Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
My eyes scanned the contents of the letter, and my stomach sank.
It was the last words on the paper that did me in, though.
I want you to help me get away with murder.
Sincerely, Dutch Panchek.
Dutch Panchek.
What kind of name was that?
I could tell she was female, however, just by the way her writing looked so bubbly and upbeat.
“Well?” Davis asked.
I folded the letter, then stashed it away in the hidden compartment of the bed that no guard had found yet, and then allowed my mind to wander.
“Some girl. She wants to meet,” I answered.
Etienne and Davis started to talk to each other, but my mind went to that long-ago night when my life had changed.
“Girl?” Davis said.
But my mind had already taken me to where my nightmares loved to take hold of me and hold me down, keeping me there as I relived the worst moment of my life.
I’d gotten home early from work.
Even after being early, I’d walked inside, and knew without a doubt that everyone inside of it was asleep.
Or at least should be.
Tex, our eight-month-old Golden Retriever, met me at the door with a wiggly butt.
I bent down to scratch him around the ears, cursing when he yelped as I did.
My wife, Amber, had allowed him to go for a few days without any ear infection medication, and it would obviously be up to me to deal with it tomorrow on my only day off.
“Sorry, buddy,” I said to Tex. “I’ll get you fixed up tomorrow. In the meantime, we’ll put what’s left of the medication in your ear from last time.”
I did that, then went in search of my wife.
I found her sleeping in our bed, her phone in one hand, and the television remote in the other.
I stared at her for a long time, hating that I felt nothing for her any longer.
Years ago, when we’d married, I’d fancied myself in love. But over time, that love had morphed into something more like friendship. The little things that I used to think were cute, were nothing but annoying now.
Such as her penchant for jacking the TV up so loud that she couldn’t hear me entering our house, let alone if our daughter Lauren, or Lolo for short, cried out for her in the middle of the night.
After turning the TV off, I put the remote on the nightstand then went next door to my daughter’s room.
I opened the door, and at first, couldn’t quite comprehend what I was seeing.
Then, when the reality of what I was seeing was finally known, somehow my mind disassociated with my body.
I moved before I could really think, yanking my wife’s brother, Braxton, off of my eight-year-old and throwing him so hard into the wall beside her bed that there was an audible wheeze as the breath left his body.
When he didn’t immediately get up, I turned my gaze to my daughter, who was looking at me with tears streaming down her face.
“He wouldn’t get off of me, Daddy,” Lolo whispered.
I felt something akin to a rock lodge itself in my throat.
“Come here,” I said softly, picking her up.
Her nightgown was torn, and I had no clue how far he’d gotten in his assault of my daughter.
“I’m so happy you came home, Daddy,” Lolo whispered into my neck, clutching me so hard that I was finding it difficult to breathe.
That night was forever ingrained in my brain.
Seeing the man that was supposed to protect my daughter hurting her instead.
As far as the counselors knew, and what Lolo had told us, Braxton hadn’t gotten very far in his assault.
But him even having the sick thought to try anything with her was enough for me to go nuclear.
Braxton had been killed by my own bare hands.
Then, all the other child molesters in the area, ones that the system hadn’t taken care of, met the same death.
I hadn’t been careful. I’d been pissed as hell.
So getting caught by the police hadn’t come as that much of a surprise.
After killing her brother, Amber had decided that we were better off not being married.
Which worked for me, because I didn’t think I could ever forgive her for what she’d allowed to happen. Even if it hadn’t technically been Amber’s fault.
I’d been telling Amber for years that her brother was bad news.
That had been the beginning of the end for us—her inability to see her brother in a clear light.
Her assurance that he was a good man had been her downfall. And our daughter had been the one to suffer because of it.
Needless to say, our marriage hadn’t been meant to survive, and after receiving the divorce papers in prison, I’d happily signed them.
“Yo,” Etienne said as he looked at me across the walkway. “What’s wrong?”
What was wrong?
I hated child abuse in any form. I hated it more when the motherfuckers got away with it.