“The name’s JW,” I offer. “And I’ll give you one guess as to why I’m here.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. His eyes dart to the side toward the doorway that leads to the kitchen. “You want money? Are you here to rob me? Give me five minutes and I’ll be gone, so you can take whatever you want. Hell, you can take the whole house.”
I stand to my full height and flash him a grin. “Wrong guess, but nice try.”
Beads of sweat break out on his forehead, the moisture gleaming in the overhead light. He sidesteps to the edge of the table, slowly moving toward the open doorway.
“Then I don’t know what you want.”
“No?” I walk sedately to the other side of the table and pick up one of the papers. “Aiden Steller? Are you shittin’ me?” I look at him, dropping my relaxed demeanor and letting the pure hate I feel for the man seep into my eyes. “You’re taking your son’s first name?”
He swallows again and his face pales. “I-I loved my son. What happened to him—”
I cut him off. “You mean what you did to him?”
“I didn’t do it,” he argues with a shake of his head. A bead of sweat flings from his temple, landing on his hand braced on the table behind him. “The jury found me not guilty.”
“It’s a wonder they didn’t find you guilty, because your ability to lie is exceptionally terrible.” I grab the key sitting on top of a stack of papers. “Let me guess, a safety deposit box, right? And I’d bet my left nut it’s full of money.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters. “That key is for a trunk in the basement.”
I let him think he’ll get away as he rounds the corner of the table.
I chuckle. “Sure it does. Tell me, did your son beg for his life before you took it? Did you even feel an ounce of remorse as you raped him?”
His eyes widen further as I stare at him, waiting for him to answer. He opens his mouth then snaps it closed before a word leaves his lips. I know just the moment he decides to make a run for it. His body stiffens and panic flares in his eyes. Not a second later, he’s darting for the doorway. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t make it far. He stops abruptly with a muted grunt and begins to move backward. Not by choice, but from the man who has his hand locked around his neck. Emo comes into view, his eyes wild and body shaking with rage. Alec claws at the hand, but it’s useless. Even Emo, the smallest of the four of us brothers, has a good foot and at least fifty pounds of muscle on the guy.
Emo slams Alec into the table, bending him backward until his feet lift from the floor. I drop the key back on the table and slowly walk over to the pair. Alec’s face is turning purple and his eyes are bugging out. Satisfaction flares inside me at the look of utter terror on his face.
“Did you really think you were going to escape that easy?” I ask, coming to stand at the end of the table beside Emo.
When the only thing that comes out of Alec’s mouth is a breathless wheeze, I look to my brother.
“Ease up a bit, Emo. He deserves so much more than to die from simple strangulation.”
Grudgingly, Emo loosens his fingers around his throat. As soon as he’s free, he tries to scramble back on the table.
Laughing, I grab his ankle and yank him back to the edge. “Nah uh, Mr. Hallson. You won’t be going anywhere.”
His sits up, his legs dangling over the table’s edge, and regards Emo and me with frightened eyes. “Wh-what are you going to do?”
“Kill you, of course,” I answer impassively.
His face d
rains of all color and a glance down shows a wet spot forming on the front of his pants. Why is it that almost everyone pisses themselves when faced with the fear of death? You’d think that they’d want their last moments to be a bit more dignified.
“You can’t do that,” he argues, his voice sounding on the verge of tears. “The police will catch you.”
“Doubtful.” I cross my arms over my chest and offer a smile. “We haven’t been caught yet.”
Tears leak down his cheeks pathetically and his body starts shaking so hard I can feel the trembles through the floor. If it wasn’t for the pictures Judge showed me of the condition Alec left his son’s body in, I might feel a hint of remorse for the man. But I did see the pictures. The boy was covered from head to foot with bruises. Not only did Alec rape his son with his sick dick, but he used a bat on him as well, after he beat him with it. It was ultimately that bat being forced in the boy violently, causing internal injuries, that killed him.
Alec Hallson doesn’t deserve one ounce of remorse or compassion. The only thing he deserves is pain, and the knowledge that his son’s rape and death was avenged.
“You want him?” I ask Emo.
The words barely leave my lips before he’s growling, “Yes.”