"Those motherfuckers", Miguel sneered through clenched teeth with a dreadful tone that was capable of capsizing a ship, and then, without hesitation and any further wastage of time, he stepped back into his room, slamming the door shut with a loud, precise thud.
The room suddenly felt emptier and drier than it already was; it was completely devoid of the warmth it had carried earlier.
The silence became so deafening that it was as if things were instantly just spoiling alongside Miguel's mood.
As he slid into something more suitable and comfortable, he couldn't help but ponder the questions his curious, eager mind wanted answers to.
'What was the motive? Who hired them?'
"Anyways, we would find out soon", he breathed out calmly to himself as he buttoned up.
'Whoever had the guts to make an attempt on his life, was definitely going to regret that the thoughts even crossed their mind'
One of the things Miguel despised the most and never forgives was; literally trying to end his life, apart from stealing and betrayal which he despised like a deadly plague, trying to end his life never came with negotiations, it was as simple as:
I would kill you, if I don't die!.
After dressing up and pondering, it was finally time to go see the faces of those bastards, he stood in front of the large mirror one last time analysing his whole stance and charisma, he looked too casual 'simplicity that spoke volumes'.
white oversized shirt buttoned only from the chest down, a pair of jet black plain trousers and a simple pair of loofers in socks and finally a tanzanite encrusted watch that hung loosely on his wrist like an ordinary metal.
Such an innocent outfit, almost so reverend, yet about to go commit a sin so grotesque it could pass for a psychopath's show in the cinemas 'literally about to stain that white tee'
And with that he walked out, letting the ajarred door silently creak closed.
He knew exactly where they would be waiting for him, and that was where he walked purposely towards, until he finally came to a dead end, no waiting at all. He walked over to the large sculpture of a chained, blindfolded woman in a chokehold, holding multiple organs.
Miguel took another icy deep breath and with that, he swiped the statue's eyes slightly before taking two steps backwards,
hands crossed over his back with that calm, calculated and nonchalant aura that never gives out a clue of what's going on in his mind through his body or countenance.
The next thing that came after was a large crack and then deep rusty creak and groans of the secret door's mechanism, a raspy hiss followed after a "click!!".
And the doors carved out an alley which seemed dark at first then automatically, came the light and another groan with the same process as earlier, the very moment Miguel majestically walked in, shutting out the world where he was respected as a man of value, a role model in magazines, an icon in charity homes, idol and inspiration.
But this was his reality, the main channel to that billionaire lifestyle and large empires. Inside this place that smelled like overdue copper and rust, he was known as the ruthless Don or sire Miguel, and he loved it that way.
Miguel stood at the same spot for a while, scanning the long aisle ahead, and then averted his gaze to the rows of locked, dark, prison-like rooms, where the faint marks of blood drew resistance and survival.
This whole place screamed wickedness, illegal and inhumane: from the soft sobs, tired and crackly hoarse pleas that sipped out behind those dark, locked bars, all begging to be free.
But it doesn't faze Miguel, not anymore, 'actually never did' ever since he started seeing them as stocks and goods to either be sold out or harvested, what matters was that money never stopped flowing in.
He took a quick glance at his watch 'No more time to waste, this shit needs to be done and dusted' he told himself continuing his flawless stride towards the main concern of the night, drawing closer with every breath.
He could slightly hear the faint, desperate cries of men, probably undergoing the most brutal kind of torture and torments of their lives, and those screeching yells brought pleasure to Miguel's ears.
The guard standing in front of the blood-stained door quickly gave a sharp bow on seeing Miguel approach, the man quickly pushed the metal door open with a soft grunt.
Miguel glided past with that contained aura, not even sparring the man as much as one glance, and what welcomed him the moment he fully stepped in was the stinging scent of blood mixed with sweat and cologne.
Obviously, someone ought not to spell "dread" for anyone with clear eyes to piece together the kind of activities that were going down here.
Weapons with dried stains of blood were hung casually on the rough walls, coupled with the curling smoke exuding from the blunts the few men dragged that glowed with tiny embers.
Once again, that wasn't Miguel's concern, he was a man of time and had other things to do with his night, so this needed to be done quickly, he thought to himself.
After scanning the entire room gently with an eagle's precision, his gaze finally landed on them.
The main Three of them!!!
Wrists hung up, chained to a high bar, while their weak bodies struggled to stand firmly due to all the tortures they had been undergoing.
The bald muscular man doing all the whipping and slashing suddenly retreated as the echoes of scream died down too, Miguel had stepped in and the stage had been undeniably left for him to finish off.
The bald man walked to the side pulling off his gloves with disgust and pure hatred, giving the scapegoat a little breathing space.
These bastards had been silent through all those tortures, refusing to say a word, whatsoever, they looked prepared and ready to take their secrets to the afterlife and with the bald man retreating, a slight light of victory clawed on their faces.
But it hasn't dawned on them yet, that they were standing in front of a man known to be more cruel amongst his peers than the devil himself.
They would regret not talking as soon as they could....
To be continued…..