Striker flattened his back close to the wall. He knew that Edmond
was just around the corner in the room to his immediate left,
entertaining his drug buddies. With his handgun double fisted,
cocked and ready, he slinked closer on feet that were whisper quiet
toward the doorway and possible his death.
He didn’t fear death. His greatest fear wouldn’t be getting the
scum that took the one thing that matter more to him than himself,
Jess, his wife. An eye for an eye that was now his motto, one that
has haunted him since that bastard took Jess from him. Leaving her
dying, just because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
To Edmond it must’ve been no more than taking out the trash. Anger
threatened to well up and choked Striker. He needed rein in his
anger, not letting it rule his concentration.
Get a grip!
The calm of deadliness was once again in the forefront of his mind,
pushing back the blanket of rage, centering his emotions.
He’d never forget how it felt when the police came to his door and
gave him the news of Jess’ murder. His world stop spinning, all the
colors that had been its backdrop turned to red rage on that day.
He could still hear the ghosting of her last words to him lingering
in his head, "I love you with all my heart, but I need to get to
class." Their last kiss goodbye had been filled with passionate
promise when she returned home later that night. But, there’d never
been another later for them. Edmond took that away from him. Those
memories had burned to a fiery rage, fueling and channeling his
need for blatant revenge.
Suddenly voices drifted closer, Striker pulled back around a corner
silently, waiting patiently for the right time to strike. They
didn’t call him Striker for nothing. During his military training,
he was silently lethal and quick with his hands. He could get in
and out of situations that most men would’ve shit their pants, had
they been in the same circumstances.
A hail of gunfire had Striker moving quick and low toward the loud
riveting sounds. Dropping down to the floor and rolling to keep his
body from being a target, he upended himself in a room littered
with bodies. An evil smile of intent crack his stone cold features,
matching the flat hatred reflected in his eyes. His gun was pointed
directly at his prey, and revenge had finally come knocking.
Both men had their guns pointed at each other, their body language
mirrored in ridged determination. Striker lunged to his left, down
toward the ground, firing off a single shot to the head, before he
gracefully landed flat on the floor.
Like a crumbling piece of paper, Edmond folded to the ground with a
look of utter amazement slowly peeling away from his face, as the
blank look of his death mask replaced it.
"That’s for my Jess"...
