“We want intel on everything you know about a man named Scar and the business dealings you have with him.”
“I see. I guess this is the point where you’ll tell me what vile, vicious things you’re going do to me if I don’t tell you what you want to know.” There was something about the way he said vile, vicious things that made my blood run cold. It sounded like the sadistic fuck was almost excited by the idea of being tortured. An eerie smirk crossed Schommer’s face as he said, “I’m sure you have many awful things in mind, but I’ll do us both a favor and save you your breath. I don’t know anything about this man you call Scar or his business.”
Viper motioned his hand over to Shotgun. “You know about skillsets, don’t you, Dr. Schommer? Well, my brother here has a particular skillset that has come in very handy over the years. You see, he has a talent for making people talk. It has come quite naturally to him and has been honed and refined over the years. Needless to say, I feel certain once he’s done with you, you’ll tell us everything we want to know about Scar and more.”
“I’ve already told you,” Schommer’s voice remained eerily steady as he continued, “I don’t know anything about him.”
“We have evidence that shows otherwise.” Viper reached into his back pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. After he opened it, he held it in front of Schommer and said, “Like the thousands of dollars that have been moved in and out of your bank account. I don’t know many professors who bring in this kind of cash every month.”
“How in the hell did you get into my account?”
Viper’s expression never altered as he looked down at the professor. “Clearly, we’re not as dumb as you thought. I’d suggest you remember that and start talking before you end up making things very difficult for yourself.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I have nothing to say.”
“Suit yourself.”
Viper looked over to Shotgun and gave him a nod, letting him know it was time for him to take over. Without saying another word, Viper walked out of the room and into the hall. As he closed the door behind him, he shook his head and said, “Damn, Shotgun’s gonna have his hands full with this motherfucker.”
“What’s the deal with this guy?” I kept my eyes trained on Schommer as I continued, “Is he a masochist or something?”
“I don’t know enough about that shit to even guess, but whatever it is, he isn’t firing on all cylinders.” Viper ran his hand down his beard and growled. “Asshole almost had a hard-on when he was talking about what we might do to him. What the fuck was that?”
“Definitely some kind of psychopath,” Axel grumbled.
“No doubt.”
Our attention was drawn to the mirrored glass again when Shotgun started to lay into Schommer. It wasn’t a sight for the faint of heart. Shotgun wasn’t a man who held back or even considered using restraint when he was working over one of our adversaries. After almost an hour of throwing one punch after the next, he’d barely broken a sweat. Schommer, on the other hand, looked like he’d been to hell and back. His white button-down was soaked in blood, his nose and both his lips were busted all to hell and bleeding, but at the same time, there was a look in that motherfucker’s bruised and swollen eyes that said he could take more—much more. This came as a surprise, especially considering the fact he was just some arrogant college professor who was half the size of Shotgun.
We all watched as our enforcer knelt down in front of Schommer and growled, “You can play it tough all you want, but eventually, you will tell us what you know. One way or another, I’ll get it out of you.”
“You think so?” he snickered. “Then, I guess we’ll just have to see how creative you can be.”
“That we will.”
Shotgun walked over and grabbed a small table from the corner of the room, then carried it back over to Schommer. After placing it in front of him, Shotgun pulled out his hunting knife from his back pocket and used it to release one of his hands. The professor didn’t so much as blink when Shotgun slammed his hand down on the table and placed the blade of his knife against the tip of his index finger. “How’s this for creative?”
Shotgun pressed the knife down against Schommer’s finger, slicing off more than half of it. Other than a small grunt, there was little pain shown from the professor. He didn’t even seem fazed by the fact blood was gushing from his hand. Instead, he clinched his fucking thighs together like some horny schoolgirl trying to reach a climax. The psycho was even more delusional than any of us had thought. Irritated by his elated state, Shotgun took the blade of the knife and stabbed it into the top of Schommer’s hand, making it impossible for him to move. This caused him to grimace, but only momentarily. After seeing his response, Shotgun reared his fist back and plowed it into the professor’s jaw, knocking him out cold.