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“Let’s see... You’re Mister Alexander, fucking American hero, fucking top in your field, fucking paragon of truth and virtue. Am I right? Or do I exaggerate?”

“You exaggerate.”

“Maybe, but you do blaze in like the scales of justice ready to put anyone away, ruin his life, without a shred of mercy.”

Studying his face, I remember the last letter. Revenge is a dish best served cold. “You said you wanted revenge. What have I ever done to you?”

He’s collected again, running his finger around the lip of his now-empty martini glass. “Do you happen to remember a young man named Shane?”

Filtering through my memory, I come back with nothing. “No.”

His head moves slowly side to side. “You wouldn’t. You only knew him as Slayer. Slayer Bennett.”

Lightning flashes behind my eyes, but I remain cool. “You’re related to Slayde?

“You might say that.” He exhales a chuckle and signals the waitress. “You might say I’m the reason he exists.”

Another Gibson is placed in front of him, and we both wait until the young, tattooed lady is gone again.

More than any other, that court case is etched in my memory. I remember what they said about Slayde’s father.

“Are you pretending to care?” I evaluate the fucker sitting before me. “The court psychiatrist said you beat him regularly within an inch of his life.”

“I didn’t know about that.” Staring into the drink, his voice drops, and for the first time, he doesn’t come off as a raving fucking lunatic. “Shane doesn’t know I’m his real dad.” Bennett’s eyes slide closed. “His mother was the most beautiful woman...”

“So you abandoned him.” My empathy for this guy evaporates as quickly as it tried to appear.

“It wasn’t like that. Mary pushed me away.” He shakes his head. “When she got sick, she said it was God’s judgment for violating her marriage bed.”

“Sounds like Slayde’s

had a lot of crazy to overcome in his life.” I take a long drink of scotch.

“But you knew the hell he survived. You had all the evidence. The psychiatrist said he had intermittent explosive disorder. They tried to reduce his sentence. But you wouldn’t let them. You had no mercy.”

Glancing away, I can’t help admitting I still have a problem with that diagnosis. At the same time, I can relate to a father’s concern for his son. I have Dex, after all. “So what? You want revenge because I did my job?”

His crazy returns with his rage. “You wouldn’t stop until you finished him. He was destined to be a boxing legend, and you took it all away.” His voice is a breathy growl. “Look at you. You’re no better than him. You fucking hypocrite.”

Quiet settles over the table. I think about his words, that case. “I was a lot harder then. I’d just lost Allison—”

“Save the sob story. It’s time for payback, and you know the saying. She’s a bitch.”

“You want money?”

“Fuck no!” A spate of real laughter erupts from him now. “I want you to lose everything. I want your ass in prison, rotting away just like my kid’s.”

My brow lines. “You know he’s out, right?”

“He’s a fucking janitor. A nobody living in a shit town.”

With an exhale, I lean back. “I don’t know what to tell you. It was the right thing to do at the time. Slayde’s paid his debt, and from what I understand, he’s happy now.”

“What the fuck do you know about his happiness?” Bennett shoves his glass forward. “I’ve been watching, waiting for the great Derek Alexander to slip up, and boy, did you ever.”

“You want me to go to prison.” I nod, looking at my glass. “What’s your plan for making that happen?”

“Easy. You have two choices. The whore goes to prison or you do.” He leans back, a calm smile crossing his lips. “What’s it going to be, hero?”