Some woman was demanding Naughty leave “her house,” Sylvie. He’d driven faster than was safe on the old dirt road that led through the overgrown swamp where he’d grown up. What the hell was Sylvie doing back here? She had no business with him other than the divorce papers she wouldn’t sign. He pulled to a stop and saw her, the woman that had starred in all of his dreams until they had turned to nightmares. The woman that had given him everything he had ever hoped for and then taken it all away. “Get da fuck off my porch you dirty fucking bitch.” He spat and knew everyone heard the hatred in his voice, he didn’t care. He would rip this woman to pieces with his bare hands and feel nothing when her blood ran warm over his skin. He had never hated anything more than he hated her. She turned to him. She knew, but there was no fear. She had never taken him seriously, never respected him as anything but a puppet. Sylvie was too crazy to fear death.
