Читать книгу Cavanaugh Standoff - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 8

Prologue

The first kill had been easy.

All it had taken was a sense of detachment—and that had been there, hovering like a dark specter, growing closer and closer for the last two years.

Detachment had been the only way to survive ever since it had happened.

“It.” The event that had turned the world completely upside down, draining everyday life of all happiness, of what made life worthwhile. The event that had left nothing but a pile of ashes in its wake.

Placing the gun barrel up against that worthless scum’s head and then firing, had brought with it an unexpected, tremendous release of pent-up anger.

And just as unexpectedly, it had caused a sense of purpose to return to the emptiness loosely termed as “life.”

The first kill had originated from a chance encounter. After that, a plan had been born. A plan that had required a great deal of careful research, coordination and, above all, meticulous timing. But every risk, every dangerous moment, was ultimately so worth it.

And now? Now, finally, the end of the road was within sight.

Five bodies down, four to go. This would take more planning because they were on their guard now. But it didn’t matter.

However long it took, they were going to die.

Every single one of them!

The target had already been chosen, his day-to-day movements committed to memory. Just like the others.

If a conscience had been involved, it had long since been numbed into nonexistence.

Four more to go.

The words hummed like an enticing siren song. Four more people to kill and the score would finally be even.

Four more and then maybe, just maybe, life could begin to get back to normal.

And if not—and there was a big possibility that it wouldn’t—well, those evil, cold-blooded bastards all had it coming. Their deaths would be no loss to the world because they all dealt in death as if it was of no great consequence. With all of them wiped from the face of the earth, maybe someone else would go on living rather than have their life snuffed out as if they didn’t matter.

Maybe the self-righteous defenders of the public safety would even see it as a public service. Because that was what it was.

A public service.

A public that would be a little safer once those people were all dead.

And maybe, just maybe, sleep would finally return, bringing with it some measure of peace.

Peace, after two years.

Finally.

At least, there was a sliver of hope that it would. Something that had been missing all these many long months.