Page 4 of Depraved Truths

“Alright! I did it!” he yells, his hands struggling against the restraints. “The bitch wouldn’t shut up, and the kid wouldn’t stop screaming. Are you happy now? Go away. Leave me alone. I’ll never tell anyone you were here. I don’t even know who you are,” he begs.

Really? Is that all he could handle?Amateur. I remove the wand and unplug it from the wall, tossing it aside.

“See?” I wave my hand out. “Don’t you feel better now that you’ve owned the truth?”

I allow him to drag himself into the recliner, whining the whole time. I grab his pack of cigarettes, pull one out, and offer it to him. He takes the cigarette; his hands tremble violently as I light it for him. He inhales deeply and blows out a thick stream of smoke.

“Be right back, buddy,” I say gleefully as I walk out to the garage, grabbing the two gasoline canisters I’d stored earlier, and bringingthem inside. He becomes panicked again, his face contorted as he screams, “You said you'd stop if I told you the truth!”

“Did I? Oops, I lied.”

I pour gasoline onto the carpet around his chair before drenching his body; the liquid splashes around him, and the potent smell fills my nostrils. He howls loudly. I’m over him now. I pull out the bowie knife strapped to my back and run it across his jugular artery, effectively slicing the skin open, and blood pours out. Savoring every moment, I watch as his life drains away. The cigarette falls from his mouth, starting a small blaze beside the recliner. I cut off the zip ties and gather my belongings, careful not to leave anything behind.

Casting one last glance at the photo of his innocent wife and daughter, I head toward the door. Before I leave, I turn around and light a match to ignite the growing blaze, watching the flames swallow the pathetic excuse for a human being in front of me—another monster who can’t hurt anyone else.

Chapter 6

It’s six in the morning when I pull my truck into the parking lot of my office. I started Huntington’s Construction Company a little under two years ago after getting out of the military.

From a young age, I always had a passion for building things. Pair that with the values instilled in me by my family; it was inevitable that I would open my own business in the construction trade once my military career as a Navy SEAL was over.

Mom loved the idea. She was relieved I came home from overseas unharmed and having me back in Lake Falls made her incredibly happy. As a kid, some of my fondest memories are of the times I spent with only her and my grandparents. In his own way, my dad is proud of me too, although he doesn’t say it much. It’s so hard to gauge someone who’s so damn formidable and commanding in their personality. I’ve never felt adequate in his eyes.

Especially after my sister disappeared.

Keeping Paisley safe had been my responsibility, and I failed her. We had been a semi-normal family before that fateful night, but the pain of losing her consumed me. A couple of months after herdisappearance, I forfeited my football scholarship to the University of Georgia.

When my best friend Jace enlisted in the Navy, it played a major role in influencing my decision to join as well. Jace came from a family of naval officers, so there was always an expectation for him to pursue that same path. However, I joined so I could do everything in my power to battle the inner demons that were threatening to overpower me.

It wasn’t until years later that I realized my efforts had been completely useless. I gave everything to my country and like to think I brought some peace into the world. I realize it may sound narcissistic, but it’s simply the truth. However, saving innocent lives couldn't take away the painful reality of losing my sister. I don't have the answers I desperately need about the person responsible for her murder, and it weighs heavily on my mind. Eventually I realized I wasn't going to find those answers in a scorching desert in the Middle East. You can only run from your past for so long.

Friends since kindergarten, Jace and I were always causing trouble. During our time in high school, if you were searching for one of us, chances were high that you would find the other. When we weren't out partying or getting laid, we spent our time duck hunting by the lake or deer hunting at his dad's cabin. Going through basic training and being recruited to join the SEALs strengthened our bond.

The two of us have been through some tough shit together, and I know he's got my back like I've got his.

The bond between members of a SEAL team is so strong they become like family. Every mission poses life-threatening situationsthat demand complete trust and unity. Out of the other four soldiers in our sector, Jonah, became like a brother to me, and saved my ass too many times to count. I've shared things with him that I've never told Jace. We rode the highest of highs and sank to the lowest of lows, because for every victory we celebrated, there were also deep, heartbreaking losses. When the three of us retired, Jonah left to join the FBI, and Jace and I started our own construction business in our hometown of Lake Falls.

Jace should be here any minute. Typically, we begin our workdays bright and early. Our current project involves renovating a home on Cherry Lane. The owners, Richard Cunningham III and his wife Lorna, are obnoxious motherfuckers who have too much money and too much time on their hands. The house on the lake makes this their third vacation home. They also own a beach house in Florida and a cabin in Colorado. Their primary home is in Atlanta. Richard is from old money, and that wife of his is the typical trophy wife. Lorna Cunningham has sent us ten differentPinterestideas for the kitchen remodel.

Pinterestis a bitch for those of us in this business.

“Hey, Jace, you ready, man?” I call out to him after he parks next to me. He climbs into the truck with a soda and a bag of candy in hand.

“Let’s head over to the Cunninghams and see what we need to do today, then we’ll head over to the job in Blakely and measure it.”

“Let's do it,” Jace replies. On the drive over, we bullshit about his current flavor of the week. Unlike myself, Jace is a notorious player, and without fail, there’s always a woman texting him.

As we pull onto Cherry Lane, I hit the brakes hard and Jace slaps a hand on the dashboard before exclaiming, “What the fuck?”

Police officers and firefighters surround the home next to the Cunningham’s. The whole place is a goner. Conrad Johnson—an absolute piece of shit—owns the house and has recently gotten away with murdering his wife and daughter. As we pass by, I see the coroner's van is also there.Good, maybe the sorry motherfucker burnt up inside the house. The community would be better off without scum like him.

We pull into the Cunningham’s driveway, park the truck, and as we head inside, I spot something—or someone—out of the corner of my eye. It’s a jogger who has stopped to observe the scene. She’s speaking with an officer when her steel-gray eyes drift over to my blue ones, and I freeze, unable to look away.Fuck.This woman is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. She’s wearing black capri leggings, a hot pink sports bra, and her blonde hair is in a high ponytail. She has a perfect rack and long, tanned legs despite her short stature. “Hey, Earth to Eli!” Jace punches me in the shoulder, pulling my attention back to him. I glance back at the blonde goddess, but she has resumed her run. How have I never encountered this beauty before? Lake Falls isn’t a large community, but it’s not tiny either. Curiosity stirs within me, and I can’t help but find myself hoping I’ll cross paths with her again, and sooner rather than later. For now, I inhale deeply and force my attention back to the job at hand.

The Cunningham’s home is a complete remodel, and I’ve been measuring and talking with the subcontractors I hired about the multiple renovations that are being planned. A little after nine, I hear a knock at the door downstairs. At the door is Marshall Randall, one of the deputies at the sheriff’s office, and another skinny guy who looks like he just graduated high school. I’ve known Marshall all my life, even though he was a couple of grades ahead of me. He’s always been a good guy, and we’ve never had any issues with one another. His father, Bob, is the local sheriff. I ran into the man a few times in my youth. Nothing too serious—once I accidentally broke a neighbor’s window with a baseball, and in my teens, I was caught spraying graffiti on the walls of the high school locker room. Not my best decision ever, I was young and reckless back then, but I’ve never been one to back down from a dare.

Marshall gives me a wide smile. “Eli, I thought that was you I saw pulling in this morning.”

“Hey man, it has been a while. How are the wife and kids?” I ask.

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