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A laugh lingered in my throat while I brought the glass to my lips. I’d hit when least expected, a final act of rage that was icy cold. Perfect. After that, no one would dare fuck with my world again.

I allowed the bitter sound to flow freely while stepping further into the room. My fingers ached from the firm hold on my glass, but at least I could feel something, anything other than the quiet rage building in my system. I closed my eyes while still breathing in deeply.

For the first time in almost a week, I managed to drive the images into the far reaches of my mind. “There we go.” Tomorrow I would hit the ground running. As another laugh surfaced, I heard the change in the tone. Feeling dead inside had benefits.

Perhaps it was time to call in a few favors. By the time I opened my eyes again, I’d neared the edge of my desk. My eyes fell to what had been left on the surface.

A picture.

Not just any picture, but the only one taken with Isabel, Mina and even Shadow in the frame with me. Another scattered breath, another moment where I couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think clearly.

Couldn’t breathe.

“Fuck you,” I hissed while fisting my forehead and gasping for air. This just wasn’t supposed to happen. Yeah, well, I could hear my father’s voice now in telling me to suck it up and that life was what we determined it to be.

If only it were that easy.

My fucking hand was shaking as I reached for the frame. Every goddamn detail about that day slithered into my mind. Every breathtaking moment. Not before. Not when I’d spent over a day hunting those who’d dared destroy my warehouse. Not when I’d found the bastards responsible and had enjoyed breaking necks and slaughtering soldiers faithful to a Neanderthal group that up until then had meant nothing to me.

They hadn’t even been on the radar in my world, yet they’d spent months planning and to and destroying my life. For all I knew, they’d been the noose loosely placed around my neck for years. Ever since the murder of my wife.

I’d enjoyed painting the interior of their clubhouse walls with blood before torching the exterior. There’d been no guilt, barely a second thought. All that had faded into a neat and tidy compartment in my mind the minute I’d walked though my door to find the woman I loved sleeping on the couch.

And only moments later my daughter and the dog she’d begged me to rescue had bounded into the room to see what Santa Claus had brought, finding her papa safe and sound from a business trip. Isabel with her hair messed up from the passion we’d shared moments before. Mina with her cute Christmas PJs Isabel had insisted I purchase. And Shadow with his kerchief that Mina had found on one of our shopping trips.

One of two that I’d taken her on.

Only two.

What the fuck?

I pulled the frame into my hand, unable to breathe. As I traced their faces, remembering how Isabel had insisted everyone say ‘cheese,’ I was struck by an even more agonizing sense of being.

To be alive when both were dead was exactly what I deserved. Memories to torture me for the rest of my miserable, fucking life.

Over five years before I’d felt broken. Today I sensed any concept of goodness within me had been shattered, leaving nothing but the monstrous, savage bastard I’d become.

In a fit of rage, I tossed the picture against the wall, laughing from the sound of breaking glass made just before pieces fell to the floor.

But I didn’t stop there, pitching my glass like a softball. And even that wasn’t enough.

I raked my arm across my desk, delighting in the crash how everything was pitched sideways by several feet. Hell, I even roared as I moved to the credenza, yanking one liquor bottle off then another.

And another.

And another.

More. I turned in a circle, wiping my face with my arm as sweat ran down both sides of my face. I was blind with fury. Nothing was sacred in the room. Not the couch or the chairs.

Lamps were pitched, books ripped and tossed.

I just didn’t give a fuck about anything. Nothing had any meaning any longer.

Nothing.

Nothing!