Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
I allow my stare to shift to the final individual. “For?”
“Rape.”
Haunting images of my sister’s still form sprawled out on the sidewalk where she was left to die come breaking through the basement level of my brain that they’re kept in and mercilessly sprawl themselves out across every inch in the front of my mind, leaving me with no choice but to shut my eyes in hopes of maintaining my composure.
It was hard to see her that way.
So…pale.
So…stiff.
So…lifeless.
Sadness slithers down the back of my throat causing the muscles to constrict in an effort to cut off my tears at the source.
And those words…the words spoken felt even more surreal than seeing the photos.
Raped.
Dead.
Rage shoots through my veins swiftly replacing the previous emotion.
Curls my fists in my pockets.
Traps my breath in my chest.
Annika didn’t deserve what happened to her.
She was a good girl.
Kind.
Warm.
Full of life.
The prisoner quietly mutters under his breath, “Oni eto zasluzhili.”
No!
They didn’t deserve it.
My sister didn’t fucking deserve it!
She deserved to live, just like he deserved to die.
All of those who do what that monster did deserve to die.
For stealing peace.
Innocence.
Hope.
The next set of actions happen on instinct as opposed to thought. My eyelids spring open, and my balled fist abandons my pocket to connect to the prisoner’s jaw, force powerful enough to knock his head completely backwards. An uncomfortable grumble hits my ears prompting me to repeat the strike with the opposite hand. This time the impact stumbles his entire frame towards the wet sand behind him yet rather than finding satisfaction with his near ground collision, I’m irked that he’s still standing.
Still has the capability of hurting someone else.
Someone who doesn’t deserve it.
Inhuman snarls are attached to additional harsh hits to his face, each one more brutal than the last. Sounds of bones being crushed against my knuckles and agony filled groans echo the length of the otherwise quiet beach. It doesn’t take long for blood to soak my curled digits and wrist as it drips down to stain the unsteady ground that I’m moving us across. Ceaselessly pummeling away at every inch my rage has access to, at no point, is stopped. Or blocked. Or even objected to. Punishing him like I punished the man who raped my sister simply occurs mindlessly and just like that beating didn’t stop until he was dead, this one doesn’t either. After the prisoner collapses into the water face first on a gurled cry, I ball up the back of his shirt near his neck and drag him further in to hold the prick under. The instant my palm is on his head to condemn him to a watery death, he begins to thrash. To fight harder than he was earlier and scrape at the wet sand for leverage while frantically screaming. His idiotic choice leads him to a faster execution but not one so fast that when he finally ceases to move, I’m left feeling unfulfilled.
No.
Removing him from this world…erasing the possibility he could do to someone else what was done to my sister sparks a smirk to slip onto my face.
I push my shoulders back.
I tip my head higher.
I return to where I was standing earlier and accept the towel from my security member, Brosnan Lavoie, to wipe away proof of the incident.
A sharp mixture of salty and metallic smells flood my senses as I declare, “We finished.”
Kash nods his comprehension prior to motioning one of his men to deal with the corpse. “You’ll be billed for that.”
“Net.” Thoroughly cleaning the tips of my fingers continues. “Yavok pay for two fighters. One merely…not survive transport. Happens.” My eyebrows lift in a firm nature. “Da?”
“Yes, Mr. Kessler.” Kash curtly nods a second time. “It does.”
His compliance is presented its own nod of approval.
“Is there anything else you would currently like to purchase?”
“Net.”
Kash extends his open palm my direction at the same time he states, “Always a pleasure doing business with you.”
“And you,” I reply during our shaking.
Crisp and precise hand motions are promptly given to his team while Lavoie exchanges me the dirty towel I have in my hands for his phone. “It’s Rowan.”
Pressing the device to my ear is swiftly followed by a simple response. “Da?”
“Fishing upstream isn’t good at this time of night, sir.”
Federal agents not on our direct payroll must be doing another stop and search along the main highway in hopes of catching someone or something useful to their ongoing investigation centered around the mysterious, untimely demise of Griffin Timbers. Puppet’s death didn’t seem to bother anyone. The story of being mauled by “a wild animal” during a “wilderness retreat” he was on for some “time away” from his “high pressured life” was so believable that it didn’t warrant anything more than a poorly put together article highlighting his minimal achievements and a mountain of condolences to his ex-girlfriend who would become my wife shortly after. Text messages were somehow even sent from his phone as “proof” of his unexpected disappearance, which was why the world believed Remy had no reason to suspect anything else. His life “unexpectedly” ending wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on, yet the unusual death of his father opened up what is proving to be a long and taxing FBI case in which some agent with more interest in “morals” than money is determined to find additional answers than others have uncovered over the past few years.