Jason's knuckles were bone-white as he gripped the steering wheel, the soft hum of the black sedan's engine barely masking the storm brewing inside him. The car was nondescript, a common model that blended into the anonymity of the highway, yet its driver was anything but ordinary. Jason's face, etched with lines of fatigue and fury, stared out at the road ahead, eyes cold and calculating. Every mile brought him closer to Richard Caldwell, the man at the center of a web of corruption, violence, and death.
Tonight was about more than just revenge—it was about justice, the kind of justice that had been denied to so many, including Detective Ramirez.
The past few days had been a blur of violence and revelations, each one pushing Jason further into the abyss. The people he'd torn apart for information, the bikers he'd left bleeding on the ground, had all pointed him here. Caldwell's name had come up too many times to be ignored, each mention like a knife twisting in his gut. But it wasn't just the knowledge of Caldwell's crimes that fueled Jason's rage—it was personal now.
The soft leather seat beneath him did little to ease the tension in his body. The car was quiet, almost serene, but Jason's mind was a cacophony of memories. He remembered Anna Ramirez, who'd been one of the few he could trust. She had died senselessly, like so many others. Women, children, men... all because of Caldwell and those he funds.
The town he came from was a distant memory now, the lights of civilization fading into the rearview mirror as Jason drove deeper into the countryside. He wasn't heading for Caldwell's estate yet. There was one more stop to make, one more person who needed to pay before he could face the senator. Caldwell's closest associate, a man named Thomas Reilly, had been on Jason's radar ever since he had read the information Anna was going to tell him the day she died. Reilly was the one who handled the dirty work, the one who made sure Caldwell's business ran smoothly, no matter how many bodies had to be buried along the way.
Jason had found Reilly's house through sheer determination, piecing together the clues from conversations, hacked emails, and the confessions of the men he'd hunted down. Reilly lived on the outskirts of town, in a secluded mansion surrounded by woods, a fortress of wealth and secrecy. It was the perfect place for a man who needed to keep his sins hidden.
As Jason approached the mansion, he slowed the car, pulling off the road a mile away. He didn't want to announce his arrival just yet. He parked the car in the shadows of the trees, his heart beating steadily as he mentally prepared for what was to come. This wasn't going to be easy. Reilly was dangerous, a man who had clawed his way to power by being as ruthless as the men he served. But Jason didn't plan on killing him—not unless he had to. He needed information, and Reilly was the key.
The night was silent as Jason made his way through the woods, his footsteps barely making a sound on the soft ground. The mansion loomed ahead, its lights dimmed, giving it an eerie, almost haunted appearance. Jason knew the layout, had studied it carefully. There would be guards, but not many—Reilly relied on his remote location and the secrecy of his operations to keep him safe. Jason planned to exploit that confidence.
He reached the edge of the property, crouching behind a cluster of bushes as he surveyed the scene. Two guards patrolled the perimeter, their movements slow and lackadaisical. They weren't expecting trouble, especially not out here. Jason waited, timing their movements, then slipped through the fence when they were at their furthest point, moving silently toward the house.
The mansion was vast, with large windows that gave Jason a glimpse of the lavish interior. He could see Reilly inside, sitting in an armchair with a glass of whiskey in hand, staring at a fire that crackled in the hearth. The man looked weary, his face drawn with the weight of the secrets he carried. Jason felt a flash of satisfaction- good. Let him suffer a little before the end.
