She could somewhat hear the miserable sound.
Talia squeezed into the crowd. In the middle of the circle was a young man pinned to the wall, various numbers taped to his body.
Surrounding him were the rich men, each trying to compete to see who could throw a tennis ball more accurately.
The young man's eyes were bloodshot from the hits, and blood trickled from the corners of his mouth.
His mouth was tightly gagged, and despite his struggles, only muffled whimpers escaped.
At that moment, Danielle held a tennis ball in her hand, contemplating which part of the man's body to aim for.
This was the true face of Danielle.
While these rich young men and girls appeared courteous on the surface, relying on their parents' powerful background.
Behind the scenes, they took pleasure in torturing those beneath them, feeling that calling the police was nothing more than just a little compensation money.
And this amount of money might not even be worth one of Danielle's casually discarded earrings.
In my past life, I had been Trevon's goddaughter, Danielle's nominal sister.
I was in a role that allowed her to vent her frustrations on me privately.
While others might have grown bored of such games.