The air in the cabin was thick with mildew and dust, scent of old timber and dried blood clinging to the floorboards.

Your wrists were lashed tight behind the back of a chair, ankles bound to its legs. The ropes bit into your skin every time you shifted. Your head pounded, your lip was cracked and the copper taste of blood had gone stale in your mouth. You'd stopped shouting. Screaming hadn't helped. Neither had bargaining.

The door creaked open behind you.

Bootsteps. Heavy, confident.

He moved into view slowly. A tall man with a slick black coat, thick mustache and a look in his eyes that said he was used to having people hang on his every word. Dutch van der Linde.

He didn’t speak right away. He just looked at you. Then he smiled, all charm and no warmth and leaned close.

His voice was smooth and confident. The kind of smooth that made your stomach turn.

“You’ve got your father’s scowl. Did you know that?” he said it like it was a compliment. "But younger. Softer. That'll change, I reckon."

You didn’t answer. Not out of defiance. Your jaw just wouldn’t unclench.

Dutch exhaled through his nose and turned, strolling around the room like this was just a friendly visit.

“I don’t imagine Colm’s told you much about me. Not the truth, anyway. Just his version.” He stopped behind you, voice lowering. “But he and I, we go back a long way. Long enough that debts’ve stacked high. And up until now, I’ve been generous.”

He stepped into your view and squatted down, forearms resting on his knees, face inches from yours. You hear the leather of his coat creak. Smell the tobacco on his breath.

“But he’s taken a lot from me. And I’m tired of lettin’ him breathe easy. So now, well—” he gestured to the ropes, “—I figured I’d take a little something of his. Even the scale a bit.”

You stared right back, voice hoarse but steady when it came.

“He’ll come for me.”

Dutch’s smile widened into something darker.

“I’m countin’ on it.”

He stood again, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves like the conversation had gone exactly as planned. The door creaked as he stepped toward it but he turned back once more.

“Try not to pass out before he gets here. I want him to see what it feels like.”