CHAPTER THREE
“The son of a b***h did it. He killed me. He killed me in cold blood. Why not me? I am going to kill this coward. I said let me go. Right now! Kyle, can you pass my gun!”
He fought hard, but the seven men restrained him. He cursed and cried profusely. Covering his face with both his hands even worse every time he looked at the photo on his desk with his wife and kids. Kyle instantly walked to the table and flipped the picture frame front down. Like a shot, a tremendous sound of growling in pain tore the building.
“Let me kill him. Let me kill this son of a b***h,” he pleaded. He cried uncontrollably with mucus and tears trickling down his cheeks, lips, chin falling onto his clothes. Some straight on the carpet and onto the hands of the seven men restraining him.
Weeks bef
