Читать книгу Ambush At Dry Gulch - Joanna Wayne - Страница 11

Chapter Five

The pain was blinding, as if someone were hammering nails into his skull. Not a new pain, but one that had become excruciatingly more familiar since the day he’d been sentenced to four agonizing years in prison.

He recognized the torture for what it was, knew the only real release would come when he was back in control. When he could feel the sweet release of revenge.

He’d had four years to plan the payback. Nights of trying to fall asleep to the sounds of rants from half-insane inmates and the scratching of rats scurrying in and out of his stinking cell. Days of staring at bars and marching to the barking orders of guards whom he longed to twist apart like rotten fruit.

Four years of torture. It was time for action. The plan was all in place. The clock was clicking inside the very marrow of his bones.

He picked up the bottle of beer from the bar in front of him, took the last gulp and signaled to the waitress to bring him another.

Before she could, a platinum blonde wearing a low-cut top and inches of thick makeup got up from her stool a few down from his and walked over.

“Want some company? Looks like the rain is going to be with us for a while.”

He didn’t want company, but he shrugged and she obviously took that for a yes. She slid onto the stool next to his.

“I hate stormy Mondays.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. In prison a man lost track of the days. They came and went in a steady stream of monotonous boredom, seeing the same people, eating the same lousy food, staring at the same dull walls.

“You married?” she asked.

“Yeah. My wife is out screwing some wealthy rancher. Is that what you’re looking for, too? I figure you’re just another slut looking for some man to pay for your drinks and maybe get in your pants.”

“You’re crazy, you know that? A freakin’ nutcase.” She stood and walked away.

The waitress put his bottle of beer in front of him without saying a word. He threw a few bills on the bar, gulped down his beer, then got up and walked out of the nearly empty bar.

The rain needled his skin. He kept walking. The hammering grew worse. If he didn’t let off some steam soon, he’d explode.