Chapter 125
Ethan
My chest is heaving.
But not from the run through the forest.
From the sight of a man. This fucking man. Standing with his filthy hands against my wife’s window.
“You.” My voice is low. Gritty.
Ralph steps away from the house into the driveway.
His eyes are wide. Wild. But he’s more angry than scared.
And this motherfucker needs to be more scared.
My boots crunch on gravel, the width of the driveway the only thing between us.
“This doesn’t concern you,” the weasel whines.
“You just threatened my wife.” My stride is steady. Measured. “And that should fucking concern you.”
His chin wobbles, but he holds his ground. “What’re you gonna do? Arrest me?” His eyes dart to the gun at my hip as I continue to cut the distance between us.
“No. And I’m not going to shoot you.” I roll my head side to side. “I’m going to punch you.”
Blood sizzles through my veins as I take the last two steps quicker.
Then, in a blink, I do exactly what I said I would do.
I shift my stance.
I pull my right arm back.
And I throw my weight forward and out.
He tries to step back. Tries to lift his arms in defense. But Ralph is slow. And my fist connects with his jaw.
The sound is loud.
His head snaps to the side, and his arms flail as he trips over his own feet and falls to the ground.
I bend down and grip the front of his shirt with my left hand.
And I lift him.
His eyes are unfocused as he tries to shove my hand away.
“If you ever show up here again…” I keep my hold of him as I dart my right fist out, slamming it into his stomach.
He chokes on his own breath.
I shove him away from me.
He stumbles back.
“If I ever see your bitch-ass face again…”
I kick my leg, sweeping his out from under him.
Ralph lets out a pitiful cry as he lands back on the gravel.
“If you ever put your dirty fucking hands on anything that belongs to Matilda again…”
The vision of him with his hands against her window grates over my senses.
Ralph rolls onto his stomach and starts to crawl.
I kick his wrist.
Hard.
He screams and lands face-first in the dust.
I use my boot to roll him onto his back. So he’s looking up at me.
So he can’t miss what I say next.
“If you ever threaten my wife again, I will kill you. And no one will ever find you.” I step over him. “You want to know why, Ralph?”
He shakes his head.
But I bend down anyway, putting my face closer to his. “Because I know where the animals live. And I will feed you to them, piece by fucking piece, until all that’s left of you is a pair of empty fucking shoes.”
Ralph whimpers, and I straighten.
My eyes settle on something up ahead. On the ground. And I step over Ralph’s head.
I hear him scramble behind me, getting to his feet.
I don’t hurry.
Don’t run.
I just walk toward Tilda’s garage, and from the pile of tools on the ground, I bend and pick up the axe.
I let the rusted head drag across the rocks as I turn around.
Ralph is cradling his wrist to his chest as his other hand fumbles with the handle for the passenger door.
I hoist the axe up, and through the back window, I make eye contact with the driver.
His engine turns over, and he screams at Ralph to get in.
This is his car.
The car he drove to my wife’s house.
To help Ralph torment her.
Ralph scrambles into the car.
He slams his door shut.
And I swing the axe.