The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 947

Sully's agonizing screams echoed through the warehouse as the starving rats tore into his flesh. The heavy burlap sack muffled the worst of the gore, but the frantic thrashing and the horrifying sounds of ripping fabric and tearing skin painted a vivid picture of the nightmare happening inside.

Connor stood perfectly still, watching Sully's face contort into masks of unimaginable agony. Even Connor's hardened crew had to look away, their stomachs churning at the sheer brutality of the screams.

When it seemed Sully was on the brink of losing consciousness, Connor meticulously adjusted his shirt cuffs, rolling them down and buttoning them with slow, deliberate precision. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and stared at Sully with the cold detachment of an executioner. Inside the sack, Sully was gasping for air, his body spasming from the vicious bites and the highly infectious diseases carried by the feral rodents.

"Boss, I think he's had enough. He's gonna bleed out if we leave him in there," one of the crew members muttered nervously.

Connor exhaled a slow plume of smoke, letting it drift toward the ceiling, before sauntering over to Sully. "Ready to talk? Or do we find out what gives out first—your stubbornness or their teeth?"

Sully's eyes were rolling back in his head. Giving the signal, Connor ordered his men to drag the sack out into the sunlit courtyard. The moment they sliced the burlap open, the sudden blinding light sent the rats scattering in all directions.

What was left of Sully was a nightmare. He lay convulsing on the pavement. Knowing they needed him alive, Connor nodded to the crew's medic, who quickly jammed a syringe of adrenaline into Sully's thigh to stabilize his violently dropping heart rate.

Connor crouched beside him. "Now. Where is Felicia?"

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