He closed his eyes. When he was younger, boys had been the enemy. They hit him, kicked him, spit on him, and called him names. Girls had simply looked the other way. When he was thirteen he’d fought back. Bruce had been one of the worst bullies. He and his buddies had been taunting Gerald on the bus. It was his usual daily ride from hell. When they’d got off the bus, Bruce’s mouth hadn’t stopped. As they walked past the apartment garbage dumpsters, Gerald snapped. He remembered seeing red, feeling his anger bleed into rage. He’d dropped his backpack, grabbed the gate to the dumpsters, and swung it into Bruce’s face. Wailing, Bruce dropped to his knees, his hands covering the blood that dripped from his nose.

And Gerald felt the rush. The rush of pleasure and adrenaline and high that came from the dominance. He’d stood over the groveling boy, his heart pounding, and was instantly addicted.

It’d changed his life.

It’d awakened a bloodlust he’d never dreamed existed. The sight of the boy in pain from his action was energizing. And it proved that he had the ability to take control.

It was better to be the executor than the victim.

In the bunker, one of the kidnapped boys had fought back immediately. He couldn’t recall which one. But it’d been eye-opening. The rest of the children had cowered and annoyed him. But the older two boys had shown fight.

He’d kept the boys.

He would have never believed boys could do that for him as an adult if it hadn’t been for a phone call twenty years ago from the prosecutor.

He hadn’t seen the county prosecutor in two years. The prosecutor had dropped several of the charges pending against him when the police couldn’t produce key evidence. He’d sweated during the hearing, knowing full well the police had collected plenty of evidence that proved he’d been present at Sandra Edge’s murder. They didn’t have proof that his hands had touched her, but they definitely had proof that he’d been in the room with her and his buddy, Lee.

But then the blood and trace evidence from the sheets and carpets went missing. Not just a little bit of evidence, a lot of it. All the important parts were completely gone.

The prosecutor scared him. He’d been a sharp, intense, and intelligent man. Gerald had firmly believed he was going to prison for a very long time. Instead, he served a few months on a much lesser charge.

He’d gotten away with accessory to murder.

Lee ended up getting the murder rap. Which he’d deserved. He’d been the one who’d actually finished strangling Sandra, and he was stupid enough to admit it.

For two years, Gerald had stressed, waiting to hear that the evidence had turned up in a dark corner of a storage room somewhere. Instead, when the phone call came, the message and the person who made the call were unexpected.

Yes, the evidence was still in existence. No, it hadn’t been lost. Yes, the evidence would stay away from the courts if Gerald would do him a favor.

“What kind of favor?” he’d asked.

“I need a kid taken care of.”

A kid?

The former prosecutor had gone on to say he was fully aware of Gerald’s role in Sandra’s murder.

“Why me?”

“Because I know what you’re capable of. And if you don’t, you’ll be in prison for the rest of your life.”

“And after I take care of this for you?”

There’d been a long pause on the phone. “I might have a permanent job for you.”

Gerald had been interested in the job. He’d done it well for over two decades now and wasn’t about to let his employer down again. He knew when he’d kept the boys that his employer wasn’t going to be happy, so he didn’t tell him. His boss had been royally pissed that so many children had been affected when only one needed attention.

Gerald had shrugged. “I handled it the way I saw best. You needed fast action and you got it. No witnesses to anything. Plus, it confuses the motive. With so many kids gone, who was the primary target? Or was there a mass target? It’ll keep the police scratching their heads for years.”

After that his boss had no complaints about his job. He’d been impressed for two years when no evidence of the missing children had been found. No sign of the bus or the driver anywhere. His boss had never asked for details about how he’d accomplished the feat.

Then Chris Jacobs had walked out of the woods. Half dead, no memory, and miles from the underground bunker.

His boss had nearly blown a gasket. But when he learned of the boy’s brain damage, he relaxed a bit. At that point, he grilled Gerald on the fates of the other children and then relaxed a bit more.

Gerald had been crazy to hang on to the two boys for as long as he did, but they’d fueled his soul in a way that adults never did.

Now Jamie Jacobs was proving to be a challenge.

He watched the line of vehicles snaking through the drive-through, reliving the events of that morning. Jamie was the type of woman who made men turn around and watch as she walked by. He hadn’t been with a woman in over a month now, and he could still feel the silkiness of her skin from this morning. He shifted in his seat.

He needed to get laid.

He had a list of phone numbers of women who weren’t too expensive. Damn it. Every woman on that list belonged in Walmart, and he was craving Saks Fifth Avenue.

Gerald’s phone vibrated in his car console. He popped it open and scowled at the screen. Already? He’s asking for an update already? Shit. He hit the green button.

“Yeah.”