The Wrath Walker (The Wrath Series Book 1) by Matthew Newson (fun to read .txt) 📗

pocket as I pulled out my nine-millimeter from my coat. Ron raised a finger and indicated for me to wait as he checked the doorbell camera app on his phone. He breathed a sigh of relief as he placed the revolver on the kitchen island.

“There’s no one there, but I see some kids out on the sidewalk. They must be knocking on doors and running away, you know stupid kid stuff like we used to do back in the day.”

Before we relaxed fully, another several knocks sounded from the door before I could respond, and I moved to the side just in case a bullet came through next.

Ron looked at his phone. “There’s still no one there, kid. Why don’t you go and see who’s there, will you?”

“Are you crazy, Ron? I’m not getting shot for you. In case you’ve forgotten,” I whispered. “I don’t like you all that much.” I did not want to give away my position to a potential shooter.

Ron looked to be a mix of fear and anger as he picked up his revolver and quietly made his way to the front door. He checked the camera app on his phone several times as he made his way, and then checked the peep hole and the app again before he cracked the door open and yelled at the kids in the street in front of his house to go home before he called the police. I knew he had lost it with that last comment about calling the cops. He would never do that, and if for some reason he did, I didn’t think anyone would come. Our former brothers in blue hated the two of us as much as I hated Ron.

He locked the door again and turned back to me with the look of pride on his face. The look was short lived because it immediately turned to panic as he raised his gun in my direction.

“Ron, what are you doing?” It was all I got out before I was thrown hard into the wall. The drywall crumbled under the force as I was fortunate enough to hit the wall on my side. I crash landed hard on the ground with no air left in my lungs, and I heard Ron fire off all six shots from his revolver. My ears still rang from the shots, even in my dazed state.

When I refocused, Ron was against the front door terrified, and a man in a red business suit stood where I had been. His hands were clad in black leather gloves where he pulled his jacket tight.

The six bullets Ron fired fell to the ground. What kind of body armor did that guy have on? All it seemed to be was a simple red suit and vest with a white dress shirt, black tie, and black dress shoes.

“A gun. Everyone always goes to a gun first to try and save themselves,” the man before me said in an upbeat tone as Ron tried to reload his revolver. “Feel free to take your time and reload your gun properly, Ron. But no matter how many times you fire it at me, it won’t save you.”

My handgun was about a foot away from me. As I reached for it, the man in red pushed it away with his foot and then kicked me in my side. My ribs tightened around my lungs like a vise, as it felt like his leather shoes were made of solid metal. The pain pulsed throughout my body, and even the slightest movement caused it to surge from excruciating to unbearable. I had never experienced that kind of pain before, and I must have shattered several bones or at least cracked my skull to be in that kind of agony.

The man smiled at me, and through my strained eyes I could tell he was enjoying himself. “Now, now Mr. Farmer, that would be a very unhealthy choice for you. Let’s not do anything foolish. I’m not here for you, but make no mistake you are on my list,” he said as he refocused his attention on Ron. “Now, Mr. Horn, the man I have come to see. You have been a very naughty boy.”

Ron fumbled with the speed loader he had pulled from his pocket, but he dropped all the bullets on the floor. “Who are you, and how did you get in here?” Ron shouted at the man dressed in red.

The man straightened his tie, and for the first time, I got a good look at him. He was at least six-five, lean, and with a buzzed head of brown hair.

“I have gone by many names throughout the years, but what has never changed is my function, my task, the reason for which I was created to fulfill.”

“And what is that, nut job?”

“I am a Wrath Walker.”

Ron tried to gauge the distance from the door to the kitchen island.

“What the heck is a Wrath Walker? Is that some new Ricci family position or something?” Ron asked.

“Simple really, and I am not affiliated with the Riccis. For I was created to release God’s wrath on the earth.”

Ron took off toward the kitchen. The Wrath Walker didn’t move a muscle as Ron grabbed the butcher knife from the block.

Ron stood behind the kitchen island and pointed the knife at the Wrath Walker. “You stay back, do you understand me? I’m good with knives, and I don’t mind showing you if you come over here!”

The man who claimed to be a Wrath Walker shrugged off Ron’s threat and continued telling us about himself. “My existence can be explained by Ephesians chapter five, verse six. Let no one deceive you with empty words, for because of these things the wrath of God comes upon the sons of disobedience. Let me just say you have been very disobedient, Mr. Horn.”

“When did the Riccis start employing religious zealots?” Ron said as the Wrath Walker stepped toward him.

“Where you not just listening to a word I said?