Still worried, Luke said, "Don't be too loud."
Frank wasn't a gentleman. The guards outside hadn't been cleared up yet, and the Ghost Butcher wasn't in the habit of letting his opponent get off a shot.
Frank flexed his wrists. "Don't worry. I'll leave him one last breath and then ask him questions."
How meticulous! Fine, then Luke should be the same. Satisfied, he took out plastic bags and wrapped them around the four criminals' heads so that he wouldn't leave bloodstains behind, before he dragged them by their legs out of the warehouse.
Frank's cold voice echoed in the warehouse behind him. "You said you wanted to burn my eyeballs? Don't worry, I won't be so direct. Look at your hands. They're stained with my blood. Come, let me wash them for you."
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! The sound of a butane torch rang out.
The boss of the Irish gang let out a series of screams, which were muffled by the shirt in his mouth.
Luke contacted Selina.
