Revenge is Sweet (A Samantha Church Mystery) Read Free

looking from him to Sam.
    “What were you doing with her?” the man asked, keeping his eyes on Sam.
    Wilson clenched his jaw but said nothing. He wanted to lunge at him, reach down his throat and tear his heart out.
    The bony man answered Wilson’s extended silence with a stinging backhanded blow across the face. Wilson did not move. He was certain his nose was broken, he wanted to touch it, but left his hands at his sides. He felt blood start to trickle, finding its way into his mouth. He thought of salt as he ran his tongue over his lip.

Three
     
    Pain kept Wilson awake all night. At least he thought it was all night. It would not be the first time his nose had been broken. He thought about the blow he had received. There was something about being slapped that kept coming back to him. This was only the second time in his life that he had been struck so hard.
    The only other slap came the day after this thirteenth birthday, forty-five years ago, by his father’s hand. He was drunk again and going after his mother. He used to hit her when he was drunk, which seemed to be all the time. “Stupid, lazy bitch never has anything ready to eat when I’m hungry,” his father had said that day—never mind that his mother had just returned home from the night shift at the hospital. Wilson was already tall and strong. He had started to intervene more to help his mother whenever his father had one of his drunken fits. His father had his mother pinned on the couch. He was about to strike her when Wilson grabbed his arm.
    “Stop it!” the young Wilson had yelled.
    His father was still too strong for him and easily pulled out of his grasp. He turned to Wilson and punched him in the face. The blow knocked him to the ground. He felt the bone snap and warm blood as it began to ooze from his nose and run down his lip. Wilson stared up at his father, hatred registering in his eyes. He struggled not to cry, but tears rolled down his cheeks as he watched his father strike his mother, then stumble from the room, hitting his shoulder hard against a wall as he left. Wilson had not seen his father for weeks following the incident.
    Wilson drew a deep breath and shivered. The chill in the room took his mind off the old memory, which had faded little over time. He looked around the room, knowing that he and Sam had been moved to a different location. The sunbeam was gone, the room now lit by a dim bare bulb hanging down from the center of the ceiling. Forty watts, he thought.
    He rubbed his hands together. The other room had not been as cold. Sam was propped against the wall beside him. Her head slumped to one side. The suit jacket that he had used to cover her was gone. Her hands were still bound and Wilson rested his hand over hers. They were cold, and he hoped that the circulation had not stopped.
    He called her name. Still n othing. He scanned the room again and stopped on a sixteen-ounce plastic bottle just beyond his reach. Water. He swallowed involuntarily and his dry mouth filled instantly with saliva. He got to his knees and crawled to the bottle. He hesitated. What if it’s not water? “Stop being paranoid,” he said aloud.
    He examined it again and saw that the seal had not been broken. There was a quick pop in the room as he twisted the cap off the bottle. He drank only enough to wet his mouth. He closed the lid and moved to Sam.
    He gently lifted her head and cupped her chin in his hands.
    “Sam!” he said, his voice more forceful and loud.
    No response. He called her name again, and tapped her cheek.
    “Sam! Come on, wake up!”
    He tapped her cheek harder and her eyelids fluttered open, and then closed again.
    Hope , then relief surged inside of him. “Sam!”
    Sam opened her eyes slowly and stared blankly ahead. She was about to drift off again, but Wilson shook her gently by the shoulders.
    “Sam! No! Don’t close your eyes. Try to stay awake.”
    Sam looked at him, her face a shadow of pain. She tried to move her