Chapter 3: The Right Way
After he was done, he leaned against the cold metal wall to take a breather.
The men's bodies lay beside him, twisted and bloodied, their breaths shallow and uneven.
They were still alive—for now—but death was close, waiting to claim them.
If they somehow survived what he did to them, they would be candidates for a zombie movie.
"Anyone else want to kill me?" His eyes landed on the remaining prisoners.
He might be dealing with women, but that didn't mean he was safe. One of them could still try to stab him in the back.
Sometimes, they were even more unpredictable than men, driven more by emotion than logic.
They huddled together in a corner, eyes wide, terrified they might be next.
"Don't worry, I won't hurt you as long as you don't do anything stupid," he warned.
"We won't... Please, we don't even know those men," a woman in her thirties forced herself to speak.
She wore a black T-shirt that hugged her chest and denim shorts. Her long legs were a canvas, tattoos of roses and crosses weaving together like a dark, intricate garden etched in ink.