He turns his head to the left and a loud pop rings through the air as he cackles. “Twisted. I like that.” He takes a step forward and clears his throat. “You want to know what I think? I think what belongs to me is in that tent, and I’m going to fucking get it. She’s mine. She was given to me. I’m allowed to have her!”
He does the one thing he isn’t supposed to do.
He charges at me.
I go to pull the trigger when my fucking gun jams, but I’m not the one to stand here and figure out what the hell is wrong with it. I slam the butt of the gun against his nose, and blood gushes down his face, but it doesn’t stop him.
I yank the gun away and slap him across the cheek again, and the giant falls to the ground. I straddle his chest and lift my fist in the air, letting it fly across his face. I’m not letting him hurt Jolie again. He deserves death. Maybe that’s exactly what I should do.
If I kill him, Jolie won’t ever have to worry about this threat again.
It has to be the man who abused her. It’s the only thing that makes sense. He knows what she looks like, but without her conformation, what do I have? What if I kill the wrong man?
Who fucking cares? The guy is a creep. Even if my wife was in the tent, no man should demand to see her.
“You think you have the right to see my wife?” I raise my hand again and imagine him being the man who killed Annabeth. My knuckles smash against his cheek, and a sick laugh leaves him. He spits blood in my face, blinding me, and he tackles me over the flames of the fire for a split second. Not enough to burn me, but enough to have the heat tease my skin. I grunt as I land on the ground. He lifts his fist in the air to hit me, and I roll away in time as his k
nuckles land in the dirt.
His shouts in pain since he hit something solid, and that gives me the opportunity to dive in my bag and reach for a smaller handgun. It’s a simple nine-millimeter. Nothing too special, but what I love about these guns is how lightweight, compact, and the amount of force they pack. “I suggest you get the fuck out of my face before I kill you. I don’t know who the hell you’re looking for, but I hope you never find her.”
“I’ll find her, and when I do, I’ll make sure to find you next,” he warns.
“Oh, good luck with that,” I say, my fingers itching to pull the trigger. I should. I really fucking should. Jolie would be better off.
But what reason am I killing this guy? What if they are married? Is it my job to separate them? Do I need to get involved? I don’t know the entire story, but I really fucking hate this guy.
He eyes the tent when he hears a whimper, and then he grins, wiping the blood from his nose. “I’d know that whimper from anywhere,” he chuckles. “You do have what’s mine.”
“She isn’t yours,” I sneer, aiming the gun at his chest. “Women aren’t objects. They aren’t property. You can’t own them.”
“Then what are they good for?” he gets to his feet and sways.
“Everything,” I whisper as I pull the trigger, thinking of Annabeth and Jolie as the bullet lodges in the man’s chest. He falls to his knees and lifts his finger to his wound, where he will bleed to death.
The sound of the bullet ricochets in the air, and my ears ring. I step forward, not even flinching that I’m about to kill a man. I squat next to him and yank his head back by the thick of his hair. I tsk when I see the fight leaving him so quickly. “It isn’t so easy going up against someone the same size as you, is it? You see…” I lean forward and whisper the last words he will ever hear. “Jolie is in that tent. I’m going to protect her and if that means killing assholes like you, then I’m going to relish in it.” I keep my hand wrapped between the strands of his hair and drag him across the ground toward the river.
I’m going to drown this son-of-a-bitch, and he will never haunt anyone again.
I’ve never killed without my team, but I’ll fill them in. They’ll support me. They always do. I’m going to listen to my gut and my gut is telling me that this guy is the reason for Jolie’s pain.
Men who hurt women aren’t men at all.
They deserve to die in the worst ways.
When I get to the rushing river, I trudge through until I’m two feet deep, and I hold his head under. He doesn’t fight, he doesn’t move, he doesn’t try to live.
Because the bullet already killed him.
I drag his body further into the river and let it go, watching the current take the asshole who ruined Jolie’s life. It’s revenge for the abuse she's endured, and it feels great. Could I have killed the wrong man?
Maybe.
I highly doubt it.
He had been looking for Jolie in these woods for a long time, but that means he must live a few miles away. I’m going to have to tell Jaxon. We need to survey where this man is from and make sure no one else is injured.
Fuck, I should have checked his pockets for a driver’s license.