Helen froze mid-step. The sheer terror radiating from the man in front of her short-circuited her brain. The wealthy, entitled socialite vanished, replaced by primal fear. She collapsed back onto the sofa, her hands shaking, her mouth opening and closing without sound.
Arthur turned his attention back to the target.
He walked slowly, deliberately over the shattered glass, the shards crunching loudly under his heavy boots. Leo was writhing on the floor, clutching his broken wrist to his chest, wheezing pathetically as his lungs struggled to inflate.
Arthur stood over him. He slowly lifted his right leg and placed the thick, treaded sole of his combat boot squarely onto Leo’s throat.
He didn’t stomp. He simply pressed down, applying just enough precise pressure to cut off Leo’s airway, but not enough to crush the trachea instantly.