Page 141 of Stalker

Yet a monster lived inside.

Correction.

Four monsters.

As the child’s memory pulled away like a camera panning from the scene, I clearly noted the address on the mailbox and remembered the street where I’d once lived.

The house where our mother had been murdered and where the legacy had been born.

And where it would end.

* * *

Stalker

The sheer darkness of a night devoid of the brightness of the moon could cause some to surrender to terror of the unknown. But the three of us were well aware of our surroundings even if memories had faded, the quaint house set off the road fading into the dense forest. While the house had obviously been abandoned long ago, a product of the public’s outcry and commercialism yet to find its way to the area, there were signs someone had been squatting here for some time.

Did that mean the house had remained in my father’s name, taxes paid for by some unknown source? Had the man’s attorney or perhaps the buddies he’d killed for kept the place hidden from the public eye as a promise he could once return to his former life?

The answers were as fucked up as the situation.

“He’s here,” Xander stated.

I felt his presence as well. There was no denying the stench of evil or the clamminess accosting my skin.

“Then we kill him,” Zach added.

“Born of evil and violence. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.” My words were simply another memory. As I walked forward, both my brothers flanked my side.

We were armed, although a handgun wasn’t what I was interested in using.

“I have no intention of dying today.”

I laughed hearing Xander’s determined statement.

“You might not have any choice, brother. Not if we want the cycle to end here.”

He took a deep breath, stopping me from walking any closer. As soon as his hand gripped my arm, I sensed what he’d been hesitant to tell me.

“I’m going to be a father, Wilder. I will live so I can spend time with my family. And the cycle will end here. We’re not monsters.”

I yanked the mask I’d brought with me, jerking it over my face. While there was no point in using one, tonight I was no longer the man Cassandra had attempted to convince me to believe in.

Wilder Blackwell was dead.

Stalker Demarco had been unearthed from the fiery reaches of hell.

There was no sense in soft selling our entrance. We weren’t playing a typical game where rules were set in place. This was a fucking free-for-all and only the most cunning beast would survive.

All I wanted was to recapture my Lady Butterfly, ensuring her safety. The other women I’d consider bonuses at this point. If that made me as bad a man as I’d already claimed to be, I couldn’t care less.

Besides, this charade wasn’t about our father’s need to exorcise his demons by disfiguring women, but to settle a score. Whether the men who’d promised him sanctuary hadn’t delivered or because his escape from the hellhole had brought up additional indecent memories, he was intent on one thing.

Forcing his sons to pick up where he left off; thereby reclaiming his legacy of darkness.

The thought should have been exciting for three men who’d gravitated toward the softer side of the same evil from which we’d been born into. But things had changed over the years.

We’d changed from fucked-up boys to men, mostly honorable citizens who’d managed to find solace in a cruel world.

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