A Lesson In Pain

Chapter 43: A Lesson In Pain

The warehouse was cold, damp, wet, and smelled of blood and gasoline. 

Low lights formed shadows along the rusted metal walls, making the place feel more like a tomb than a building.

At the center of it all sat the man Gabriel had been waiting for.

Bound to a metal chair, the shooter's head lolled forward, blood dripped from his split lip onto his dirt-streaked shirt. 

His wrists were tied behind him with thick rope, the fibers already cutting into his skin from his earlier struggles.

Gabriel stood in front of him, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp black shirt, his face was calm—too calm. 

The kind of calm that came before a storm.

In his right hand, he held a scalpel.

A small instrument. 

Sharp enough to cut anything for a surgeon.

Gabriel turned it between his fingers, the blade shone a little under the light.