Page 8 of Injustice and Absolution

Before he can attempt to speak again, I let his balls go. The thin material of his boxers is wrinkled from my death grip mixed with his ball sweat.

Or maybe it’s piss. Fuck, I don’t know.

He roars in pain as the feeling in his balls comes back, but it’s a short reprieve before I latch onto them again.

“What the fuck are you sorry for, dickhead?”

As tears begin to leak from his eyes, I roll mine and scoff in disgust.

“Oh, I’m sorry... Am I hurting you? Do you want me to stop?” I goad him. “Whenyour daughter cried because of what you did to her, didyoufucking stop? Or did you keep going because it made you hard?”

The way he looks at me, like I’ve pinpointed his greatest turn-on, sends a wave of red raining through my vision. Letting go of him again, I stand and kick him over and over.

In his junk. His ribs. One money shot right to his face with my steel toe.

His eye swells immediately, but thankfully, I didn’t break the skin. I don’t like where this is headed, and the last thing I need to do is leave a trail of blood behind.

When he goes quiet—no doubt in shock from the pain—I stomp as hard as I can, right between his legs. Before either one of us can stop me, I grip both sides of his head and lift him from the ground. Wrapping his neck in a chokehold, I whisper in his ear, “So long as I live, you’llnevertouch her again.”

Unbottling the last of my rage, I quickly rotate my upper body until his neck breaks, and he falls limp at my feet.

We stand over him for a few minutes as my breathing begins to return to a normal, non-ragey pace. Draven is the first to break the silence.

“Well... That escalated quickly,” he states without looking at me.

I take a few more calming breaths.

“Can you blame me?” I ask.

“Fuck no,” he answers without missing a beat.

* * *

I helped Draven drag the body out through the panel in the floor and back to the junkyard so we could secure him in my awaiting truck. Then I came back to the trailer to search for any personal items one might take when they skip town.

Penny would be the expert on this subject, but it’s not like I can fucking call her to ask what she packed to take with her before abandoning our daughter.

Starting in the bedroom, I empty his drawers of what little clothing they contain then place them into a few grocery bags I found lying around. I’m careful not to leave my prints behind. Then I move into the bathroom and collect some toiletry items before locating his wallet and keys in the kitchen.

To my knowledge, he doesn’t own a car. I overheard Maggie talking on the phone to Delilah a few weeks ago, and it sounded as though her father’s car was recently repossessed.

That’s one less thing to worry about.

I do one final check for anything else someone wouldn’t want to be without before tossing everything through the panel’s opening and onto the ground.

Positioning the panel back into place, I wipe it for prints, grab the bags, then crawl out from underneath the trailer. I take one final look around before throwing everything over the fence and jogging the short distance back to my truck.

After tossing his belongings through the open back window, I hop into the cab. Then I start up my truck, throw it into drive, and get us the fuck out of dodge.

“We take care of him tonight,” I order.

Draven nods his head in agreement beside me before adding, “Acetylene torch?”

I nod. “We’ll do it where we’re dropping the limestone tomorrow after we crush it. Once everything is burned off of him, we’ll throw his skeleton into the crusher and break it up with the stone.”

Draven looks at me before responding. “A twenty-ton pile of crushed rock and bone is a good way to cover up a murder.”

He’s not wrong.

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