Page 2 of This Life of Mine

Or at least they think they do.

Some say I’m ex-military. The more superstitious ones insist I’m not a man at all. That I’m something worse. A ghost. A demon. A punishment sent to settle old debts.

I never bothered to correct them. Because fear is useful. Fear spreads faster than truth ever could.

My reputation wasn’t built on rumors. Rumors don’t make hardened criminals abandon operations overnight. They don’tmake men change identities, burn safe houses, or disappear without collecting millions of dollars waiting for them.

No, my reputation was built on consequences. On bodies. On the realization that some monsters don’t get away with it forever.

Entire trafficking rings have vanished. Cartel operations have collapsed. Predators who spent decades believing themselves untouchable ceased to exist.

And somewhere in the aftermath, my name always surfaces.

The Wraith…was here.

Charlie knows that. I can see it in the terror widening his one good eye. Considering for the first time in his life, he’s face-to-face with the thing men like him warn each other about.

The truth is far less mysterious than the stories. I’m not a ghost. I’m not a demon. I’m not vengeance sent by God. I’m just a man who decided monsters deserved to be hunted.

And after years of doing just that, I’ve become the thing monsters fear most.

For pieces of shit like Charlie, I’m the last thing they see when their past eventually overtakes them.

While Charlie boy sits strapped to a chair, soaked in gasoline, his body twitches involuntarily—nervous system firing through shattered fingers, splintered legs, torn nails, exposed nerves, and cut limbs.

Pain tends to vibrate through the body when you stimulate enough of it. Consciousness becomes...optional.

He’s barely awake now. Barely aware. But fear doesn’t require consciousness to survive. Fear takes root deeper than pain. Deeper than broken bones. Deeper than blood.

I may have broken Charlie too quickly. Unfortunately, time was not on my side.

“I saw your latest video,” I go on, pushing away from the wall and casually pacing before him.

“Your artistry is…impressive. Quite compelling.”

I incline my head. “For sick, demented fucks like you.”

He whimpers.

“I’ve met some deeply fucked-up people in my line of work, but recording your murders and rapes, editing them into a montage, and posting them online?” I emit a soft laugh. “That’s not only evil—that’s fucking stupid.”

I stop, crouching slightly until we’re eye level.

“You left breadcrumbs, Charlie. Breadcrumbs led me right to your doorstep.”

I straighten, rolling my shoulders. “So, thank you. Your idiocy made this very convenient.”

I pause, considering him, then observe the height of the ceiling in the warehouse.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed our time together, I can’t pretend this was my finest effort. Don’t misunderstand—I took pleasure in your pain. However, it was very much hurried. Like clocking in and out of a routine job.”

I grimace. “I hate working under pressure. It makes me careless. Carelessness is something I despise.”

I glance back at the damage I’ve done.

“Torturing monsters like you is what I live for. I pride myself on precision. On executing every step as it should be.” I sigh, dismay tugging at the edges of my composure.

“I fell short tonight. You deserved my best work. And I didn’t deliver. Not fully.”