As I vault over the greenkeeper’s fence, sling my backpack of supplies over my left shoulder, and walk down the well-worn trail that leads to the main house, I reflect on the absence of shame at what I’m doing. In my former life, I couldn’t have imagined how low I would stoop. Stalking. Blackmail. Murder. Before, thinking of hurting another human made me feel like the lowest of the low, yet now, it doesn’t even make me pause.
It’s amazing what almost two years in prison does to a man. It strips him of his values, his morals, his personal ethics—all those things that separate man from the animals. Sometimes, I’m sure it would also take his pride. Thankfully, mine is still intact. It managed to survive the indignities of prison by the skin of its teeth. Driven by the need to take back what’s mine, revenge that makes my blood thick and sticky as it makes its way around my vascular system, my pride is the only part of me that I recognise from my previous life.
And, I’m okay with that. It’ll keep me warm until I have Amber back at my side. I miss her tiny body curled into me, her thin, artist fingers running through my curls, moments before I push her on her back and drive my cock inside her welcoming body and those same fingers bite into my flesh as I bring her pleasure.
“Head in the fucking game,” I chide myself out loud as my dick grows hard. I’m forced to slow my stride to adjust my pants so they don’t strangle the expanding bulge. “All in good time. Patience is a virtue. It makes victory taste sweeter.”
Normally, I’d feel like a cockhead, walking around muttering to myself like an escaped mental patient. Except, when you can’t speak to anyone else in the world, except for the occasional conversation you’re allowed to hold with the bitch who’s pulling the strings, the sound of your own voice is comforting. A reminder that under all the hatred and vengeance, you’re still a living and breathing man. A fucked-up man, but a man all the same.
Just before I turn around the corner that will bring the house she now shares with the devil into view, I duck low and rifle through the contents of my backpack. Extricating my handgun and the handcuffs I plan on using to subdue Amber if she decides to open her brainwashed mouth and object to my plans, I push the handcuffs into the right pocket of my hoodie and grip the butt of the gun in my hand. Once I’m standing again, I make my way around the corner.
The monolith of a house—another symbol that telecasts Dr. Jaxon Ray’s need to overcompensate for whatever the fuck he’s missing in that deranged head of his—looms over me. I ignore the tiny spark of jealousy at all that he owns when it sparks in the pit of my gut and, calm and collected as can be, surge forward ready to face Satan himself headfirst.
Tonight is the beginning of the end for Dr. Ray.
And, the start of my renaissance.