We don’t have to wait long before headlights shine, lighting up the area. The idiot pulls right in, pocketing his keys as he gets out. He’s alone, dressed in a red jacket.
Moving closer, he calls out for the “kid” he thinks he’s meeting.
“Daniel, are you here?” the man whispers loudly.
I give Ghost a shove, so he steps forward enough for the target to see him.
“Ah, there you are! Come on over, son. Let me get a good look at you,” Peter says to Ghost.
Ghost moves slowly, kicking the gravel, like a hesitant young boy would. He’s got his hood up, and head down.
Iskra and I round the dumpsters, putting ourselves directly behind Dolce. He didn’t even notice the movement.
Once Ghost is close enough, Dolce reaches out, grabbing his wrist and pulling him closer. He shoves Ghost’s hood back, looking at his face.
“You are thirteen, right?” Dolce asks with uncertainty.
Before Ghost answers, Iskra and I move. I'm already holding the zip ties and tape, and Iskra has the chloroform.
Dolce doesn’t have a chance as I grab him, and sharply pull his hands behind his back, putting the zip tie on. Simultaneously, Iskra holds a chloroform-covered rag to his face, then I slap a strip of tape across his mouth.
He struggles for a minute, then starts to drop like a sack of potatoes. Ghost is quick to catch him.
The two of us lift and carry him to our car.
“We need to move his car,” Iskra says, biting her lip.
“I’ll do it,” Ghost responds, grabbing his keys once we have him in the trunk.
He goes to move Dolce’s vehicle and we wait. It's about ten minutes before he jogs back to where we’re waiting.
“We’re good. Let's go,” Ghost says, climbing inside, a bit out of breath.
We ride in silence on the way back.
I make sure to drive the speed limit. The last thing we need is to be pulled over.
Once we get home, we pull the fucker from the trunk, who’s thankfully still knocked out. We juggle him through the door, and down to the basement level.
I can already taste the blood as we enter the torture room.
Before we rouse him, I set up my phone to record at the right moment.
We want his confession before he dies.
I look to Iskra. “You’re up, love.”
Phoenyxx
“Wake up, fuckface.” I slap the shit out of the pedo filth in front of me.
He's still zip-tied and attached to the ceiling by a thick chain attached to a cuff around his ankle.
Asshole starts to wake up, clearly disoriented.
“Wha…? Where am I? Daniel?” he slurs.
“Do I look like a Daniel to you?” I say, punching him in the eye.
