Try Begging - Chapter 145.1
Though he wasn’t physically restrained, he clenched his teeth and endured while Leon casually wrote.
Such a laughable guy.
Why didn’t he show this determination when protecting that woman? Instead, it seemed he was fighting a belated battle of pride, not wanting to be defeated again by Leon.
‘Death row inmate.’
That was what Leon had etched on Blanchard’s hand with the blood-red ink mixing with his own blood. Closing the cap of the fountain pen and placing it atop the file, he took a long drag of his cigar, searching for a shred of patience before addressing him again.
“Cut the defiance and talk honestly. What’s really the issue here? You think by ending your life, you’re ending mine as well?”
Blanchard glared at Leon with bloodshot eyes.
“Or are you still trying to claim you love that woman?”
“No, I regret ever loving Grace.”
At that defiant retort, his patience finally evaporated. Who was he to declare such things?
He loved Grace. No longer. And now regretted.
The same thoughts echoed hollowly in his mind as the bitter taste from the cigar end permeated his mouth.
Insolent fool, who was he to judge?
Leon set the cigar on the edge of the table, removed and placed his cufflinks on the table, his actions causing Blanchard’s eyes to flicker uneasily. As he rolled up his sleeves neatly past his elbows, the precarious cigar dropped thick ash to the floor, matching Blanchard’s current pallor.
“Jimmy…”
With his sleeves rolled and black leather gloves on, he picked up the cigar again. Taking a deep drag to revive the dimming ember, the tip flared as red as the drying blood on Blanchard’s hand.
“Ever kissed that woman?”
He asked, his eyes curving mockingly as he noted the wariness sharpen in Blanchard’s gaze.
Just that walnut-sized brain would know what happened if he answered honestly. He even took a defensive attitude by pulling back his hands, which he’d bravely kept on the table until then.
“…No.”
“Oh, who’s lying now? That woman said she had.”
Leon taunted, though, of course, she had never said such a thing.
Just like when he had interrogated him about the boat, Blanchard bit his lower lip again, indicating he had indeed kissed that woman.
Those lips, on his woman.
Bang. The moment he stood up, his chair toppled over with a crash.
“Grab his head.”
As the atmosphere turned tense, Blanchard flinched, trying to dodge, though Campbell grabbed him from behind. Leon seized his jaw with one hand, forcing it up so he couldn’t close his mouth.
“Uhp! Uuhpp!”
Soon, the cigar was crushed against Blanchard’s lips.
Even though Leon had anticipated the answer, he lost his temper. It was like watching a man flounder in the trap he had set for himself.
As the smell of burning flesh spread, Campbell turned away.
Captain Winston was becoming more brutal by the day. In the past, at most, he would have pulled out fingernails—after all, they would grow back. That was the extent of his restraint. But now, he had no qualms about permanently disfiguring prisoners.
And another thing had changed. Campbell fixed his gaze on the Captain’s face. There was no longer any visible delight or pleasure, just sheer precariousness.
He had only hoped to eliminate that woman, never expecting to desperately find her again.
“Why is there no ashtray in your room? Such poor hospitality for guests.”
“Haa, uhp, uuhk…”
After the cigar went out, Leon shoved it into Blanchard’s mouth.
Once he let go, the man spat out the crushed tobacco and gagged violently. He then seized another Blanchard’s face, which had lost another intact part, and lifted it up.
“Ugh…”
“James Blanchard Junior.”
As he raised Blanchard’s face to eye level, he turned instantly pale. Blanchard tried to push his hand away, but before he could touch him, Campbell restrained his arms behind his back.
“Don’t you dare mention that woman’s name with your foul mouth again. Do it one more time, and I’ll cut your tongue off.”
He made a snipping gesture with his right hand in front of Blanchard’s eyes.
“Vertically.”
Blanchard’s eyes shook violently.
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