When it came their time, he would show them how the strong delivered justice.
They would not live to tell the tale to others.
He smiled at the door. Although, a head on a spike might get the message across. Really, it was a shame the practice was discontinued by bleeding heart liberals.
Jake Turner poked his head around the door. “All finished with your little tantrum?’
Trent clenched his fists. Blood spotted the floor. Turning his attorney’s face into hamburger would be too quick. Besides, the fucking soldiers would stop him just as he popped out the traitor’s eyes and squished them like grapes. No, his revenge would wait a bit longer.
“If you think you’ll ever seize power from that bitch and her lapdogs, you’re wrong. You should have stuck with me. I would at least have allowed you to eat at the table, they won’t even throw you scraps after they learn about Flagstaff.”
Jake eased the rest of the way into the room and leaned against the door. “They already know all about Flagstaff. My version, of course.”
Trent forced his fists to uncurl. “And when I tell them the real events…”
“They won’t believe you.” Jake smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “But the teens are backing up what I’ve said. They think I’m a hero for coaxing you away from them by taking you shopping. Besides, I’ve already gotten what I wanted.”
“To lick that bitch’s boots.” Trent laughed. Who did the idiot think he was fooling? Jake had no power, no authority. He’d blown his best chance to get even a little respect. “With all the soldiers panting to get into the ugly cow’s underwear, you won’t even get to fuck her.”
Jake shook his head and folded his arms over his chest. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
The hair on the back of Trent’s neck itched. Had he missed something? “Get what?”
Jake pushed away from the door. “I never wanted power or women. I wanted revenge.”
“The military—”
“Not against the fucking military. You.” Spittle foamed at the corners of Jake’s mouth. “I wanted revenge against you!”
Trent blinked. What the fuck was going on here?
“You don’t get it.” Jake’s laughter fell like stones in a dry well—hollow and potentially lethal. “Does the name Deirdre Turner ring a bell? She went by the name DeeDee.”
DeeDee Turner. A face swelled from the depths of Trent’s memory as well as a two million dollar policy and a little extra something-something for him. “Blond hair. Nice rack. Shaved—”
Closing the space between them, Jake grabbed Trent by the throat and shoved him against the wall, lifting him to his toes. Drywall flaked around him. “She was my wife!”
Trent tried to suck in air. His lungs inflated but there was no oxygen in the vacuum. He clawed at the fingers digging into his neck.
“I worked so damn hard to make a living for us, to establish my practice. “ Jake’s face turned red. “It was my fucking idea to get a life insurance policy. Mine.”
Black tinged Trent’s vision. His lungs caught fire. He gave up trying to pry loose the fingers and went for Jake’s eyes.
Jake swatted his hands away and annoyance drew his features in tight. “And while I was working on a case that would allow us to put a down payment on a house in Carefree, you screwed my wife.”
Trent raised his knee to the other man’s groin. The bastard was going to kill him over an unfaithful bitch? No way.
Jake twisted his body, blocking the shot. “She confessed the affair when she contracted the Redaction, begged me to forgive her.” His eyes glistened. “And I did. But I will never forgive you.”
Trent’s ears buzzed. His vision reduced to the man in front of him. From a great distance, he heard knocking. God damn it! He wasn’t supposed to end like this.
Jake banged him against the wall once. Twice.
Trent barely registered the pain. His eyes fluttered closed.
Jake released him.
Cold air poured down Trent’s throat. His numb fingers reached for his damaged windpipe as he slid to the floor.
“When you showed up pretending to be a preacher, I knew God had given me an opportunity I couldn’t refuse.” Jake bent over and shoved his face into Trent’s. “Just a word in Dirk’s ear, and you reacted like I knew you would. You couldn’t resist the power.”
“Mr. Turner?” The bitch’s voice was muffled behind the door. “It’s time.”
Jake straightened. “I only wish you’d gotten a real taste of it before I took it all away.”
Trent coughed. He wasn’t anyone’s puppet. The fool was delusional. Jake Turner was a coward—one of those losers who dreamed of having it all but when the time came, didn’t have the balls to follow through. “DeeDee was a lousy fuck.”
Jake sucked in a breath.
“And you should have paid for a better tit job. It would have distracted from her flabby ass.”
“Come in!” Jake’s shout rattled the metal sink.
The bitch and her lackeys crowded into the small room. Trent memorized their faces. Dawson—the short, bland Hobbit extra. Lister—the graying Marine caricature. Judge Bob Anderson—a pattern card for the Monopoly cartoon without the monocle.
All of them would suffer for this insult.
“Let it be recorded that the sentence of banishment was carried out at…” the judge smoothed his vest, tugged a gold chain out and consulted the watch at the other end, “seven-oh-three on the morning of March thirteenth.”
What century was the man in anyway?
The bitch fished a vial out of her pocket. She flashed the white labeled vial at the judge. “Please verify that this contains the sleeping aid as recommended by the medical staff.”
Trent stiffened. “What sleep aid?”
The judge patted his chest then slid his reading glasses down from his comb-over. “Yes. Yes, it does.”
They were not going to ignore him. Setting his hands on floor, he pushed himself up.
Dawson pointed a pistol at his head. “Stay sitting.”
“You won’t dare shoot me.” It would violate their stupid code. Plus, his supporters would learn about it.
The judge waved his hand. “Not fatally. I’m sure you can still hobble around with one good leg.”
“Or I could just target other pieces of his anatomy.” Dawson shifted from targeting Trent’s head to his crotch.
Fucking asshole. Trent cupped himself. “This borders on cruel and unusual punishment.”
“Stubble it or I’ll have you gagged.” The flunky general grinned.
The bitch ripped open a syringe, bit off the cap and spat it on him. Staring at him, she jabbed the needle into the vial and drew back the plunger. “Four-point-five ccs were the required dose to knock him out.” She removed the vial then aimed the needle from the ceiling and depressed the plunger. Liquid arced out of the tip and sprayed him.
“Hey!” Trent brushed at the liquid staining his new sweater. “Watch the clothes.”
She handed the syringe to the judge who passed it to Jake. “That’s the agreed amount.”
“Corpsmen!” Lister barked.
A soldier in Navy blue and an anchor tattoo on his steroid-induced bicep marched into the room.
“Do it.”
“Yes, Sir.” He knelt, pulled a length of rubber from his pocket and tied it around Trent’s upper arm.
“Think you can get it a little tighter?” Trent snapped. His arm began to prickle from the constriction.
The corpsmen shoved Trent’s sweater up to his elbow. Grabbing his hand, the military lackey twisted his wrist until a plump blue vein came into sight. Cold air washed over Trent’s skin when he cleaned the area with an alcohol swab.
His traitorous attorney handed him the syringe. “How long until it takes effect?”