Page 34 of Ryder

“I’m not the same man I was. I swear.”

Balling my fist, I hit him as hard as I could, the cracking of his rib signifying success. He fell to the floor and clutched his side, his breathing quite painful from the look on his aged face. “I paid . . . my . . . debt.”

I wanted to remain silent, stoic and deadly, but after he spewed that shit, I snapped. No longer was I a man who held any sort of restraint. I was barely sane when I bent down and snatched him up, pulling his limp body closer.

“Paid your debt?” I roared. “Paid your motherfuckin’debt? You killed my mother! Right in front of me!” Hauling my arm back, I focused all of my strength as I let loose and punched him harder than I ever had anyone before. I didn’t care that he was more than twice my age, frail and unable to defend himself. He deserved everything I had to give.

“Listen. Please. I’m . . . sorry,” he gasped, blood flowing from his nose, dripping down his chin and onto the dingy carpet beneath him. “If I could . . . take it back—” He coughed, holding his side before finishing with, “I would. I didn’t know . . . what I was doin’ . . . when I . . . I. . . .”

“Fuckin’ say it,” I demanded, hauling him off his feet and throwing him back against the wall. He stumbled but didn’t fall down. “Say it!”

“I wasn’t in my right mind when I . . . killed your mother.” His breathing was labored, and all of the color had drained from his face. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, actually looking somewhat sincere. But it was all an act. It had to be. No way this man wasn’t the same guy who murdered my mother. Sure, he was older and weaker, but evil still lurked within him.

Only . . . I hadn’t seen the glimmer of darkness when I stared into his eyes. Shaking my head to rid myself of some fucked-up internal debate, I reached behind me and seized my gun from the couch. His eyes followed my movements.

“What do you think I should do to you?” I asked, the cool steel resting at my side. With every fiber of my being, I wanted to eviscerate him from existence.

“What?” Blood continued to drip down his face.

“What do you think I should do with you?” I repeated, enunciating every syllable. “It’s not a hard question.”

“Let me live,” he finally muttered, his breathing continuing to worsen.

“Why?” The gun twitched in my palm.

His eyes flicked to my hand before looking me in the eye once more. “Because I made a mistake, and I’ve paid for it. For twenty-seven years.”

“So I should just turn around and walk back out that door?” My anger pulsated in my veins, the audacity of the bastard in front me making me so desperately want to force my gun in his mouth and pull the trigger.Why are you hesitating?“Did you think you’d just come home and live out the rest of your days without consequence?”

“I just wanna . . . live in peace.”

“Peace?” I laughed, the eerily dark sound foreign to my ears. “You think I should leave you in peace?” I took a step forward.

“Please . . . Roman.”

“Stop saying my name!” The more he talked, the more the past and present swirled together. There were brief moments when I’d first laid eyes on him, where I’d been transported back to that seven-year-old kid. Frightened of the man who beat my mom and me. Terrified of the man who stole my mom’s life. Then I’d switch to the man I’d become, someone people didn’t fuck with because they knew I’d make them pay, sometimes with their life.

I was strong and fearless, so why was I allowing Richard to confuse me, to draw on some part of me that second-guessed ending him right where he cowered?

For the next ten minutes, I found myself at a crossroads, somewhere I thought I’d never be. I knew, or at least I thought I did, that I was coming to his house to kill him. No question. But something was stopping me, and I had no idea what.

Richard deserved to die, yet I still found myself hesitating. And it was during one of those weaker moments that he decided to plead for his life once more.

“Please,” he appealed, trying to stand tall, but due to his injuries, it was a half-assed attempt. “I’m begging you not to kill me. I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Just let me live.”

I hated that I was even considering it. It showed weakness. Doubt. It went against every notion I’d ever had about seeking justice for my mother.

Then I had an idea. Along with the information about where he’d lived, I’d also been told he had a daughter, Ann. She lived somewhere nearby, and while I had no idea whether or not they were close, especially after he’d been away for almost three decades, I decided to test him. To see if he was indeed a changed man.

“I’ll tell ya what. I’ll let you live, but first you have to decide.”

The prospective of him not having a bullet in his brain made him perk up a bit.

“Decide what?”

“You have to choose. Your life . . . or Ann’s.”

His mouth hung open in surprise, his thin lips trembling while he tried to form words. I could see the proverbial wheels spinning in his head. Was he contemplating giving up his daughter, or was he trying to somehow negotiate for them both to live?

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