The teachers mill about for a moment before I roar out, “Go to your classrooms now!”

I’m not in the mood for stupid people right now and they need to be professionals. They need to be able to protect the children like I couldn’t do.

After questioning a couple of officers about what happened, I head towards the room where Paul made his last stand.

We have the money in this town, we own the police. They don’t bat an eye when I start moving about.

Stepping into the room where the standoff happened, I kneel in front of a body Paul took down with him. From the looks of it, he did more than his share of killing. He took down six guys.

Six.

That’s a lot of men to kill while protecting two children and yourself.

Flipping over the bodies, I rip open shirts and check their hands. They have tattoos all over their chests and hands. Russian prison tattoos. These are the real deal when it comes to a Russian hit squad. These are the heavy hitters we should have originally been facing.

This was the loose end we couldn’t find.

Beside Paul, I sit down for a moment. Another brother is gone from our family now. This one died protecting us.

Too many holes fill him. The scene around him, the spent cartridges… he didn’t protect himself in the end. It’s obvious he gave no thought to himself, it was all for the girls.

Closing his eyes, I try not to allow myself to feel the deep down inferno of rage wanting to unleash inside of me. I need to be cool and calm right now; I need to collect information, not become a beacon of anger.

Shaking my head, I stand up from his body with the hope that the men he took with him will be his slaves in the next life.

Loud voices pierce through my fog as I leave the room. The office across from the one I was in looks almost pristine compared to the one I was in. Inside of it, I see two officers speaking with the principal of the school.

Stopping just outside of the door, I hear him say, “This wouldn’t have happened if these cretins would keep their children away from my school! But I get no say in the filth that comes through the doors. The board allows donors to bring their little brats here if they give enough.”

My tongue feels thick in my mouth, the bile that is rising from my guilt of Abigail being taken is quickly becoming rage. How dare he call my daughter filth.

Walking past one of the officers, I move directly in front of the small, sniveling man. He’s a short, fat, balding little fuck. When Amy and I arranged for Abigail to come to school, he gave us trouble and now he’s insulting her.

Grabbing his wrist, I yank him forward as I growl out, “Do not insult my girl!”

“Officer! Officers! Get him off me!” he screams to the two uniformed men and the detective.

That scream. That fucking scream causes me to stop. My hand locks on his wrist as I say, “I recognize your scream…”

The police are trying to pull me off the guy as I say, “Scream for me one more time, scream ‘In there’.”

They have me off him, but the man has gone from indignant red to a very pale shade of green. “What… you must be mad… get him away from me.”

Eyeing the detective, I say, “Make him scream it.”

Looking from me to the police, the principal’s eyes go wide. “Now, see here! You’re the law, he can’t…”

None of the officers make a sound or movement as I pull my .45 out of my holster and aim it at the man’s knee. “Scream it now.”

“In there!” he screams out. “In there! In there!”

That’s the voice I heard through the phone, this is my daughter’s Judas.

Looking back to the police, I say, “He told the hit squad where my daughter was hiding.”

Looking back and forth at each other, the officers start to go for the man before I shake my head. “I’ll deal with him. You guys go find another person to question.”

It’s a sign of how much Lucifer controls this city now that the police officers turn away from me and the blubbering man. They know right now there’s not a single thing they can do to stop me.

At a time like this there isn’t a pocket we can’t grease.

Grabbing the man by the shirt, I yank his tie loose then up and over his head. Cramming the ugly silk piece of shit into his mouth, I silence most of the wailing that was coming out. I slap the side of my pistol against his head and watch his eyes get hazy.

Holstering the .45, I head out of his office, yanking him with me.

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