Over and over, he’s screaming to let him go. The person recording is breathing heavily, more than likely from the risk of being caught doing something extremely dangerous.įour robed men stand over a stone slab with a squirming little boy tied down to it. It’s a grainy video of a fucked up satanic ritual. The video starts playing, and despite my instincts screaming at me not to, I turn up the volume so I can hear. I roll my neck, cracking the muscles and gearing up for something that’s going to make the steak I just ate settle in my stomach like a wrecked ship in the ocean. “Already encrypted and sent to your email.” “Where?” I bark, my fingers already flying over the keyboard. It’s dirty, but I’ve never been in the business of keeping my hands clean.Īnd it allows me to dedicate my life to ending human trafficking. In the end, someone wealthy gets fucked over, my client makes a massive profit from it, and I collect interest on it. It’s only my concern that they get what they hired me for. I don’t give a fuck what their problems are with each other.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |