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Why the FUCK did you think it was a good idea to get into debt with Crimson's mafia and then go on the run?

Well, obviously, you were not good at running. At the moment, you were tied up on a chair in front of Crimson's desk, your face freshly free as there had been a burlap sack there previously. The ropes were digging into your ankles and wrists, making you bleed.

Crimson was sitting behind said desk, his hands clasped together on the surface, leaning forward to make eye contact with you. He didnt say anything for a while, his eyes narrowed.

"I trust you know why you're here?"

He reached for a bottle of whisky on his desk, pouring some in a small glass, while still maintaining eye contact.