Page 1 of Retribution
Prologue 1
Trey
The warm, humid night envelops me like a lover’s arms. Hidden from view amongst the shadows of the trees, the hairs on the back of my neck rise when the twin howls ring out over the expanse of the cemetery.
Moonlight filters down through the clouds, lending an eerie glow to the landscape as the two men race past me, close enough for me to reach out and touch. Unseen, I stand quietly, watching as they hunt down that vicious, evil woman, bringing her to the justice she so richly deserves.
Tessa leans against a gravestone, holding a conversation with the dead man in the casket before her. Wishing I could hear the quiet one-sided conversation, I go to take a step closer when laughter rings out, heralding the men’s victory in catching their prey.
Curious to find out what my cherub—no. She is no longer my cherub. WhatTessawill do, I move on silent feet closer towards where the three of them stand, Presley on the ground at their feet, Nate’s hands gripping her hair tightly.
I watch, as a proud father would, as Tessa stands tall against the woman that made her life a living hell. Who beat and abused her, belittled and tormented her. Who allowed her brother-in-law to rape her daughter.
Eric and Nate shove the unfortunate woman into the coffin with her deceased husband, Tessa throwing handfuls of soil whilst ringing out her judgments upon them. When she’s finished, the coffin is lowered into the ground, Presley reunited with her husband and soon to join him in hell.
A fitting end, I agree. Being buried alive, trapped in a coffin with the decaying corpse of your husband? Tessa’s thirst for vengeance is one I can only admire.
Shifting my legs, a twig snaps under my feet, causing Eric’s head to whip around, eyes narrowed as he searches the trees.Fuck.I keep still, barely breathing, until he turns away, likely dismissing me as a wandering animal.
Which I am.
After they are finished, fresh turf and flowers planted, they take their leave. My eyes caress Tessa’s form one last time. I know I won’t be seeing her again.
I first laid eyes on her twelve years ago when I stopped in this godforsaken town. Sitting quietly in a church, a chance sunbeam lit her up, bathing her in God’s own glory. Seeing it as a sign from my Father, I made the town of Willowmen my home, using my hacking skills to create a new persona for myself—Father Paul.
Needing desperately to keep a watch over the precious girl that God had promised would one day be mine, I inserted myself into her grade school, my religious upbringing serving me well in my role as priest. Waiting, watching, desperately biding my time for her to grow up.
I fully admit to the monster that I am. But I am not that type of monster. I do not lust after children.
For all my planning and preparation, I did not see the dual threat facing me—Eric and Nate Bannerman. They stole what was mine, taking from me that which I had yearned for for so long.
But today I played the hero, saving Tessa from her mother and a madman. And in return, she saved me from the brothers. A shiver courses through me. I was lucky—today could have ended far differently.
I shouldn’t be here now, having promised Tessa to never darken her doorstep again. A promise I will keep. Tomorrow.
Self-disgust at how I let her slip through my fingers washes over me in waves as I watch the three of them drive away. Stepping forth from the shadows like a demon emerging from hell, I stalk forward, stopping at the edge of the grave. Unable to help myself, I drop to my stomach, pressing my ear to the ground. Faintly, ever so faintly, the screams from below can just be made out, and my lips curl up into a smile as I savor them. Pushing myself back up, my hands fumble at my zipper, and pulling my cock out, soak the newly laid grass with my urine. Perhaps it will permeate through the soil, coating the casket.
Chuckling under my breath at my own absurdity, I stride determinedly from the graveyard, heading a couple of blocks over where I stashed my Harley.
As I roar out of Willowmen, leaving Tessa and her boys to their futures, I make a promise to myself.
No more fucking around. Twelve long years I wasted, waiting for Tessa. Faithful to our promised bond, watching over her—for nothing. I accept that I made a mistake; she isn’t mine, and was never meant to be.
No more fucking around,I repeat to myself firmly. The next time God shows me a woman He declares as mine, I’m taking what I want.
Whether they want to be taken or not.
***
Dawn begins to break as I coast the quiet freeway, tendrils of oranges and pinks lighting up the sky in glorious Technicolor. Crossing over into Iowa, I keep going, heading west until the growling of my stomach rivals the roar of the Harley’s engine. Pulling up at a small twenty-four-hour diner, I’m desperate for a piss, coffee, and food after driving most of the night.
Keeping my helmet on, I grab my bag, slipping into the men’s room first. After relieving myself, I quickly change into a fresh set of clothes, wincing at the bruises decorating my stomach—a gift from Nate. Rinsing out my shirt in the sink, I carefully wash out the bullet hole in my shoulder. Luckily it went straight through, and I won’t need to dig around looking for it. Sucking in a sharp breath as the cloth presses against the wound, I wrap it up tightly with practiced moves. Shrugging a clean t-shirt on, I decide it could be worse—I could be rotting in a shallow grave somewhere.
Glancing at myself in the mirror as I wash my hands and face, I take in the man standing before me. Streaks of grey pepper my once black hair, lines etching into the corners of my brown eyes. At nearly forty, I’m not as young as I used to be. Still broad-shouldered, a beard gracing my chin, smooth dark skin stretched over muscle—not bad for an Unseen, if I do say so myself. But I’m not getting any younger, it’s time to get my shit together.
No more fucking around.
Sliding into a vacant booth, I tuck my helmet into my side, nodding at the waitress when she comes by to pour coffee. She spreads the generous menu across the table and leaves me to make my choice.
