How do I correlate those words with the man who has raised me the past ten years? I don’t… I don’t know what to do with this.
We had a good life. A great one.
Now, suddenly, it’s gone.
Everything we had, were going to have. All gone.
I knew where I was heading with my life until he walked in the door. Until his eyes zeroed in on me like laser beams. Not once straying anywhere but on me.
He watched my reactions. My heartbreak. All the sorrow that crossed every feature on my face, each tear track down my cheek.
Carver saw my misery.
He watched my world crumble as past lies surfaced like a tsunami, sucking the life from our house. Ruining our dreams for the future.
Like an addiction, he’s everywhere I turn.
* * *
Three thousand, six hundred seconds.
Small inconsequential numbers. They mean nothing. They are nothing.
To the average man.
I’m not your average man. I’m a killer. A righter of many wrongs. On a good day, I’m your judge, jury, and executioner. On a bad day, I’m your worst nightmare. I’ll make you wish for death while praying for the devil. Nothing scares me.
Not a fucking thing.
Except for the last hour.
Sweet, innocent, perfect Meadow. She’s mine. Has been for almost a year. King told me to back off. He swore when she was ready, I would have her. She would be Meadow-mine. She would be the one and only thing in this world to belong to me, and no one would take her. Hurt her.
McCray should have been dead. He was left for it. His carcass should be rotting in the wilds of Alaska.
But he’s not.
He’s like an annoying rash that won’t fucking go away.
And right now, he has minutes to live because when I’m through with him, he’ll wish he’d let the wolves tear apart his dying body.
When I’m done with him, he’ll pray for the end, but I won’t give it.
At least, not peacefully.