Tyson

My ass is numb from the hours I’ve sat here idly watching and waiting for my target to make his way here. My snitch told me he’d be making a pit stop today at this exact location to cash a check from his old man.

“Gotch you, motherfucker,” I growl as I watch the soldier, who’s been documented by the military as being AWOL—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 going on six months now, and finally, I have him within my sights.

Miller James Aarons.

He’s who Hemmingway reported to her superiors as being her lead 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. But someone has been able to keep them under wraps, and 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, one I undeniably believed myself to be half in love with, float 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 an untreated blood disease from childhood, neither could I.

I thought we were the perfect, ideal match.

Every time I looked into the future, I saw us adopting a few kids, filling the house with others who’d lost everything before they ever had a chance to enjoy life. 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. But, nevertheless, she knew my intent. I made endless promises through a locked door that she refused to let me through. At the end of the day, I failed her, but I will not fail Hemmingway. I will not sit idly by and watch the light drain from another woman’s eyes while she gets lost in her head and loses hope, giving up on life. Not now. Not ever again.

As the slimy fucker leaves the gas station, a place that I’m certain doesn’t check IDs when they cash checks for lowlife fucks, I watch as he steps over a crackhead who’s shooting up a vial full of dope into the cleft of his arm. When I read the junkie’s lips, I smirk when he asks Miller for money. I quickly pack up my go-bag and crouch down low, prepared to follow behind his every step. Instead of driving, he’s traveling on foot, making it easier for me to keep up with him.

I blend into this town like a tourist. I even do a little incognito window shopping to look the part as we make our way out of the crowd and start walking down a chipped concrete path leading into an obsolete, forgotten neighborhood.

Trash litters the streets. Yards are full of ramshackle furniture, and stray animals scrounge through trash bins looking for their next meal. A black-and-white tuxedo cat begins winding his lithe body around my feet, attempting to trip me, to either steal the snacks from my knapsack, or force me to pet him.

All the same, he’s deterring me from keeping up with my nemesis, which isn’t acceptable. Swinging the bag around my shoulders, I unzip the front pouch and toss some beef jerky at him. He quickly forgets about me and scurries after it, hissing at the calico cat who comes up to join him for his meal.

“Don’t blame you, little fucker,” I state, naming the feline. “I’m not much into sharing my food, either. Sorry, shithead,” I add, addressing the second cat. “It’s a dog-eat-dog-world out there. First come, first serve and all that shit. Better luck to you next time.” The cat hisses at me and I hiss right the fuck back at him. “Beat his ass for me, little fucker.” The tuxedo cat winks at me as he continues chowing down on the hard, beef-flavored sticks, still unwilling to share.

Finding my target has stopped in his tracks, I slide into the shadows of the dilapidated house where the cats are now having a knockdown, drag-out round of fisticuffs, so he doesn’t see me. Miller fearfully scans behind him before he slips down the back alley between the two rows of houses. I’m not sure if his instincts are screaming at him that he’s being trailed, or if he’s just a paranoid motherfucker, but it doesn’t matter. I need to be more mindful and observant.

Sticking to the darker parts of the alleyway, I follow him until he makes it to a two-story house that has seen better and brighter days. The lacquered siding is splintering, chunks missing here and there, while most of the windows are boarded up in order to keep the elements of the weather at bay through the shattered or missing panes. The screen door hangs on its hinges and groans as Miller pulls it out so he can enter through the battered back door. Again, he analyzes his surroundings before hastily shutting it. I can hear the lock mechanism engaging and hold back my mirthful laugh.

“Who the fuck does he think that’s gonna keep out?” I ask myself. “A soft breeze could knock that piece of shit down.”

As I stealthily tiptoe my way to the ass end of the house, a baby crying from the second floor has me looking up. Damn, what kind of dumb fuck keeps a kid in a place like this?

“A piece of shit, that’s who,” I say, answering my own question.

“Shut that kid up!” I hear a loud shout vibrate from down below. Squatting, I notice there’s a basement to this place.

It’s not normal for a Texas dwelling since our soil doesn’t support that foundation. It’s not stable enough, which means it’s been purposefully dug and will be a thicker substructure than if it was built up north.

“That blows,” I mutter. It’s a hindrance, but not impossible to infiltrate. I’ll just need to do it from the inside instead of from the outside.

No biggie. It’ll take more than a little mortar and cement to keep me out.

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’ve done everything they could to torture me, force me to retract my story, and scare me to comply obedience. But there’s something else lying behind their beady eyes… another option that they’ve decided I’m no longer going to be offered. It’s just a feeling that’s caught in a loop inside of my brain, but their actions and words have made me feel the truth of that feeling over a time.

Newsflash, I will not now, or ever bow down to a man… any man, no matter his status or who he is.

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 concrete-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.

They are 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.

My vow does not go unheard by me. Their punishment will not go unanswered, I refuse. I’ll personally sever their heads and dig their graves. I made the mistake of thinking that if I went about things through the right channels, my tormentors would have to answer to the higher ups in the military, only I misjudged how high Franklin’s reach was.

I should’ve guessed that his elevated station meant that he was the first in the chain of command to see all written and documented accusations. Especially if they were flung in his and his son’s way.

The rotten bastards.

If anything, once the nurse reported my pregnancy from the rape I’d mentioned, I became their prey. I had no peace from that day forward.

The day I was taken, I was sitting on the toilet when the lights went out. Everything within eyesight became pitch dark, and the once noisy and hustling latrine went eerily silent. Warning bells sounded in my head and my hunch told me I was in trouble, the type of turmoil I wasn’t going to be capable of digging my way out of.

When a dirty, smelly bag went over my head and tightened around my neck like a noose, I panicked—dread and cold chills ran rampant through my body. I ended up passing out from the lack of oxygen from the anxiety that wrapped itself around me like a heavy-weighted blanket.

When I later awoke, it was to find myself chained down here like a dog, where I’ve been kept prisoner and abused ever since.

Nausea rolls through my belly as the pain envelops me, pulling me into the darkness. Normally, I’d enjoy the escape from this excruciating reality, but hearing my babies squalling from upstairs has me begging for someone to find me and rescue us. If we stay here much longer, the only way I’ll be leaving this dump is inside of a pine box.

“Help,” I whisper to the universe as I give up and allow the black void to steal me, allowing me to sink into its numbing embrace.