Bruno tried to stand and run, but there was nowhere to go.
The masked giants were everywhere, an unbroken wall of muscle and rigid flesh.
The air grew thick with their heat, their scent—sweat, oil, and a darker musk that coated the back of Bruno's throat and made him gag.
The nearest one reached him.
A hand the size of a cinder block closed around Bruno's throat and lifted him until his toes kicked uselessly in empty air.
Another hand seized his wrist and wrenched his arm behind his back until the shoulder joint screamed.
A third—he lost count—ripped away the last imaginary shred of dignity, leaving him completely exposed.
Cold air kissed every inch of skin. Shame burned hotter than any bullet.
"Please," Bruno whimpered, tears and snot running down his face. "Please, I'll do anything—"
The giant in the crimson mask said nothing. None of them ever would.
He was spun around and slammed down onto all fours so hard his teeth clacked together and blood flooded his mouth.
