Draven's Point Of View
"Alright, you heard the boss," Azriel called out, his tone dripping with that casual, witty cruelty he always maintained. "Get going. Clean this mess up and move out before the sun starts thinking about coming up. And if everything he says here proves to be a lie or he tries to pull a smart one, don't hesitate to waste him and bring back his head."
The two guards instantly stepped forward, their heavy combat boots thudding rhythmically against the stone as they grabbed Ruzzo by his armpits, dragging his limp, trembling body out of the chair while his wife screamed his name into the dark.
The heavy iron doors groaned as my men threw them back, the harsh scrape of metal on grit cutting through the warehouse like a serrated blade. They didn't handle Ruzzo with anything resembling care. Instead, they dragged him across the concrete floor, his boots bouncing uselessly against the stone, leaving a faint, smeary trail of dark blood and alleyway grime behind.
