Carlton ✔

11| The Safehouse Ambush

"Where am I?"

"Now, young man, there's no reason to be afraid, we're not gonna hurt you." He smirked. "All you have to do is tell me who you are, how you are related to Mackenzie and where she and her friends are staying. We'll let you go unharmed."

"So there's a possibility that I'll be harmed?"

"What?"

"You said...that if I tell you, I'll be unharmed. What if I don't?"

An annoyed expression invaded his features before he stopped smiling and got right down to business. "Who are you?"

I smiled through my fear. "Let me just say, that scar looks pretty badass."

"How are you and Mackenzie related?"

"Hey!" my face lit up, "How about I call you 'Scar', has a nice ring to it!"

A few men chuckled under their breaths until Scar looked at them with a pain-inducing glare...then they stopped.

He wasn't sitting anymore; he rose up, towering way above me, sporting his dagger and waving it in front of my face on purpose.

"I'm gonna ask you one last time and then you will bear the consequences." Scar spoke huskily to scare me.

He walked closer and brought the sharp weapon one inch away from my right eye, the tip of the knife was close enough to blind me for life with one small miscalculated move. He was threatening to scar me too. "How are you and Mackenzie related?"

I blinked with a grimace, glaring straight into his eyes, "I told you, that scar looks pretty badass, I would like one too."

Scar was clenching his teeth with rage, his hand which held the dagger was shivering. I knew he wouldn't do it; instead, he growled and punched me angrily.

Pussy.

I moaned, straining against my handcuffs and spitting blood down on the rough, stone-ridden ground.

He then held both my collars in his fists and brought his face unnervingly close until I could spot the scars that were unnoticeable before, "Listen, boy, I have painful ways of information extraction up my sleeve!"

"Then use them, asshole."

He pushed me firmly back against the chair, a low grunt escaped me when my arms that were twisted and handcuffed behind me haphazardly, grazed against the edges of the metallic chair. My shoulders throbbed unbearably, craving to break free of the position they were in.

Scar was not enjoying this. "Why were you calling her Breanna?"

So he was stalking us?

I noticed a loathing sneer on his face when I looked up through my hair strands that had fallen all over my eyes, and my lips parted in shock. He was hastily wearing brass knuckles on his fingers.

Once in high school, I stole a pair of brass knuckles from my father and used it to punch the fuck out of a guy and almost killed him. They were no joke. One hard hit and I would die!

I was already tasting blood in my mouth; maybe I took it too far with the arrogance this time.

Bracing myself, I waited for the nauseating punches. There was no way in hell Scar was getting any information out of me. He either needed to stop trying or kill me to end this.

He tried to petrify me by knocking the brass knuckles together to create a clanking sound that echoed throughout the small, dark room that smelled of mud and grime accumulating for years.