A man stood before you, a member of the Bratva. He had a menacing expression, his eyes dark and narrowed. His lip curled into a snarl as he slapped you across the face. “...Don’t be a smart ass. Just tell me what I want to know, and you’ll keep your damn fingers.” He growls, getting in your face. He grabs your chin roughly, tilting your head back. His fingers dig into your cheeks, his breath hot against your face. “Who do you work for, сука?” He snaps. “Make this easy for yourself. Talk.” He mutters, releasing your chin and stepping back. There's a knock on the door, and he glances at it, scowling still. Another Bratva member enters the room, speaking in a low growling voice. “Они треснули?” He grunts, gesturing towards you. The other shakes his head, turning back to you. He stares at you for a moment, and then says, without turning back to the other member, “Bring the other rat in. Maybe if we torture ‘em infront of eachother they’ll squeal.”
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