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“Then you’ve got your answer,” I reply. “They better hope if I do find them, they haven’t hurt—”
“Please, Fletcher. I don’t want to think about that.”
Regular people rarely want to think about the darkness in the world, and there is so much of it. So much misery. So much agony. So much abuse. “Fair enough.”
“I hope you find him,” she says, “and don’t worry. I’ll be putting a message up, warning everybody else.”
I can tell she wants to get going. All this dark talk is too much for her, especially when she’s recently returned from holiday. I place Rascal on the ground. He whines and tries to climb up on my leg again, but then Miss Appletree secures his leash, and they go on their way.
I shouldn’t let myself feel bitter about Miss Appletree and her eagerness not to hear about the dark parts of the world. Yet I can’t help but feel a little pissed about it. I should’ve learned to stop this type of thinking a long time ago. Even one-tenth of the hell I’ve glimpsed would send any of these regular people insane. The operations I’ve been on. The monsters I’ve met.
Sitting on the bench, I let time pass. I’m good at simply waiting somewhere, even waiting for nothing. I’ve explored my own avenues to find the van or any whispers of a dog theft ring, but this isn’t like overseas. I haven’t got assets on the ground. I haven’t got connections. I’m a retired Special Ops man. I’m a gym owner. I’m not the operator I once was.
When I hear Miss Appletree let out a yelp, I’m on my feet immediately. I jog across the park to find her standing toe-to-toe with a man at least two feet taller than her. He’s almost as tall as me. He’s got an entitled smirk on his face. Shamefully, it reminds me of my son James’s. The smirk falters when he spots me.
“What’s the issue?” I ask. Rascal stops growling momentarily to glance up at me but then carries on, glaring at the man.
“I simply asked him to pick up his dog’s mess.”
The dog sniffs around a bench, an overweight animal that looks like it hasn’t experienced meaningful stimulation in weeks or months. “And what did he say?” I ask.
The man is looking at me in a way I’m familiar with. It’s how bullies often look at me, praying they can turn me into their friend and I’ll somehow side with them even if they’re completely wrong. I ignore his wannabe-pal grin—the coward.
“He said I should mind my own business and swore at me.”
“Easy, lady,” the man grunts. “I was just saying you didn’t give me a chance to pick it up.”
“Where’s the mess?” I ask Miss Appletree, stepping forward so the man knows to back the hell up. It works. He steps away from her, probably sensing how completely goddamn fine I am with this turning ugly. I’m almost hoping it does. I almost want him to pull a weapon.
Miss Appletree gestures. “By that tree there.”
It’s a good twenty yards away. “If you were going to pick it up,” I say, finally turning to the man, “and if the issue is she didn’t give you enough time, why is it all the way over there, friend?”
My tone has become so dark. I’m so, so ready. I want this to happen. The world doesn’t make sense. It’s all chaos. When I feel this tickling down my spine, a faint imitation of what I felt overseas, suddenly, I see everything clearly. Putting this bastard in his place would be no difficult thing.
“I…” He decides to go the tough guy route, puffing himself up. “Just lay off it, man.”
I step closer to him but don’t go toe-to-toe like people often do in confrontations. It’s a mistake. I don’t know if he’s tooled up. Maybe he’s a better boxer than me and will piece me up, but I can kick him in the gut at this range. Leap in with a jab and then grapple him. Let him feel he’s not as big as he thinks he is.
“Pick up the shit,” I growl. “Or I’ll make you fucking eat it.”
I can tell how unusual this is for him. He must be six-two. He rarely meets people my size who aren’t scared of him. He thought he could bully Miss Appletree and get away with it because he always gets away with it. Bad people often do.
However, this man understands how badly it could go for him. He swallows and turns away. “Like I said, I was going to anyway.”
“Then we don’t have a problem.”
I stare at him as he walks away, praying for him to turn back, but he doesn’t. He bags the mess and then leaves the park.
“Are you okay?” Miss Appletree asks, sounding just as frightened as he did.
“I’m fine,” I tell her, but I don’t sound fine. I sound like a man ready to set the whole world on fire.
CHAPTERTHREE
Samantha
I’m done pretending this is okay. James has been so dismissive and boring. He’s spent the entire date talking about his new car and all the parts he’s going to install. This would be fine if he didn’t scowl at me whenever I asked a question. Apparently, I’m here as a one-person audience to listen to any speeches he feels like giving.
