“If you don’t shut up, I’ll rip your arm off and hit you in the face with your own elbow.”
The wailing sobs rapidly cut off. I check on the surviving hostage. He’s not dead, although he looks it, bathed in the villain’s arterial spray.
“I think I pissed myself,” he informs me.
I don’t ask God for patience only because I’m an atheist. “Do you realise what I’m trying to do here?” I glare down at the balled up string of wires.
“Stop the bomb blowing?” he guesses.
This would be so much easier if my hands weren’t shaking.
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