O Justiceiro Serie Page

Frank used the shadows. The first man died looking at a security monitor that showed nothing but static—Frank had cut the feed. A blade, not a bullet. Silent. The second heard a floorboard creak and turned to find a fist the size of a cinder block crushing his larynx.

"You lied," Frank said quietly. "There's no ship. There's a container. Refrigerated. You were going to seal them inside." The intel from the previous week had told him that. He just needed confirmation. o justiceiro serie

"I'm not a cop," Frank said, his face inches away. "I don't want a confession. I want an address. You lie, I take the other knee. Then an elbow. Then a shoulder. Then I walk inside and ask the bartender. But you'll be alive for all of it. Nod if you understand." Frank used the shadows

Frank’s face didn't change. There was no anger. No rage. That was for the battlefield. This was something colder. A funeral dirge played on a single, repeating note. Silent

That’s when Frank moved.