Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
But, surprisingly, it didn’t change things.
Well, I did. I fucked it up for a while. And I’m lucky as hell that she gave me another chance.
I just … I like the way she looks at me. The way she treats me. Like I’m normal.
I don’t want anything to ever change that.
But, when I saw him in the store earlier … the store filled with kids and their parents … I wanted to walk over to him and rip his dead heart out of his chest.
The only reason I didn’t was because I was with Red.
He didn’t see me though.
But he will very soon.
I made my presence known to him when he got out of jail two months ago.
He’d only served a sickening two years before he was put back out on the streets.
And that was where I came in.
I approached him and told him I’d be keeping tabs on him. Warned him to keep his nose clean.
Clearly, he didn’t take heed.
Stupid cunt.
So, I’m back here to remind him what will happen if I ever see him near kids.
I can feel anger coursing through my veins. I take a long pull on my cigar, curling my fingers into the palm of my other hand, digging my nails into the skin until I feel it break. The little trickle of blood calms me some.
The burner cell I keep in my truck rings.
I know who it is. Marcus. The only person who has this number.
I’m part of a group called The Avengers of Injustice.
Marcus is the head of the group. He founded it. He’s also a Marvel nerd, hence the group name.
When I was nineteen, I discovered them purely by chance while browsing social media.
They’re what some might call a vigilante group.
To me, we’re the antitoxin before the disease.
Watching the videos they had posted, showing them entrapping and catching sexual predators before they even got a chance to hurt anyone, gave me a feeling that I’d never felt before … like, if I could do this, then I could make a difference. I could stop bad things from happening.
I remember how my hand shook as I typed out a message to the group via the social media page.
An hour later, a man called Marcus North wrote me back.
He asked how I would like to help. I told them entrapment wasn’t something I was interested in doing. Neither was being videoed while confronting these sick fuckers and putting it out on social media. But helping them was. Stopping the problem before more started was.
Marcus asked if we could talk offline.
Curious, I agreed.
I called the number he had given me.
That was when Marcus told me that there was a job that I could do for them.
But it was an off-the-books kind of job. Then, he explained it.
Without hesitation, I told him I was in.
And my life finally had meaning.
I had purpose.
So, I became an enforcer.
I keep down those who won’t stop.
Those who won’t listen.
I make sure they listen.
I do what needs to be done.
I’m a big man. I can be a scary motherfucker when needed. But, if you asked Red, she’d say I was nice. I’m not nice. Only to her.
I know what it’s like to be a terrified kid subjected to horrific things at the hands of one of those sick fucks.
I’m the right kind of man for the job.
The social media aspect of the group, they do the bait-trapping—posing as children online to trap the predators, arranging a meetup, and then turning up with their cameras and filming them before posting it online. And the namers and shamers post the details on local predators in their areas. They have no clue about the enforcers.
Not everyone would agree with what I do. We currently have thirty enforcers across the country. None of us know who the others are. It’s better that way. But more will join and become enforcers. Because of sick fuckers like my stepdad and the men and women we keep track of, there are more people like me in the world than I care to think about.
Marcus knows who I am.
But we never use our real names.
I’m Enforcer Nine. Or E9, as Marcus refers to me as.
Marcus has recruited twenty-one more enforcers since I joined them.
Twenty-one more fucked up people just like me because of sick fuckers like the one I’m waiting on.
I snatch up my cell from the passenger seat, answering it.
“Has he shown yet?” Marcus’s gravelly voice travels down the line.
I called him straight after I got Red home safely to let him know what I was doing. I always check in with Marcus when I’m onto one of these sick fuckers.
Marcus North is in his mid-thirties. Unmarried. No kids. And he’s as messed up as I am. He started the group when he was in his early twenties. A coping mechanism, I would guess. Not that he’s ever spoken of his past to me. Like I never have to him.