Page 7 of Injustice and Absolution

Standing from the table, he cracks his knuckles, already itching for a fight.

As usual, I knew I could count on him.

CHAPTER THREE

ROYCE

Draven and I havebeen scoping out the trailer for the last hour.

The community has been quiet since we got here. Unsuspecting. It’s the seemingly perfect backdrop to carry out what should be a flawless plan.

Though Draven and I both know from experience how well laid plans can sometimes go.

Hopefully for us, every resident of the Little Round Top Trailer Park isin bed for the night and not looking to stick their noses into business that doesn’t concern them.

As quietly as we can, we hop the rusty chain-link fence behind Delilah’s trailer. Once we’re both clear of the tetanus trap, I motion for Draven to quietly peer around the corner to make sure there’s no one out front before I climb underneath the trailer. We could only see so far around the structure from our perch in the junkyard.

When he gives me the all-clear, I crawl beneath the trailer and locate the panel to crawl through. Draven keeps watch at the rear window, looking for any signs of life inside as I go.

I lift the broken panel then lay it down next to the opening before I lift myself up and inside. Sitting with my legs through the floor, I look around and listen for any signs of movement.

When I don’t see anything, and the only thing I hear is the rhythmic breathing of someone deep into the REM phase of the sleep cycle coming from the room next to me, I text Draven to tell him the coast is clear.

Standing up, I wait for my VP to join me before I put the panel back into place. Wasting no more time, we step into the bedroom next to us.

Without hesitation, I grip the thin material of this motherfucker’s wife beater tightly in my fists and push him up against the flimsy wood paneling lining the walls.

“Wh—what the fuck?” He wakes up quickly, but it takes a minute for his eyes to focus.

I let go of his shirt and latch onto his hair. Gripping it hard in my fist, I hold him still before winding up and backhanding him across the face like the little bitch he is.

“Wake the fuck up,” I demand.

Draven joins in with a punch to his gut that knocks the wind out of him. He lifts his knee, trying to protect his stomach from another attack, but Draven shoves the top half of his body upright, back against the wall so we’re eye-to-eye again.

“I heard through the grapevine that you like to fuck little girls.” My voice is bitter from the taste of acid on my tongue.

Just as he catches his breath, I follow Draven’s punch with one of my own, hitting him directly in the notch beneath his sternum, between his ribs. This time, he falls to the ground, and I let him, but I don’t let go of the grip I have on his hair. Several strands of it rip clean off his scalp, then I wiggle my fingers, letting them free fall to the floor.

Struggling to catch his breath, he props himself up on all fours and tries to crawl around us. I lay an unforgiving kick to his ribs, launching him into the end of his bed. Then with the toe of my boot, I flip him onto his back. Before he’s able to roll over again, I grab him by the balls and squeeze …hard.

The guttural noise that escapes him is one I’ve only heard a few times in my life. Each time, it causes my hair to stand on end. I don’t get off on torturing people, but that doesn’t mean I won’t deliver proper retribution when it’s owed.

Draven presses down on this motherfucker’s chest with his foot, forcing the rest of the air from his lungs.

“Now, the way I see it is you have two options here,” I speak in a moderately level tone. “Number one ... stop being a despicable human being. Don’t lay one more fucking finger on your daughter—or anyone else—and we won’t have an issue. Or number two ... I can kill you right now to keep the behavior from continuing.”

I look down at the pathetic excuse for a man and wonder how anyone could do the things Delilah described to me earlier. What the fuck wires got crossed in his DNA to make him so vicious? So disgusting a person?

The thought reactivates my fury from earlier, and as he tries to speak, I twist his nut sac, causing his eyes to roll back in excruciating pain.

“I’d make sure you pick the right answer, motherfucker, because the way I’m feeling right now, I have no qualms going with option number two.”

Draven cracks his knuckles above us, highlighting the severity of my threat.

“I’m s-I’m s-s-sorry...” he finally squeaks out.

“You’re sorry?” I repeat. “What are you sorry for?”

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