Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
Ryan was anxiously watching the surveillance monitors. He’d seen a man come out from around the MPD’s tactical vehicle and leave with a cop. Whoever he was. Not the reporter anyhow. So what business did he have here? And where was that reporter and her cameraman?
He was tired of waiting on other people to stand up and do the right thing. It’s why he was here. To force the matter.
His mother was a victim, and she had made him one as a result.
Today he was taking back some of his power, but he still detested how much he was at the mercy of others.
As he waited for the reporter and cameraman to set up at the gates, he wondered again if it was even going to happen.
Had they somehow forgotten that he had other Hansons within range of his gun?
Or did they even care? They had the legacy, Timothy’s sole heir, in their hands.
The progeny could continue even if this wife and these children died.
He could remarry and have more kids. Life would go on for Edward Hanson, just as it had for Timothy Hanson after raping and killing his mother. Assuming he pulls through…
“Please, just let us all go. It’s over,” the woman begged, drawing his attention from the screen.
Ryan closed the distance between them. “Who do you think you are?”
She thrust out her chin, and he slapped her hard across the face.
The teenage girl sobbed, and the boy started wheezing.
“Your puffer, Bray,” the girl told him, and the boy sucked back hungrily on the thing.
“You’re not helping your kids here, lady. Just play nice, and all of you might walk away from this.”
She spit blood from her busted lip. “You keep talking about the truth coming out? Whose version? Yours? I think you just want to destroy this family because you’re bitter. You didn’t get the life you wanted. Well, boo-hoo.”
“I dare you to repeat that.”
“Boo—”
“Mom, stop! And, you, just leave us alone. Please,” the teen petitioned. “We haven’t done anything to you. If Grandpa did, I’m sorry, but it doesn’t give you no right to—”
Ryan laughed, feeling the expression shaking his body. “No right to… What? Want amends? An apology? Justice? For the world to know their beloved Hansons aren’t the shining beacons of the community they allege to be.”
“We’ve never claimed to be perfect,” the girl said, and the mother squeezed her daughter’s shoulder.
“No one is perfect, least of all us Hansons.” Including himself as a Hanson pained him. He cursed the blood that ran through his veins. But it was the good within him, passed on to him by his mother, that let him face himself in the mirror and live with himself the last few weeks.
Just kill them and yourself… End the pain for all of you.
The phone rang, breaking him from his thoughts. He hurried to answer.
“Ryan? It’s Sandra. The reporter and her cameraman are at the gates waiting for you. I’m out here too.”
He’d been so distracted with the Hansons, he’d abandoned watching the video feed. He looked at it now and saw that she was right. Three people were standing out there, and Sandra was easy to spot with FBI emblazoned across her bulletproof vest.
I am important. People will finally hear my story and know the truth. I will set the record straight and clean up the Hanson family name.
“I’ll be right out.” He ended the call and walked over to the boy and nudged his gun at him. “You’ll be coming with me.”
“No, don’t do this. Please, I beg of you.” The woman was crying and grabbed hold of her son’s arm.
Ryan tugged on the other. “Let him go now.” Ryan aimed the gun at the boy’s head, and she released him. The boy rushed against him from the momentum of the abandoned tug-of-war.
I won!
The woman and teen were crying, but he lifted his head high, confident he was making the right decision here. He needed leverage if he were to walk away from this. And the asthmatic kid was just the ticket.