Ethan's heels scraped against the concrete as the security guards dragged him like dead weight.
One, with a buzz cut, had a tight grip on both his arms, yanking them back painfully while the other one pressed a heavy palm against the back of his neck, forcing him to stumble forward, head down, like a prisoner.
The café's doors slammed shut behind them.
Outside, a cold drizzle had started to fall—not heavy, just enough to soak his shirt and sting against the bruises already forming.
The alley behind the café was narrow and filthy, trapped between tall walls streaked with oil stains and old graffiti. Trash bins overflowed to the side, the air thick with the stench of rot, piss, and spoiled grease.
Ethan's pulse thundered in his ears, his breath quickening.
What are they going to do to me?
They stopped in the middle of the alleyway close to a dumpster, and the one holding Ethan's head down let go.
But before Ethan could look up, the other slammed him against the wall.
"Aargh!" Ethan gasped as his shoulder smashed into the brick, and he dropped to the ground like a sack of bones.
Before he could catch his breath, a meaty hand grabbed his collar and yanked him back up.
The guard with the buzz cut—built like a tank—growled in his face.
"Stand."
Ethan's knees buckled in fear.
His legs refused to comply, so the second guard stepped in and drove a punch into Ethan's stomach.
"Gaah!"
All the air shot from Ethan's lungs, and he doubled over, coughing and choking, his hands clawing at the air.
"Thought you could pull that stunt and walk away?" the buzz-cut guard sneered.
Ethan's vision blurred. His jaw still stung from the slap inside. His ribs screamed. His thoughts were foggy, spinning out of control.
Still, he wheezed out a breath.
"I didn't... lie."
PAH!
A palm smashed into his jaw, snapping his head to the side.
Pain exploded across his face. His lip split. Spit and blood flew.
"Shut your mouth."
Another blow—this time to his ribs.
Then a knee slammed into his stomach.
Ethan collapsed fully, face hitting the wet gravel. His hands barely managed to shield his head as boots crashed into his body.
One after another, like he was just a thing to break.
He curled tighter, trying to block the worst of it—but there was no escape.
They grabbed him again with rough hands and slammed him back against the bricks.
He hit hard, then slumped down like a puppet with cut strings.
Blood trickled from his mouth. His right eye was already swelling shut. His body trembled, half from cold, half from shock.
Then, the back door creaked open.
Mr. Davis, the manager, stepped out—suit half-buttoned, tie loose, eyes gleaming with disdain, staring down at Ethan like he was a bug on the sidewalk.
He didn't speak right away. He just let the silence settle.
Then, finally, he scoffed and muttered,"Look at you now. Thought you could bark at a big dog without getting bit?"
Ethan tried to respond, but the only sound that came out was a low grunt. His lips trembled, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. One eye was half-swollen shut, the other barely open.
Mr. Davis crouched beside him, voice quiet but sharp like a knife."You humiliated me in front of Mr. James. I could lose this place if I didn't act. You understand that, right? You bastard."
Ethan groaned, trying to lift his head.
He was furious."Understand my foot... This..." he heaved, "this is assault. I'll report you to the police…"
Mr. Davis gave a slow, tired sigh.
He stood up straight, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a long drag. Then, without a glance back, he flicked his hand toward the guards to continue.
Ethan's eyes widened when he saw the guard approach. He tried to react, but a fist slammed into his ribs, sending a lightning bolt of pain through his side.
Another punch caught his jaw. His head snapped back and hit the brick wall behind him—hard.
White spots exploded behind his eyes.
He gasped, but no sound came.
Then came the boots.
A kick drilled into his stomach, folding him in half. He tried to curl up, but another kick smashed into his shin, knocking him to his knees.
Before he could fall completely, one of the guards yanked him back up by the shirt, holding him steady like a punching bag.
Blow after blow landed.
His chest.His arms.His thighs.Even his throat.
Each hit stole the air from his lungs.
The pain layered itself—fresh stings on top of deep bruises.
His body couldn't take it.
He stopped struggling.
He just hung there, limbs limp, vision spinning like a broken carousel.
The alley tilted sideways with every strike. His heart pounded out of rhythm.
His brain screamed for air, for rest, for someone to make it stop.
But they didn't.
Until finally—
Mr. Davis exhaled a puff of smoke and spoke again."I want him to remember this."
Ethan, barely conscious, coughed—a wet, rattling sound. Blood slid down his chin as he forced himself to look up through his one good eye. Mr. Davis was just a shadow now, standing still and cold.
His next words cut through the rain like ice.
"Break his arm."
Ethan's eyes snapped wide open.
"Wait! It's not that serious!"
But the guards weren't listening.
One of them seized Ethan's right wrist.
The other moved behind him, gripping his elbow.
"No—please! You don't have to do this! I'll leave! I swear I'll never come back! I'll apologize, just wait!"
He thrashed, but he was too weak.
They didn't stop.
The guard twisted his arm violently.
Then, the other slammed a knee into his elbow.
KRAK!
A loud crack echoed through the alley, and Ethan let out a raw, guttural scream that tore from his throat.
Pain like fire surged through his entire body, and he kicked and twisted on the ground.
Mr. Davis flinched at the scream. His head snapped around, eyes darting to the alley entrance, afraid someone might hear.
He barked,"Shut him up!"
And one of the guards acted.
CRACK!
A boot swung forward and smashed into Ethan's face with brutal force.
His head snapped sideways, and blood sprayed from his mouth, splattering the wet concrete.
Everything went black for a second, and Ethan swayed, blinking slowly.
Muffled sounds.Cold rain.A copper taste on his tongue.
He was barely conscious.
He didn't understand why this was happening—what he had done to deserve this much pain.
Mr. Davis, now calm again, took one last drag from his cigarette and flicked it into a puddle, where it hissed out. Then he pointed toward the dumpster.
"Throw him in. That's where trash like him belongs."
The guards moved without a word.
They grabbed Ethan and dragged his battered body across the alley.
Reaching the dumpster, one of them grunted as he hoisted him by the shoulders, and the other grabbed his legs.
Then, with a heavy heave, they tossed him.
CLANG!
He slammed into the edge of the metal dumpster—his broken arm hitting first, causing pain to explode through his body again.
A hoarse cry tore from his throat as he crumpled inside, tears uncontrollably pouring from his eyes.
The lid was slammed shut, and the faint sound of retreating footsteps could be heard.
Ethan stirred in the filth, barely conscious, his body...