Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“You found something?” my father asked into my ear.
“At the old animal hospital on Tuttle,” I murmured quietly into my phone. “The doors to the hospital are open, as are the ones to the furniture place.”
“Give us five, and we’ll check out both together.”
I didn’t wait.
I walked straight into the old hospital, and flipped the tactical light on at the end of my H&K forty-five.
The gun felt comfortable in my hand, and somehow, I was able to maneuver throughout the building without my heart racing.
I wanted this guy to know pain, I wanted him to feel some at my hands. I wanted him to suffer, day in and day out, for the rest of his natural born life. I wanted his experience in prison to be hell on earth and for some big guy to violate him in the shower. I wanted his parole denied each and every time it came up, dashing his hopes and leaving him a broken man.
I wanted him to be a shell of a man, but I wanted him to live. I wanted him to have a front row seat to the shithole his life was going to be once I got finished with him.
And I was confident that I would be able to make all of that happen for him.
I knew a lot of people. Some good and some bad. And each and every one of them would help me with what I wanted to accomplish when it came to this guy’s quality of life for the rest of his years on this planet.
I didn’t care how many favors I had to pull. I’d pull every last one of those mother fuckers until I had nothing left to pull.
A sound at my back had me freezing, and just when I was about to aim my gun behind me, Tommy Tom, still in his goddamn scrubs, came up behind me. He had a gun similar to my own in his hand, and he was an altogether different man than the one I’d seen in the hospital telling me I was going to be a father.
This one was lethal. He was scary. He was my brother, and I was glad to have him at my back.
“Your father and Truth are in the furniture store checking it out. If I had to guess, this is the one I’d say he was in.”
That was my guess, too.
Maybe they left something behind, and…I froze, staring at the body lying on the floor.
“Surely, it can’t be that easy,” Tommy Tom rumbled from behind me. At my six.
“You took the words right out of my goddamn mouth,” I murmured. “Cover me.”
Tommy Tom shifted, covering our backs, as he watched me approach the body.
It took less than thirty seconds to confirm that this man was the Walton character I’d seen at the smokehouse. The same one who we were ninety-nine percent positive was the man responsible for assaulting Naomi.
“He’s out,” I said, categorizing the shit laying around him in a heartbeat. Drugs, painkillers in particular, littered the floor. Saline. Gauze. Betadine. Alcohol. Syringes.
I lifted my foot and kicked the man’s shoulder, causing him to moan and roll onto his back. His face was just as fucked up as the body parts I could see.
And that’s when I had my suspicions confirmed. “Dog bites on his face. Arms. Chest. Likely some on his legs, too, but it doesn’t look like he got that far before he passed out.”
Tommy Tom relayed the message to my father and the men that had followed him, and it wasn’t two minutes later that they all arrived.
Each of us surrounded the man.
“Seems anti-climactic.”
That was said by Aaron, and Truth snorted.
“We don’t always have to have shoot outs and car wrecks,” Aaron laughed under his breath. “This is actually damn nice. No getting shot at…”
A gunshot rang out, and that was when I realized that he must have pulled a gun, because he was trying with all his might to raise it up and aim for me.
He only succeeded in getting it up about an inch off the floor before it fell again.
“You were saying?” I drawled, taking a step forward and placing my booted foot over the man’s wrist and then pressing down with the majority of my weight.
We ignored his whimpering cries, and I twisted my foot viciously, extremely satisfied with the way his wrist snapped.
“Dog bites are funny things,” Tommy Tom said, bending down to examine the cuts. “It’s crazy how infected they can get.”
He picked up a pipe, rusted and covered in something that I couldn’t make out, and dragged it across the man’s wounds on his arms, ensuring that he would get an infection.
The lacerations were seeping with blood, and I had to force myself not to pick the pipe up and whack the man across the head with it.