Crime/Mafia - M/F (strong language)
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
I hope you covered your tracks. Well, I say my voice husky and rough because my mother is going to be after you. And not just my mother, my whole ******* syndicate, my entire family. He knows that, of course, but I'm not going to let him go without hearing it from me. Grey pushes aside the chair on the other side of the table. Of course I did, he says, his hands flexing against the steel top as he leans against it. His bare forearms are framed by sleeves that have been pushed up, showcasing an ****** twist of veins through his skin. He's certainly strong enough to handle himself. I'm not an idiot. And yet you kidnapped me. I see dryly Why do you want me here, Clay Vos? I try to keep still, but everything in me wants to squirm. And not because of him. The cuffs around my wrist are keeping me from moving. And I hate being trapped. I don't think I did anything to **** you off. I know exactly why I'm here, but I'm sure as **** not going to be the first one to mention his dead father. I saw the photos for myself. I know that Matthew Clavius was murdered using our signature. But it wasn't us. And he knows that his job twitches. You know why you're here? Because you think I killed your daddy? I smirk. I can't help myself. I like messing with him, poking at him like throwing sticks at a bear. I know you're not sad about it, Gray. You couldn't look any more delighted. He looks everything but delighted. And I know he certainly isn't mourning his father. No one is not even his most beloved captains. Grey looks me dead in the eye. His are grey, just like his name. I want you to tell me you had nothing to do with it. I **** an eyebrow. I didn't kill Matthew. I say easily because it's true. I'm not a good liar. And he knows that. And neither did anyone in my syndicate. A growl tears from the back of his throat as he pushes off the table, his hands flexing and then balling into fists at his sides. He's barely keeping his anger and check. And I'm sure that if I was any other person, he'd be in a rage right now. What the **** do you want me to do about it? I yell, annoyed. I can't reverse what's happened, and at this point, I'm not sure I can do anything to help you other than get out of here. My presence seems to be doing very little to help this situation, and my family isn't involved. Do you want my family to be involved? He turns on his heels, moving back to the table in a swift second. His fist comes down on the top of the iron table, but I don't even flinch. I grew up in the Mafia, intimidating theatrics where nothing new.