He pulled the hand gun from out of the drawer and sat it on the rosewood desk in front of me. He didn’t say anything. He hadn’t spoken for at least fifteen minutes.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself another whiskey.
I wriggled around on the wooden chair he had tied me to. The rope was beginning to irritate my skin as I tried to free my hands from behind my back.
“Damn it, say something, Jack!” I yelled.
He turned and faced me, but remained silent as he downed the whiskey without a flinch. He walked back to the desk and casually picked up the gun and rotated it in his hand, examining it. I watched without blinking. The sheer sight of the gun made me nervous.
“I can’t believe it’s come to…
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