"TRISTAN ESTEFAN."

Beckett's mention of that name sent a cold and chilling feeling. The man, who was already in front of him, felt the same way too.

"W-Why do you know my name?" the man stuttered. "Who are you? Are you the one who kidnapped me—"

"Place that fucking towel inside his mouth again," Beckett said, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "So fucking noisy."

Nathan and his men were right. The man was even more talkative than a woman. Beckett didn't want to hear his blabberings or complaints. He only wanted to hear Tristan groaning in pain and begging for his life.

For now, Beckett was...