Nicholas found the man sitting in front of him utterly disgusting.
He studied Nicky's trembling form, the tear-streaked face, the desperate, pleading eyes, and felt nothing but a cold, clinical distaste. It wasn't the fear that disgusted him. Fear was natural, understandable, even expected in a situation like this. It was something else. Something deeper. Something that had nothing to do with the terror and everything to do with the man behind it.
He was a good judge of character, and because of that, he could tell that Nicky simply wasn't a good person.
Nicholas had spent years learning to read people, to see past the masks they wore and the lies they told. It was a skill born of necessity, honed through countless interrogations and observations. He could look at a person and know, with startling accuracy, what kind of soul lurked beneath the surface.
There were different kinds of people when it came to committing crimes.
