Page 66 of Absolution

We planned for two more days, before I finally was ready to make my move. My first priority was to make sure that Asher was out of harm’s way. If things were going to go as far south as I anticipated, I didn’t want him to walk in and see what was left of the man housing him. I would call him his father, but the jury was still out on that fact. If he was Asher’s sperm donor, it would make his intentions even more nefarious. How someone could plan to take his or her own son’s life is beyond me. A child should be cherished and not a means to collect cash. Had Ricca’s mother still been alive, I would have likely broken my no women rule just for her. A mother’s job is to protect their children, not to throw them into the pits of hell for their own gain. The pair of them deserved death. Her father was just not there yet, but I might just change that fact today.

Death was the only way to ensure that he would never come back for Asher or for Ricca. It was the permanent restraining order, and the only option I may have to protect them both. He was evil, despite his former religious inclinations that Voodoo discovered. A man of the cloth he may have been, but the harbinger of death was coming for him.

Raze and I planned, while Slider watched Asher. It was a divide and conquer approach, and so far it was working out in our favor. Voodoo’s information gave me the motive, but without a confession from the assholes own lips, it meant nothing. It was only connecting the dots that even a shitty lawyer could defend, as a mother trying to ensure her son had means to live after her death.

The day was set in stone, and with any luck, so would the man who drove a wedge between my wife and I. After today, no one would ever come between us again. I will make for damn sure of that.

Raze sits in the trailer, checking the few weapons we were able to scrounge up. Thank god for buy and sell sites on Facebook that skirted the rules. A few fistfuls of cash, and we had more firepower than we did to begin with. While I didn’t plan on just outright shooting him, I didn’t want to be ill prepared. Never go into a shootout with just your dick in your hand, was something I had lived by for years.

Raze blows into the chamber of the gun, clearing away the dust as he finishes checking it over. He clicks in the magazine, and racks one in the chamber. He shoves up from the table, that dwarfs his large frame, and hands the gun to me, butt first.

“Just in case,” he offers, before slipping the other magazines he filled into his back pockets.

“Thanks.”

I stow the gun into the waistband of my jeans, pulling my tee shirt over it. Not wearing my cut onto the battlefield feels so weird to me, but we can’t have the club’s name associated with this if we get caught. Today we are not the Heaven’s Rejects motorcycle club. We are brothers in arms.

“Ready?” Raze questions, and I answer with an affirmative nod. The text from Slider that Asher is safe comes in just as we step out of the door, toward the car we also purchased through Facebook. No records or traces of us. We will be ghosts in the wind once this was finished.

The tiny compact car barely holds the two of us. We swing by the school, grabbing Slider from his hiding spot, and head towards our target.

Boatman’s house isn’t far from the school, but it is remote enough from the town, that it would take time for someone to notice something is amiss. Raze pulls off onto a side road that is parallel to his modest, brick home. On the outside, it looks like the American Dream home that everyone wishes they had. It’s large, but not overwhelming. The front porch is wrapped with a white railing, with flowering bushes cascading around its curves. Though it looks perfect on the outside, it’s what’s on the inside that is not.

A black town car flies past us, and we duck down appearing as the car is just abandoned. It doesn’t even slow down, so we know we haven’t been spotted. At least that seems to be the case. This guy is either stupid or doesn’t pay enough attention to his surroundings.

Boatman pulls his car into the garage, and shuts the door behind him. We give him a few minutes to settle in, before we begin to make our move. Exiting the vehicle quietly, we give the perimeter a wide berth. Each step that I take closer to the house, my mind focuses on another way I can make him pay for this intrusion into my life.

Would I make my point with my knife? The gun at my waist? Maybe my fists. Whatever method I use, it’s almost a guarantee that he won’t like the results as much as I will.

Raze waves for Slider and I to break off, and head towards the back door. Raze has too much to live for with his newly expanded family, and I made it abundantly clear that if this went to shit, he was to leave me behind. Slider knew the risks on being on my team, but he was ready to take the plunge. After this, he might get his full membership status. Prospects need to prove themselves worthy of the title, and he was doing that by being here. I would make sure of it, if we made it out of this alive.

Taking either side of the back-patio door, I peer in through the blinds, and see no one in the vicinity of the room. Taking my gloved hand, I try the lock, and it pops open.

Dumbass should’ve known to lock the doors, when he’s doing illegal as fuck shit. Apparently, no one taught him protection skills or he’s just that fucking cocky.

I nod to Slider, who readies his weapon. I quietly shove open the door and step inside, gun drawn. Slider follows directly behind me, and mimics my every step.

The room is quiet, and it reassures me that there isn’t a guard dog that is about to tear my face off. Slider scans the room, and at this point, our risk taking is about to go up another notch of crazy. Voodoo was able to secure the house layout, from the general contractor plans that were provided to the zoning board for the building contract. It was just another reason why I owe that guy big time when I get back. The hall directly in front of us is diverged into two sections of the house. Slider steps forward into the hall, and waves me on that the coast is clear. I wave back, and we separate. My piece of the hall is nothing, but a series of closed rooms one after another. The first room on my left grabs my attention when I see a large padlock panel on the outside of it. Without even having to look, I know this is Asher’s room. His forlorn look of dread, when he saw this man, makes more sense now than ever before. He was a prisoner here just as his sister was in her jail cell. The same man being responsible for both deeds.

A growl of anger tightly coils inside of my stomach, but I force it down.

Save the rage for him. He is about to get everything he deserves.

I clear another set of rooms, before I finally hear signs of life coming from the one at the far end. A muffled voice comes from the crack in the room at the end of the hallway. I peek inside, and see my target. Ronald Boatman is seated at a large desk with his ear plastered to a phone. His face is filled with irritated anger as he begins to scream at the person on the other end of the line.

“I am trying to get you your money. I just hit a snag is all,” he bellows. His hand rubs his brow as he listens to the response of the other person on the line.

“I promise this is the last delay. I didn’t expect her to actually go through with the filing. Once she’s convicted, the heat will be off the boy, and we can take care of the situation.”

There is coldness of his voice, as he talks about his daughter and likely his own son is unfathomable. There is no caring, no concern, and no love present in anything that he is saying for two people who share a piece of him. The lack of any emotion towards his kids is sickening as fuck.

Every word that comes out of his mouth, enrages me even more. Its fucking torture listening to him speak, while waiting in this hallway. I want to jump in there and end it now, but the caller might just call back or show up. Something that I can’t have, until we’re done here.

I lie in wait like a predator, until he gives me what I need. He dismisses the person on the other line, and tosses the phone down on his desk. I watch as his head falls back, and his eyes close.

I slowly push open the door, staying as silent as I can. It isn’t until the door creaks that he’s aware he’s not alone. He jumps in his desk chair, scrambling to leave it.

“Don’t move, motherfucker,” I order with my gun trained on the center of his forehead. “You shift and I shoot.”

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