TYSON

“Gotch you, motherfucker,” I growl as I watch the soldier, who’s been documented by the military as being AWOL, which is the acronym our government uses for being absent without leave, slither out of the supermarket through the lens of my binoculars. I’ve been searching for this piece of shit for six months now, and finally, I have him within my sights.

Miller James Aarons.

He’s who Hemmingway reported as being her tormentor and rapist.

For that accusation alone the fucker deserves to die a painful, drawn-out death.

A death that will be dished out by me.

But first, I need to follow him and find out where he has Master’s sister stashed. I’m not sure who he has in his pockets that’s been able to keep them under wraps, but whoever it is has a far reach and must be high up on the government's tree branch.

Paperwork has been shredded and destroyed. What was left untouched has blackened out lines. Only someone with some legislative pull would be able to get that done without being caught.

I have a feeling in my gut that Miller hasn’t been acting alone and may actually be the scapegoat, covering for someone he either fears or someone who’s holding something over his head.

Either way, I will figure it out and I will be bringing Hemmingway home to Master.

Thoughts of another woman, of one I believed myself to be half in love with, floats through my mind.

Amara.

She would’ve been the perfect woman for me in every way a woman can be for a man.

After her ordeal, she couldn’t have kids, after my injury from childhood, neither could I.

I thought we were the perfect match.

I saw us adopting kids, filling the house with others who’ve lost it all. We’d join forces, overcome our tragedies, and be strong… together. But she didn’t wait for me. She took her own life.

I didn’t get a chance to bring her home. I failed her, but I will not fail Hemmingway. I will not fail another woman. Not now, and not ever again.

HEMMINGWAY

This time, the blade cut a little too deep, and I know that I have an infection. The skin around the injury is angry, red, and swollen. I’ve been the unfortunate captive of these men going on nine months now.

In that time, they did everything they could to torture me, force me to retract my story, and scare me into obedience.

Newsflash, I will not now, or ever bow down to a man.

Especially one that wants to silence me.

Right is right, and wrong is wrong, and what they’ve done to me is wrong.

I’m chained in this dingy basement; the chains outstretch far enough for me to reach each corner of the cement-blocked room. My toilet is a bucket that’s shoved off in the right corner, the furthest from the steps that lead up into the main part of the house. My bed is four layered blankets piled on top of each other, my pillow is a rolled-up sweatshirt, and my shower is a water hose that gets turned on for twenty minutes every day—regardless of the outside temperature.

I hear two babies crying through the filtration system.

My babies.

My twins.

Honor and Haven.

The only reasons I fight to live, to escape, to plan the demise of one Miller Aarons and his father, my baby's father, Admiral Franklin Aarons… my monster, my rapist, my torturer.

Revenge will be mine.

THE END