Page 123 of The Locksmith's Promise

“I had a mother who painted doors blue and wore flowers in her hair.”

She left me to get away from you.

Swing.

“You and that fucking bottle drove her away.”

The same fucking vice that near swallowed me.

Swing.

“You tried to destroy me.”

My back burned, a phantom pain, the memory so crisp I arched to escape it.

Fucking drugged me and tied me to a chair. Lit that fucking cigar over and fucking over.

I sobbed, the blurry, over-exposed image of Jenny on my bed, her lovely body exposed, head lolling, eyes swimming with tears as she cried for me.

And called weakly for Deacon.

And that fucker laughed.

Swing. Swing. Swing.

I stopped, chest heaving, tears burning.

Maggie. My Maggie.

Running out of that house with tears running down her face and the fucker laughed then, too.

“Who’s laughing now, Dad?” I bellowed. “Who’s fucking laughing now?”

I paced back and forth in front of the rubble and poked myself hard in the chest. “I’m still fucking here.”

And you can’t hurt me or anyone I love again.

Especially not Corwin.

“This is for him. This is for the ten years you stole from him,” I snarled.

I lifted the axe over my head and brought it down.

Over and over again.

Reducing that post to a pile of fucking splinters at my feet.

Panting, I carefully lowered the axe head down to rest on the ground.

A harsh sound ripped through the chords in my throat as I tossed one last truth. “I’m fucking everything you never were.”

I let go of the axe.

Tipping my chin up to the sky, I spread my arms wide, opened my chest, and roared to the heavens.

Miller slammed into me first, followed immediately by John and Eric. Keith and Sarge brought up the rear, wrapping their arms around all of us.

I don’t know who said it, but the message was unanimous.

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