Blood Men: A Thriller

“Answer the damn question,” I say to Tyler.

“I don’t know anything about your daughter,” he says, keeping his eyes on Dad. “Been a long time, Jack. The security guard uniform doesn’t suit you.”

“Not that long,” my dad says. “Not for me. Seems like it was only yesterday.”

“It’s been four years,” Tyler says.

“Where’s my daughter?” I ask.

“What’s he talking about, Jack?” he asks my father.

“What the hell is going on here?” I ask.

“I knew your father real well,” Tyler says, “if you catch my drift. Quite a few times if I remember correctly—though after the first few times I stopped remembering. Was it the same for you, Jack?”

“Tyler here was kind enough to introduce me to one of the darker elements of prison,” my father says, but there is nothing kind-sounding about his voice at all. “He was there when I first got thrown in jail. My first night there and he broke four of my fingers and cracked two molars and shredded my asshole so hard I couldn’t sit down for a month. I was barely fixed up before he went at it again. He was in and out of jail over the years, but he always came looking for me.”

“And now you’ve come looking for me,” he says.

“What the hell, Dad? Does he have anything to do with Jodie or Sam?”

“No,” Dad says.

“Then why are we here?”

“If we had more time,” Dad says, talking to Tyler, “I’d cut you apart piece by piece.”

Tyler doesn’t answer him. For all his attempts to act as if he doesn’t care, like this is just one more day in the life of one really tough bastard, there is a fear in his eyes identical to the look in that dog’s eyes twenty years ago when it was chomping on a steak full of nails. He tightens the muscles in his arms.

“I always knew prison was going to be tough,” Dad says. “I always knew it was going to be one of those places that turns out exactly as awful as you figured it would be before you ever set foot in the place. Thing is—” he says, and then I interrupt him.

“Dad, we don’t have time for this. Sam is out there, we have to find her.”

He looks at me, his eyes sharp, cutting into me. After a few seconds, he nods.

“You’re right, son,” he says. He puts his hands out. “The shotgun?”

“No,” I say. “I didn’t free you so you could kill people.”

“Yes you did.”

“Not people who have nothing to do with what happened.”

“Give me the gun, son.”

“Don’t give it to him,” Tyler says.

Give it to him. Let him take control for a bit. We’ll get over this speed bump and find Sam.

“He’s a bad man, son. If we turn our back on him other people will suffer for it.”

Give him the shotgun.

“Do you want to know how many people he’s hurt? How many women he’s raped? Women like Jodie? Teenagers like the kind of girl Sam will become?”

I hand him the shotgun.





chapter fifty-one


It’s all happening so fast. The night is becoming absolute chaos. Jack Hunter has escaped—helped by Edward—and Schroder has to push that fact to the back of his mind right at this moment and deal with it soon. At this rate he’s doubting he’ll make it home on Christmas Day for even five minutes. His wife will hate him, his daughter might too. Thankfully his son is only a few months old so at least somebody won’t be pissed at him.

The Armed Offenders Unit is running at about 50 percent, the other half having already left for the holidays or drunk already and not returning Schroder’s calls, giving him a team short on manpower but a team nonetheless, still extremely capable. Schroder has already died once tonight and doesn’t want that to be the start of a pattern. He has a better use for the team than he did half an hour ago, with them driving around looking for Hunter.

When his cell phone rings again, it’s Anthony Watts, a detective who is currently with Edward Hunter’s in-laws.

“They don’t recognize any of the photos from the files,” Watts says. “I mean, the only one they recognize is the victim lying dead on their living-room floor.”