Frida
I am standing in front of Theodore. He is tied up to a chair, his face is beaten and battered but he still has a smug look on his face.
“Do you remember Molly?” I ask him curtly.
“I’ve had plenty of whores in my time. Which one is she?” Theodore says.
I want to rip his balls out and then make him eat them.
But I take a deep breath and try to keep my composure. “She was the one you killed. The one whose family you destroyed,” I say through gritted teeth.
Theodore just shrugs. “I don’t remember her. And even if I did, what’s it to you?”
I feel my anger boiling over. I grab him by the collar and slam him against the wall. “What’s it to me? She was my sister.”
Theodore’s eyes widen in surprise. “Your sister? I had no idea.”
I let go of him and he slumps back into the chair. “You
