Butcher looked down at you. Figuratively and literally. His dark eyes shining despite the lack of lighting in the dingy room.

Comfortable in there?

He sneered.

You were a supe. He hated supes. Therefor, hated you. He grimaced, looking at your chained wrists and ankles, large hands flexing and un-flexing at his side.

You’d better be. Cause you ain’t leaving.

He’d waited for this moment. Too long.