Page 7 of Beg Me Angel

Chapter Two

Pax

––––––––

The smoke danced in long coils as it peaked and swirled out from the treetops. It wasn't the first time someone had stumbled onto my property and tried to hunt illegally. It didn't matter how many no trespassing signs I hung up, they all thought they could sneak around and go unnoticed.

Some men made it through, but those were few and far between. Most were met with a gun in their face and a very clear warning that if they ever came back they wouldn't be leaving.

That threat was usually all they needed, I hadn't seen the same face twice.

But I was always watching, always keeping tabs on what was going on in the woods I owned. I moved here to escape the world that had tried to tear me apart. A world filled with too much greed and devastation, a world that far too many people took for granted.

And I would know, I was one of them.

Snatching the gun from my drawer, I tucked it into the back of my pants and flew out the front door like the walls were all burning around me.

The anger was pressing inside me, growing and bubbling with every new intruder that found their way onto my property. I could literally feel the hatred coil like a snake and latch itself around my muscles, digging in with long fangs. My words became more harsh, my need for violence more insatiable, craving for one of them to just challenge me.

No.

I'm not a killer. . . Not anymore.

The billow of thick, gray smoke had started to thin, turning from huge plumes into wispy tails. Picking up the pace, I wanted to make it to the mystery fire before it got too dark.

The fire was at least a half mile out, maybe more. And as well as I knew these woods, the last thing I wanted to do was trip over some newly fallen tree and give away the fact that I was coming. The element of surprise was key to shaking the nerves of whoever tried to hunt on my land.

Some of the antlers and horns I had in my place where ones I found while hiking. I hated finding them, I hated the idea that some asshole had shot and killed a deer or elk and left them there like garbage to rot.

I didn't always think this way, and I won't lie, it's been hell to even get to this point. I felt proud knowing that I could care for something alive. But a man, the life of a man was still more worthless to me than an animal.

At least if I took a life to survive here,it had purpose. I used it,all of it,not an ounce would go to waste. That's the way it should be, not for sport or fun. I worked hard for what I had, but that sense of accomplishment had vanished in the world outside my gates.

If you wanted a piece of steak, you bought it at the store, if you wanted a fresh salad, it came in a bag. If you wanted freedom, you had to fight for it.

No one really understood that concept anymore. People tossed it around like a figurative saying, as if it held the same weight in any context, no matter what you were referring to.

It doesn't.

Freedom is earned, but in reality, no one is really free. I learned that lesson first hand. Too much of my life had been taken from me, I wasn't about to let this new life be tainted by assholes.

The men that took advantage of my woods, they did it for show; whoever had the bigger kill had the bigger balls. It was a game of hierarchy, showing who was in charge and who led the pack. But not here, not in my woods. I wouldn't stand for it.

Fucking pussies.

Real men don't need to prove shit.

Pushing through the thick briers and dense brush, I placed my feet methodically with each step; no sound, no crunch or snap. I was a silent killer, stalking from the shadows and ready to strike.

All the time I spent honing my skills. . . It was embedded in my bones, like a permanent tattoo I couldn't see, but I could sure as hell feel it. I might not be in the thick of it anymore, but sealing myself up in this cocoon didn't do shit to keep the outside world away.

I came here not just for myself, but to protect the world from who I had become. My life had been tarnished, leaving me feeling empty and damaged. Trust was gone, the natural movement of the world was no longer fluid the way it once was.

Every sound brought me back to that place, to the dirt and the dust, to the sounds of gunfire and the stench of death. There was just too much noise for my mind to swallow. I needed the quiet, the soft chirp of crickets and rustle of leaves to ground myself.

When people would show up unwanted, forcing themselves into my world, it seemed to erase everything I had worked so hard for. I hated it.

Voices vibrated the air, swimming through the leaves and bouncing off the trees, leading me in the direction I needed to go. With each step my heart became harder, turning from the muscle that beat life into my veins to a stony oppressive mass.

---