His chest heaved, his lungs burned, and where the leather was bound tightly around his wrist the skin nearly torn. The big fucker had put up more of a struggle than he had expected, twisting and screaming and clawing at him, nails digging into the flesh of his own neck trying to remove the belt digging into his third chin. At twenty-three, Nikolai White was small, standing at a simple five foot six he found ways to make up for his small stature with viciousness and planning. He had slipped up behind his former boss while the man had been reading and tossed the belt over his head and tugged it hard back against his neck. Dropped his weight down and gripping the other end with his fully functioning hand. He'd cursed things, insults, made him regret ever hurting Nikolai in the ways he did. He had been loyal, through things most wouldn't have, but the acing wound in his palm was the last straw. 

He finally relaxed his hold, letting the belt slip from his one hand and drape down across his chest. His bloody bandaged hand throbbing painfully and a small tremor ran down his body. "Fucking... bastard."