Chapter 2

Brock’s hand began to shake as he kept the gun trained on the greasy punk’s forehead. The lowlife not only trembled, but he shook uncontrollably as he sat with his back against a wall in his filthy kitchen. Brock had promised God and himself that he would never kill again. He also had promised his wife, Destiny, as well as his former girlfriend and current FBI agent Nora Medora.

               But then Brock thought of his spiritual daughter Amy. She had been brought to the hospital unconscious and they anguished over whether she and the baby in her womb would survive. He saw his beautiful wife Destiny with her swollen face, broken nose, and the gash on her cheek that required twenty some stiches. His spiritual son Dirk with three broken ribs, a fractured ankle, and sprained knee. Yet Dirk heroically gave his shirt off his back to stop the bleeding from Destiny’s face. Then despite his injured leg, he carried his pregnant, unconscious wife, first to his pickup truck, and then into the hospital.

               “For when they shall say peace and safety;” Brock began to quietly say as he quoted 1 Thessalonians 5:3. “Then sudden destruction cometh upon them, as travail upon a woman with child; and they shall not escape.”

               The safety on his Beretta 9mm clicked as he took it off, causing the man-boy he had it trained on to wet himself. His quivering finger tightened on the trigger as he felt himself giving in to the greatest temptation of his life. He thought the bloodlust and vengeance he once had craved was a thing of the past, replaced by the Holy Spirit. But here it was once again trying to possess him. Brock’s teeth clenched vice like, making his temples feel like they might explode from the tension. He put more pressure on the trigger.

               “But ye, brethren, are not in darkness, that that day should overtake you as a thief,” he could hear his lovely wife’s sweet, melodic voice say into his mind’s ear as she quoted verse 4. It almost sounded real.

               “AAAAAAAHHHHH!” he groaned as he lowered the gun.

Three days earlier, they had been wrapping up moving Amy and her husband Dirk into their new home on a country acreage. Amy, Dirk, and Destiny had made one last trip to the downtown dingy apartment building where Amy and Dirk had been living while their new home was being built. Amy and Dirk had gone in first while Destiny gathered up cleaning supplies. When she entered the foyer, she was shocked to have Dirk and a ski masked figure tangled and rolling down the stairs at her. Then her adrenaline spiked even more as she saw six month pregnant Amy wrestling with a second hooded figure.

               Destiny leapt over the heap of Dirk and the masked creep and raced up the stairs. The attacker had slammed Amy head first into the wall and she slid unconscious to the floor. Right when the villain was about to plunge a knife into Amy’s womb, Destiny tackled him. Although she had saved Amy from being stabbed, her delicate form was no match for the evil young man.

               In the long seconds it took Dirk to get back up the stairs, Destiny had been slashed on her face and viciously punched in the nose. The knife wielding coward fled before Dirk could reach him. Thankfully, the apartment was only a mile from the hospital. Why hadn’t I gone with them? Brock had badgered himself over and over as he waited anxiously at the hospital as the three most precious people in his life were all in emergency rooms.

               To his overwhelming relief, they finally let him see Amy, the most critical of the three. She looked haggard and dazed. But ultimately, she was okay. Her unborn baby had also survived the ordeal. Amy had a concussion and they wanted to keep her for observation. Brock was overcome with emotion when he saw her sitting up in a bed.  

               “Baby,” he croaked as he dashed to her side and gently embraced her.

               “Daddy!” she cried as she hugged him back tightly.

               Brock wasn’t her actual father. Amy and her husband Dirk had both been orphaned before they were teenagers. They began calling Destiny and Brock mom and dad as a little bit of a joke. They weren’t quite old enough to realistically be their parents. But between repeatedly calling them such, and now with a baby on the way, it felt more real all of the time.

               “Are you okay, honey?” he wanted to know as he stroked her long, red-gold hair.

               “Ah huh,” she nodded and then pressed the right side of her face into his chest. Then seconds later she abruptly pushed away. “How are Dirk and Dee?”

               “They are injured, but I’m told they’re gonna be fine,” Brock reassured her.

               “Promise?”

                “I promise,” He replied before she put her head against his massive chest again. “They’ve got some cuts and bumps, but I’m pretty sure that they’ll be going home tonight after they’re patched up. You and the baby are the ones that had us the most concerned.”

               It had been eight months since a satanic cult had tried to sacrifice Amy in a perverse ritual. Brock had thought they were safe. Jezebel Black was a self-professed satanic high priestess and her closest cohorts were in prison. No one expected that a couple of rogue followers would seek vengeance. The two culprits that had managed to flee were both wearing ski masks. Brock had consulted his friend, former lover and FBI agent Nora Medora. She had been undercover in that cult for about a year. She was able to give him a name that she was ninety nine percent sure was one of the attackers. She was unclear on the second attacker. Brock had been surprised when Nora Medora gave him no warning about taking matters into his own hands. But she knew full well the police could do nothing with so little evidence. There was no way to actually prove who attacked Amy.

               “Maybe I won’t kill you,” Brock had told the quivering coward. “How about I just burn off some skin with this acetylene torch and call it good.”

               He lit a handheld torch two feet from the punk’s face. Yellow-orange flame danced and waved until he adjusted it into to a sharp blue hiss.

               “No, please!” the creep shrieked.

               “You’re gonna need to not only move out of town, but even the state,” Brock told him. “Want to know why?”

               He didn’t reply; he just whimpered. Brock whacked him on the side of the head with the torch bottle. “I said do you want to know why?”

               “Why?” he croaked as a slow trickle of blood emerged from his dirty, greasy brown hair.

               “Because if I see you again, I won’t know whether you are stalking or not. So next time I won’t be nearly as patient and friendly. Also, if you should cross paths with my daughter again, do you know what I’ll do?”

               He whimpered and sniffled, but didn’t reply. Brock raised the gun to strike him again.

               “What?” he cried.

               “I’ll take you to a nice secluded place,” Brock warned him. “Then I’ll remove all of your finger nails with pliers. Then I’ll use this torch and melt off your skin.”

               The young man looked absolutely terrified and a part of Brock actually felt sympathy. But another part of him enjoyed implementing punishment and wanted to proceed with more. Yet a still small voice told him that he had accomplished his purpose. He tried to ignore it, intending to give him a quick burn on the arm with the torch. But the still small voice wasn’t so small anymore. Vengeance is mine saith the Lord! He sighed heavily and eased away from his prey.

               “You and your buddy both better get out of town,” Brock warned with menacing patience. “But first you need to tell me who your accomplice was.”

               He balked at first, but then Brock clutched his throat and let him feel the heat from the blue-orange flame. The coward suddenly sang like a canary. Brock threatened him to not warn his pathetic partner. Then Brock fled to the old pickup truck he had parked two blocks away. His hands trembled as he worked the key into the ignition. Fortunately punk number two lived only minutes away. He was comfortably playing a video game that had him killing countless people when Brock surprised him with his presence. Brock reenacted his routine of gun and torch. The second creep complied more quickly than the first, thereby reducing Brock’s temptations.

               “Who put you up to this?” Brock asked with clenched teeth. “After meeting you two punks, you don’t seem smart enough or ambitious enough to track down my daughter on your own.”

               He just stared at Brock as he trembled and panted. Brock took the safety off the gun and pointed it at his knee cap. “Jezebel Black?” 

               The punk shook his head.

               “Who?” Brock demanded.

               “Sexy Lexi,” he mumbled.

               “Lexi Gomez?”

               “Yeah,” he replied, nodding quick and erratic, reminding Brock of a bobble head doll. “Please, dude, don’t tell her. She’s just plain crazy. She’s not right in the head.”

               “I see, and do you think that you’re right in the head?”

               “Look, dude, I thought we were just gonna put a scare into the pregnant girl. We didn’t know she was your daughter. I actually freaked when Grant knocked her out and slashed that hot blonde chick.”

               So, it was the first jerk Brock had visited that actually put the hurt on his girls. He was tempted to go back and rough him up some more. But he had accomplished his purpose. Even if they ignored his demand to leave town, he was confident that they would steer very clear of his family. Now, what to do about Lexi Gomez? She was one of Amy’s two twisted sisters. As much as Brock despised Amy’s half siblings, he wasn’t going to rough up a woman no matter how much they deserved it. He decided to call Nora Medora again and let the F.B.I. Agent decide how it should be handled. Maybe Nora would rough Lexi up.

               “I tell you what Brock,” Nora said after he called her and explained the situation to her. “I have some quick business in Des Moines the day after tomorrow. I’ll look her up and grill her on what roll she played in the attack. Is that okay?”

               “That would be great, Nora, Thank you! I owe ya.”

               “Do you?” She purred. “How about we play a round of our old game?”

               She was referring to an exercise they used to do together when we were a couple. She used to have Brock  hide out in the woods while she ran in and simulate an attack on her. She did this mainly to hone her self-defense skills. The couple also took a sadistic pleasure in the rough game.

               “I’ll have to pay up some other way,” Brock chuckled. “I’m a married man now.”

               “Oh, come on,” she drawled. “I’m not suggesting a roll in the hay afterward like we used to. Just the little game of hide and seek.”

               “Sorry, I’ll have to pass Nora.”

               “Alright, fine,” she sighed. “Look, I’ll be in touch as soon as I find something out.”

               “Thanks again.”

               As soon as Brock hung up, he wondered if he was being too hasty in turning down their little game of hide and seek. Of course, he’d have to run it by Destiny and make sure she was cool with it. Then he recalled what it was like to wrestle Nora to the ground. His hands all over her sexy bronze skin, slick with sweat. He felt something inappropriate stir and  shook it off. Nope, not happening.  Their little game was definitely going to stay a thing of the past.