Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
But that's sort of why this organization was created in the first place. There are things that ICE or other governmental agencies can't do because of oversight, and as much as this particular situation would make most Americans sick to their stomachs, I feel like it's a necessary evil. Honestly, how many people would be upset that someone was essentially torturing a serial killer for hire? Not many I imagine if they knew the details of his crimes, but what if it turns out this old man isn't such a heinous villain? The finger-pointing should definitely point toward those who hire him, but in the end, he's the one who pulls the trigger for cash.
"Sadie Preston," Hemlock says, wiping his bloodied hands on a rag he pulls from his kit.
The old man lifts his head, his smile coated with red.
That's when I know for certain that he is exactly who Wren said he is.
"Motherfucker," I mutter.
"Yeah," Jericho agrees. "He's good."
"You want me to confess my sins?" Elliot whispers, his voice so weak the words are barely audible.
"I want to know who is responsible for the hired hit on Sadie Preston," Hemlock says, and I'm shocked at his tone.
He's calm and completely unaffected as if he hadn't spent the last half hour carving this man to pieces. It's the strangest thing to witness on both sides.
"You'll let me go if I tell you?"
Hemlock stares at the man as if he can't believe the other guy would ask such a thing, making it very clear what the answer is.
"Hmm," the old man huffs. "You could've lied to me."
"That's one thing I'll never do," Hemlock says. "You won't walk out of here tonight."
I have pulled the trigger on a lot of jobs. I have watched the light fade from dying men's eyes. I have arranged the meeting between really bad guys and their maker, but this feels like murder, and as a man who fights day and night to keep others from breaking the law, I struggle with what I'm witnessing right now, fighting against the urge to either let it happen or step in and try to prevent it.
I don't stand still out of fear, and it's as if I can feel the moment there's a shift inside of me.
Hemlock is protecting Cora. This man has to be here in Columbia for her, and letting him walk out of here isn't an option. She’d never be safe if he's allowed to live, and that's not a chance I'm willing to take with her safety, no matter the cost to my soul.
"If I'm going to die, then why should I speak?"
It's sound reasoning, honestly.
"You'll speak for Trisha."
The man narrows his eyes as Hemlock drops the bloody hand towel down to the table before picking up a long thin blade. He used it earlier to slice the webbing between the man's fingers.
"You'll speak for Laurie, Clinton, and Jack."
He's listing the names of the man's wife and kids, and before he can start listing the numerous grandkids, the man dips his head.
He's willing to die to protect his family, and there was a time when I never understood that. Well, I understood, because it's what makes people weak. Love gets you killed. It's dangerous, a weakness, but I stand a little taller knowing I'd do the same fucking thing for Cora. I'd die to protect her.
I'd like to think that Hemlock wouldn't honestly go after the man's family, but thankfully Elliot Hockley doesn't know where Hemlock's uncrossable line is.
"Where are you going?" Jericho snaps when I move past him and enter the room Hemlock is in.
The man's head dips again and I can tell he's struggling to stay awake with the amount of blood he has lost.
"The brother," I say, holding out the family picture I snatched from Cora's house. It's several years old, a quick snapshot I imagine was taken by Faye because all four Preston siblings are in the shot, Sadie of course looking like she'd rather be anywhere else but spending time with her family.
I felt guilty for stealing such a thing, but I couldn't leave without taking something, having something in my possession of her image. Online images seemed less personal to me.
The man's eyes look empty when he glances at the picture. There's no emotion in them, not even regret knowing what he's facing as he stares at the family picture.
I pull it back, keeping him from looking at her any longer. Just the thought of his eyes on her makes me want to shove one of Hemlock's knives into his skull.
"He hired me again to come back and take out the entire family," the man says as if he's mentioning what he had for breakfast rather than eliminating a family. "Even the old lady."
I look over my shoulder at Hemlock, and I swear this is just another day in the office for the man.