keeping a lower tone than usual, putting Matt on egde, "I reckon you have some debts to settle too."

"What is that supposed to mean-", cut off by this now, familiar sound, Matt gasped, nearly choking on his breath - crack.

Two knees down.

Paralysed. Both physically and by absolute fear. Matthew's breath hitched; he'd rather have a bullet to his head. He'd rather die by blood lost. Hell, he'd shoot himself if he could. But he begged to God, if ever there was one, and whomever was willing to listen to this desperate sinner, to wipe that smirk off of his torturer's face. A victorious grin, with reflective teeth that looked like they would tear his soul apart; macadamian eyes that reflected nothing but pure evil. Sheer sadism that needed to be quenched. And Matthew, to his great misfortune, was the poor soul who would succumb to such barbarity.

"That'll teach you to mess with my lover."

"He was the one," Matthew inhaled sharply, trying to hold back the screams and tears that would tarnish his image of the intimidating man he portrays himself to be. Although, quite literally, this image has evaporated completely. "Who messed with me first."

No response. Samuel just stared at the man bleeding litres in front of him. This sent shivers down the man's spine; silence is the worst possible answer one could acquire. But this tranquility didn't last for long.

"How about Olivia? Did she mess with you too?", our protagonist rose an eyebrow.

"That's private matters," the man looked down in shame.

"Oh?", Samuel chuckled loudly, lowering his voice once again for whatever reason he had decided, "You think you're in the position to keep secrets? Let me ask you this, Matthew," he walked closer to his victim, "Why do you think you're still alive?"

Matthew didn't reply. Instead he stared at the ground. He knew it all. He already imagined it. He was going to die. Not a beautiful and peaceful death. Just what did he do to end up knees exploded by a psychopath? Was there any way imaginable he could escape?

Yes. There was.

Well that was what he thought, slowly turning his eyes to look at Cameron just besides Samuel. Then, the usual crack nearly caused him to have a heart attack. With already trembling limbs, he rose his left hand that was on the ground limp, his palm shaking as fresh crimson blood poured out of the body part. He felt his vision blurry, heart beating rapidly.

"Why you-", his voice was strained by pain - since his torturer was aiming for limbs rather than organs, his chances of survival were higher, but that only meant more hours for Sam to have his vengeance.

"Don't even think about it," Samuel hissed, "You've brought nothing but trouble for me, him and Olivia," he spat, "And what about Nathaniel? What the fuck goes through your head?"

"They are none of your business-" Crack.

Millimetres away from his face, Matthew could feel the heat of the rapid bullet that was shot in his direction.

He missed purposely.

Of course he did.

"Fucking eye sore," he mumbled through gritted teeth, walking to Matthew, who remained silent, orbs shuffling, "Now the dirty work," he sighed, putting his gun back in his belt, making the other man raise an eyebrow. He lowered himself, face inches away from his victim as Matthew stared at him with fright, "You got a shiny object don't you?", Samuel grinned.

Matthew gasped. He did have a penknife, but the heat of the situation made him completely forget the existence of such a plausible weapon. His unhurt right hand slowly moved down to his hips, trying to take it out of his pocket.

"Now's too late you fucking moron," Samuel slapped his hand away, grabbing the pocketknife that was slipping out. Matthew grabbed him by the collar, flinching when he tried to lift his shot hand to strike him.

"That's fucking pathetic," Samuel snorted getting up almost effortlessly, kicking him in the stomach.

His victim grunted, nearly chocking on his breath again when his head hit the hard ground. Samuel was holding him by his legs and Matthew had already caught up on the plan.

"You see those scars on the side of my lover's body?", Samuel grinned, but Matthew frowned, avoiding any possible eye contact, "Guilty?"

"Repent then," Samuel snarled, dragging the bleeding man to the inside of the warehouse. At first, Matthew could take it. But then his skin opened more with the friction of the ground, he could feel his blood tainting the soils of the forest as now, it wasn't his skin but rather his flesh succumbing to the merciless march of his captor. Burning all over, he bit his lips, trying his best to contain himself even though grunts continued to escape. At that one moment, engulfed in silence and the sound of his own flesh tearing as well as his pathetic sounds, he thought only one thing,

This is what hell feels like.

No, not the heat his body was accumulating, not the pain he was in, but rather that joyous beast who saw no remorse, dragging him to his demise.

Matthew caught a shaky breath when Samuel stopped, the rusted crews of the metallic entrance making it creek loudly echoing into the woods. Then he noticed it, the smell of gasoline.

"What are you-", he grunted, coughing rather dramatically when his wounds came into contact with the fuel scattered around the place, "planning on doing to me?", he managed to speak out.

"Oh I don't know," Samuel hummed, crouching down to his victim, "It depends on how creative I get."

Then the charade began again. Samuel dragged him inside the warehouse, suspicious of Matthew's lack of complaints. Perhaps he had a plan to escape?

I have a gun and no mercy.

Yeah, can't argue with that.

"Now, now," Samuel grinned, "I saw a pretty little thing on your arm," he crouched down again, seizing the pocket knife his victim failed to acquire, "It misses a little touch," he let out a malevolent chortle.

Lying on his back, panting like air was out of his reach, Matthew squinted his eyes. He watched as the man lifted his arm, twisting it in a way to reveal more clearly the 'V' that was carved upon his flesh few days ago. It had scarred already nonetheless it remains as painful when he sets eyes on it; a reminder of his foolishness and how he was the 'victim' now.

Matthew kept having this sense of déjà vu. First, the dragging and now the cold blade unto his skin. He bit his teeth, bracing for whatever sculping his captor was planning to do.

So this is karma.

Humming rather contently, Samuel concentratedly sliced the man's skin, drawing a diagonal life from the middle of the previous scar up right to sloping left, and doing the exact opposite on the mirror side.

And inverted 'v' to be more brief.

Now the man had a kite with sort of wings on his arms, a sign the lovers left to claim the competence of their skill and the fury of love, respectively.

Not that the police would be able to make out any of it.