Sitting in my darkened car, between lamp posts, I watch him slip out his front door from half a block away. He pulls one knee up to his chest, then the other. He shrugs his shoulders toward his tousled hair a couple of times and then puts his earbuds in before running out of sight.

He does this every night. I’ve been watching.

Waiting.

The handle of my Glock 26 is warm. It’s been in my hand for almost an hour now, my body heat has transferred to the cool steel. I get out of my car and tuck it into my waistband. A quick look in each direction shows me that this sleepy little subdivision is clear.

I refuse to run. Each step that I take toward his house is measured. Like a man out for an evening stroll. Nothing to see here, folks. Nobody important to remember.

Walking up the driveway, I reach his front door and turn the handle, walking inside without hesitation. He always keeps it unlocked on these nightly jogs. I’ve kept tabs.

My footsteps sound like thunder, echoing off the sparsely decorated walls. Not that the art hanging from them is cheap. Nope, Mommy and Daddy have provided only the best for their baby boy. I guess when you’re a Senator’s son, that is one of the perks.

Only the best. Until the best bores you.

My mouth tugs downward as a vivid memory of her face washes over me. Now isn’t the time for sentimentality, I remind myself, pushing the emotions down into a lead ball buried in my gut. There is only one thing I have time for right now: revenge.

I cut my tour short and make my way upstairs two at a time. Squinting, I let my eyes adjust to the darkness. I can’t go turning on lights, warning him or his neighbors that I’m here. Nothing is going to screw this up. I’m taking care of this tonight.

The details of his bedroom are easy to make out, even in the dark. Stepping inside makes a flurry of images from the video shuffle through my mind. The same nightstand with the same lamp perched upon it sits beside his bed. Even the comforter on the bed is the same.

Rage boils the blood in my veins and I grit my teeth together.

I hear the front door open. He’s home. He’s panting. The noise makes another flash of the video pop up in my mind. I push it down with the others. I force it all from my mind.

Tilting my head, I listen to him fill a glass with water downstairs. It clinks as he sets it down on the counter. His feet stomp heavily on the stairs as he races up here. I pull out my gun and aim the lengthened barrel due to the octane K45 silencer I’ve attached to it, to keep nosy neighbors at bay.

I’m ready.

I take shallow, steady breaths and hold the Glock up at the ready, but he goes into the bathroom instead. Water sprays into the tub and the distinctive squeal of the shower curtain fasteners scraping across the metal bar lets me know he’s stepped inside to rinse off.

Lowering my gun, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding and wait.

Her blue eyes watch me in my memory. Her slightly crooked smile squeezes my heart.

When I got back from my military deployment overseas, that smile and those eyes had already been taken from me. Used up and thrown away by him. Now, I’ll never get her back.

My mind snaps back into the present as I hear the shower turn off. Again, I lift my gun with a steady, experienced hand and wait.

The switch on the wall snaps as the light overhead floods my vision, but I quickly blink away the spots blurring my vision and he comes into focus.

My target.

“Fuck! Jesus, who are you? Oh, my God, don’t shoot,” he holds up his hands and drops his towel. I’m tempted to shoot his wilted pecker clean off. Instead, I rush him. The fucking coward doesn’t even try to move. They say when you’re facing danger there are two responses, fight or flight. They forget about the most common one: freeze.

“Get down on your fucking knees,” I bark out the order but he stands like a deer in the headlights. A swift crack of my gun across his cheek seems to do wonders for his listening ability. He sinks down and starts to cry.

Poor baby.

“Why? Why is this happening? Who are you?” He sobs, his hands are trembling by the sides of his head.

“Don’t worry about who I am,” I snarl, pulling my phone free from my pocket as I keep my gun level to his head.

I open the phone and press play. I can’t look at the screen. I’ve already seen it. My stomach twists into a knot as I hear his moans over the cell’s speaker, “Remember her?” I jam the phone against his nose and his eyes go wide.

“Man, it’s not what you think. She didn’t even mean anything to me, it was just one night. We were both drunk! It was just a mistake,” he blurts out his words as tears flow over his cheeks.

“Well she meant the world to me, you fucking prick! I’m going to make sure it’s a mistake you never make again.”

I push the muzzle into his temple and he twists away, wincing. Trying to escape the fate I’ve decided for him. Cramming the phone back into my jeans, I grab his hair and dig the tip of the gun into his flesh.

“I’m so sorry, okay? I’m sorry,” he blubbers.

“You can stick your sorry in a sack, bud. Sorry don’t change a fucking thing.”

BANG!

Fragments of shattered bone, brains and a streak of blood hit the wall as his naked body slumps over on the floor. I quickly step over him, carefully avoiding the pool of blood pouring from the gushing hole in his skull, and race down the stairs.

Even with a silencer, the distinctive sound of a gun being fired is easy to identify. It’s not like a movie where it practically whispers a tiny ‘pew-pew’ like a schoolgirl pointing her finger and thumb during recess. I don’t know if his neighbors heard the noise over their television shows, and I’m not about to stand around and find out.

I hurry out the front door and try not to run as I retreat to my car. I’m all ready to go. I’ll need to toss the gun, of course, and stop to change my clothes somewhere. I’ll need to make sure none of that fucker’s blood splattered on my skin.

I turn the keys in the ignition and drive away. I’ve already got the car packed and my passport in the glovebox. Stay calm. Stay cool. You still need to get past border patrol, I remind myself. Taking a deep breath, relief washes over me as I realize that piece of shit is dead.

Now I just need to get to Canada and I’ll be free.