I learned one thing during my week in this godforsaken back alley.
If you're going to stomp someone, you have to do it thoroughly.
Half-measures only invite retaliation.
"Aaaaargh!! Please—please spare me! I beg you!!"
"My, my. Such dramatics," I said calmly. "Didn't I already tell you? I'm not going to kill you."
"It hurts!! It hurts like I'm dying!!"
The warehouse floor was a mess. Groaning bodies sprawled in every direction, some clutching their sides, others curled up and trembling.
I pressed my foot down a little harder on the broken arm of the one who seemed to be their leader.
Crack.
His scream climbed an octave.
Honestly, the noise was impressive.
"You're making a fuss over a few broken bones," I muttered. "When you were perfectly fine trying to kill me earlier."
The leader thrashed weakly, tears streaming down his face as snot bubbled out of his nose. Pathetic.
