Pow.
Smash.
Pow.
Pow.
Smash.
For the first few minutes of the beating, this bastard didn't even take a breather to ask if his work had had any effect — if I was now ready to talk.
He simply continued to pummel my face without a hint of emotion in his eyes. If it wasn't for the flat expression, I would've said he was enjoying it.
He beat the shit out of me with practiced brutality, the kind that showed he was very used to a life like this. Used to torturing people with his fists.
His white knuckles turned red from my blood, and my face was now unrecognizable. Not that I could see myself, but from the amount of immense pain ravaging my head, I could tell I was going to look worse on the outside than I felt on the inside. And I felt pretty fucking terrible.
