Page 35

Pamela’s mouth became a thin line. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Pam?” called a deep, raspy voice. The kind of voice that sounded like it had been run through a blender a thousand times, likely thanks to chain-smoking. “Who’s at the door?”

Pam eyed her son with contempt. “No one.”

Max smirked. No one, indeed.

A man appeared behind her—also dressed in a ratty housecoat, this one with no string to hold it shut, and plaid pajama pants that were equally as ratty. His upper half was bare, and there were bruises healing on his abdomen, just like the one on Pamela Reacher’s cheek. What a fantastic pair these two made.

“What do you want?” the man barked as he stomped down the hallway.

“I want to talk to my mother.”

He sneered. “Well, she don’t wanna talk to you.”

Max kicked the screen door off the hinges. His mother screamed and stumbled back as the door literally fell on her.

The man tried to retreat, but Max grabbed him and threw him to the floor, flattening his cheek against the grimy tile.

“Stop!” his mother bellowed. She whaled on his back, screaming and cursing her lungs out. “Get off him!”

Dallas froze the bitch in place with the muzzle of a pistol pressed against the back of her head. “I’m going to need you to stop hitting your son, Mrs. Reacher,” Dallas said, her cool, smooth voice filling Max with pride.

Slowly, Pam straightened, lifting her hands above her head.

Max focused on the panting man pinned beneath his knee. “Did my sweet and loving mother forget to tell you that she has a Darkslayer for a son?” He tightened his fist in the man’s grubby hair. “I kill people for a living, but sometimes I just kill for fun. What’s your name?”

“Tim.”

“Tim. Hi, Tim. I’m Maximus Reacher.”

Tim’s aura turned piss-yellow with fear.

“Yeah, you’ve heard of me, haven’t you?” He yanked on his head, forcing him to answer. “Haven’t you?”

Tim nodded as best as he could while his head was ensnared.

“Would you like to be killed for fun, Tim?” Max drawled.

“No!” he cried, snot dripping from his nose. “No, please!”

“Then you’re going to leave me to chat with my mother in peace. And you? You’re going to take a walk—a long one. Nice day for a walk, wouldn’t you say?” He twisted the guy’s head, forcing him to look through the busted screen door at the rain falling in sheets on the gray ocean. Max gave Tim’s head a shake. “Wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” the man blubbered.

“Good.” He got to his feet and let him go. “Now get out of here.”

Tim pushed himself up, nearly falling into the wall. “I need my shoes.”

“Bare feet work just as well.” Max fisted the shoulder of Tim’s housecoat and shoved him toward the busted door. “Don’t come back until my vehicle is gone.”

Max watched as the man hurried down the front steps and staggered through the yard.

And then he turned around and faced his mother.

Pamela was barely breathing. Her hands were frozen in the air, Dallas still pointing the gun at her head.

Max gestured for Dallas to lower it. She did, clicking the safety into place.