Buck knew he was in trouble the minute he arrived at the old lady’s farm. Chris had sent him here after the widow Anderson came riding into town like a gray-haired whirlwind screaming and crying about her place being picked clean by bandits. He and Chris both figured anyone would be long gone before he got there, even if the widow wasn’t hollering about something no more harmful than a wayward raccoon.

He tried to get J.D. to go along, but the kid had already had his fill of the widow Anderson’s exaggerated cries and flatly refused to be humiliated again. Buck couldn’t really blame him, the last time the paranoid matron came into town like this, J.D. and Vin had rushed to get the intruder out of her hen house and found themselves face to butt with an irritated skunk. It took a week of scrubbing and soaking just to be able to stand downwind of either of them and they were still enduring the teasing.

Buck figured he was in for more of the same and told Chris to stay with the panicked woman while he checked out her latest catastrophe. Of course, now, as he watched the seemingly endless stream of men emerge from the tiny farmhouse, he dearly wished he’d taken Chris up on the offer to come along. Fear hadn’t yet found its way to his heart, but caution and experience told him he should have never ridden into the unknown without someone to watch his back.

Eight. Buck counted to himself, aware of the odds stacked against him, but determined not to show it. He grinned at the gang and rested his hand on the butt of his pistol.

"Howdy, boys. You fellas friends of Mrs. Anderson?"

The first man cackled, almost dropping the chunk of bread clutched in his thick fingers. Damn idiots were stuffing their faces as if they’d been invited to Sunday dinner.

"Well, she didn’t stick around long enough to be polite, so we figured she didn’t mind if we just took what we needed, eh, boys?" The fat man narrowed his eyes and took a few steps forward. Buck’s horse sidestepped nervously and tossed his head, mirroring his rider’s growing unease.

Buck felt icy fingers of dread scamper up his back as he recognized the ringleader. Ethan Foxx. Wilmington quickly pulled the pistol from its holster, just as the rest of the gang surrounded him. The men were either blindly stupid or just didn’t care if they got shot because none showed any signs of backing down.

"Now gentlemen…" Buck started but never got to finish his sentence. One of them grabbed at his leg and instinctively Wilmington drew back and kicked the outlaw in the face and he opened fire. Two men fell away, the dust rising as their bodies hit the dry earth, but it wasn’t enough.

Like a pack of wild dogs, the men sensed their prey was distracted and off balance and attacked with blinding speed and ferocity. Buck felt himself pulled from his saddle, then the pressure of arms and legs as they pinned him to the ground and ripped the gun from his hand. He fought furiously, an occasional punch or kick hitting its mark, but that only seemed to infuriate them more. Buck didn’t care. If he was going to die, he was going to do his best to take a few of them with him.

Blows like hammers struck his gut, his groin, his face, his chest and everywhere in-between. Fists met flesh, mostly their fists on his flesh, but he continued to fight. Blood filled his mouth and he gagged, vaguely hearing the triumphant whoops as his body weakened and refused to follow his brain’s urgent cries to keep trying. God he hurt.

Abruptly the men were gone, and he forced himself to roll over enough to spit out the still flowing gore before he choked. Suddenly, he was jerked forward on his back and a new agony washed over him. He could feel the pressure of a rope pulling at his ankle and the deafening roar of hooves too close to his ear and realized he was being dragged. Sharp rocks dug into his back, shredding his shirt and tearing at the tender flesh underneath. He tried to keep his free leg up and out of the way, but he was weakening quickly and helplessly gave in to exhaustion. The second his heel touched the moving earth, he heard the sickening crack of bone. Buck tried to scream, but it only bounced harmlessly inside his skull. He was going to die. If his neck didn’t snap on another sharp turn, then he’d simply die of the pain he was unable to escape.

He felt the horse slow down and finally stop. Buck didn’t have the energy to do anything but lie there, and hope they thought they’d already killed him. Lord knows it sure as hell felt like it. Bright sparks of light played on his closed eyelids as he drew in shallow breaths. He welcomed the numbness spreading through his body that replaced the agony he prayed he would never feel the likes of again.

The end of the rope dropped near his head, but he kept his eyes shut. A sharp toe of a boot in his side made him groan in spite of himself, but then there was nothing. Darkness arrived to claim him and he went willingly, his final thought was how damn thankful he was that J.D. had refused to come with him.

*******

Chris felt an icy rage wash over him, as he listened silently to Mary Travis telling him what had happened. He waited until she had finished and strode angrily out of the saloon and toward Nathan’s.

The four grim-faced men waiting below the clinic stepped aside to let their leader pass. Chris couldn’t control the queasiness that settled in the pit of his belly at the hopeless looks on their faces. J.D.’s pale and terrified expression sparked a flood of emotion, but Chris refused to acknowledge anyone’s fears until he saw Buck for himself.

He disappeared inside the clinic and shut the door securely behind him, stopping as Nathan held up a warning hand before he reached the bed.

"How bad is it?" Chris’s voice sounded strong, but he knew better.

"Real bad."

Nathan's words hit home as Chris looked at his friend. Buck lay on his stomach, his face turned toward the door. Bandages swathed his forehead and covered his back, blood turning the formerly white linens rusty brown. Rage and guilt twisted inside Chris’s heart as he realized his mistake.

"I already had Ezra wire Dr. Matthews over in Bentonville." Nathan said quietly. "His leg’s broke too bad for me to try and fix."

"How…?" He choked on the word, unable to finish the question.

"Nearest I can figure they dragged him behind a horse. From the looks of that leg and the cuts and bruises all over, they beat on him a while first." Nathan's voice trailed, but Chris picked up a trace of fury in the healer’s tone.

Chris sat down gingerly on the cot next to Buck and put a gentle hand on his friend's battered back, careful to avoid the yellowish/purple contusions that seemed to be everywhere. He looked helplessly at Nathan, his eyes asking the question his voice could not.

"I don't know, Chris. He ain't woke up yet and it's been two hours since Vin and Ezra found him. No tellin' how long he was left out there."

"J.D. seen 'im?" Chris returned his gaze to Buck's still form, knowing he hadn't and wishing he could think of some way to spare J.D. of the sight.

"Naw. Figured I'd wait 'til you got here."

Chris said nothing, just hung his head and got up off the bed and stepped back outside. Four anxious faces looked to him, all worried, all wanting an explanation, but his eyes fell on J.D.

The young man stepped in front of him and Chris wondered what he could say to wipe the stricken and terrified look off the kid's features. He didn't have time to think long. J.D.'s punch apparently matched his draw and Chris only saw a blur as J.D. hit him hard in the face.

Chris staggered backwards, stunned and lifted one hand to his bleeding nose. Josiah quickly grabbed the kid's arms and pulled him aside, preventing him from any further altercations, and probably for J.D.'s own safety. Yet, Chris wasn't mad. In fact he even felt like he deserved it.

"There was a whole gang of 'em, Chris!" J.D. yelled, struggling hard against the preacher's grip. "You sent him into an ambush!" Chris watched helplessly as the kid tried to hold it together, but his quavering voice gave him away.

"Quit it," Nathan interjected, staring at J.D. "You ain't gonna do Buck any good fightin' each other!"

"I didn't know, J.D. I'm sorry."

Josiah cautiously released J.D. and Chris met his gaze as the young man stepped forward, staring straight through to his soul. Chris noticed J.D. was shaking, whether from anger or fear he couldn't tell, but he understood the pain and the kid's own guilt reflected in those confused and bloodshot eyes. The weary gunslinger put his hand on J.D.'s neck and pulled him to his chest, holding on for dear life.

"God knows I never meant for anything to happen to him." Chris spoke softly into J.D.’s ear. "But what matters is that you know."

J.D. gently pushed away from the embrace, the mask of defiance and bravery he had tried so valiantly to keep in place began to slip and tears rolled silently from his eyes. "I shoulda gone. He wanted me to go with him, but I told him I had better things to do."

"Not your fault. And I know Buck's glad you didn't go, son." Chris gripped J.D.’s shoulders and forced him to look at him. "We all are."

Chris held on to him a moment longer, giving the kid time to compose himself before facing his friend. "Come on, let's go see Buck."

J.D. nodded and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Chris."

"It's ok…this time. Just don't ever try that again." His voice was soft, but still held enough venom to make his point. He placed a supportive hand on J.D.’s back and followed him inside.

*******

J.D. blanched at the sight on the bed and it took all the courage he could muster to keep from running right back out. Instead he knelt on one knee and tentatively laid his hand on Buck’s neck.

"Oh, God," he gasped as he saw the bruises and blood soaked bandages. J.D. quickly tried to pull himself together.

A mournful groan and a slight movement beneath his hand signaled that Buck was waking up. He glanced up at Chris, the excitement of Buck regaining consciousness quickly turning to fear. J.D. knew all too well what it felt like to wake up in excruciating agony.

"Hang on, Buck. We’ll get Nathan for you, ok?" J.D. gently patted the older man’s sweat-slick hair, not at all sure how to do this comforting thing.

He heard Larabee open the door and whisper to Nathan as Buck let out another muffled cry. J.D. tensed, his heart pounding a deafening rhythm in his ears and he stepped back to let Nathan and Chris take over. He desperately wished he had the ability to take care of his friend, but he hadn’t had much experience at being the one sitting *beside* the bed. He always seemed to be on the receiving end of this sort of thing. Buck just naturally seemed to know the right thing to do that would help him endure even the worst pain; knew exactly what to say to let him know it was okay to be afraid, even when J.D. would rather die than admit anything of the sort. Hell, Buck could even make it seem okay to cry.

Buck turned his head into the pillow, his screams muffled as Nathan began to pull away the ties to the splint. Chris sat next to him, his hand on Buck’s shoulder as he held him to the bed. J.D. could tell Buck was holding back, trying not to let them know just how badly he hurt. The same thing he scolded J.D. for constantly. It’s ok, Buck, just let it out. That’s what you’re always tellin’ me.

J.D. felt his cheeks burn as guilt washed over him, bringing with it the suffocating knowledge that he wasn’t sure if he could return the favor. Buck’s soft moans as Nathan readjusted the splint made his stomach lurch and sweat bead along his hairline, tearing his heart into tattered pieces.

What he wanted and what his body told him he could handle didn’t mesh. He wasn’t any good at watching people suffer, especially not his best friend. He wanted to run, get on his horse and ride until this pain ripping at his soul dissolved into the hot summer wind.

Nathan carefully unwrapped the bandages, revealing the bruised and swollen flesh underneath. J.D. couldn’t control the gasp that escaped from his throat, yet still couldn’t take his eyes off the misshapen limb. Fear groped at him. Pulled the breath from his lungs and held it just out of reach as memories floated from deep within the locked recesses of his mind. He remembered the stable boys on the estate, his friends, that had gotten thrown or stepped on, their arms or legs broken and deformed. Some had gotten better, then again, some hadn’t. Some never rode again, hell, some never got well enough to walk at all. J.D. shook his head to dislodge the thought. No. No. Buck would heal and be just like he was before. He had to be.

At Nathan’s touch, Buck screamed, his back arching off the cot in agony. Chris leaned over and whispered something to him, but Buck continued to struggle, trying to turn over. J.D. tried to go to him, tried to make his feet move forward, but they refused to go anywhere but backwards, nearer the door. Agony shone through his friend’s dark blue eyes and J.D. locked gazes with Buck.

"Get out!" Buck yelled as he struggled to get up. "Go!"

He’s talking to me. It took J.D. a few seconds to absorb the words. He knew fever and pain fueled the words, yet it still hurt that Buck knew he couldn’t handle this. That Buck thought he wasn’t anywhere near being man enough to help. He was right. Buck was always right.

"Keep ‘im still!" Nathan shouted as he held onto Buck’s good leg and pushed it into the mattress.

Josiah and Vin pushed open the door and brushed past J.D. to help with their struggling friend.

"J.D., get the hell outta here!" Larabee commanded without looking up. Buck whipped his head from side to side on the pillow, as four pairs of hands held the rest of his body immobile.

J.D. had been fighting the urge to flee and now he seemed rooted to the floor. Now that he had to leave, he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave Buck like this.

"Get ‘im out!" Buck bellowed again and J.D. flinched.

"NOW!" Chris’s tone left no more room for argument or self-searching.

J.D. finally found control of his limbs and backed steadily toward the door, his eyes riveted on the scene in front of him. Run. His brain shouted at him, but his legs shook too badly to obey. The outline of his friends grew fuzzy as if they were on the other side of a rain-splattered window and he stumbled out onto the landing. Black clouds danced in his vision and he gripped the railing with both hands before sinking to his knees on the wood planks. Hands clutched his shoulders and eased him around to sit instead and he leaned his head against the railing, trying to stop the deafening roar inside his own skull.

"Are you all right, son?"

Ezra’s flowing tone finally reached his brain and he tried to nod. Tried to say something, but he wasn’t sure anything came out. J.D. fought to pull himself together, to calm down his expanding fear and act like a grown man instead of a terrified child. He had to. Buck needed him to be strong.

J.D. rose to his feet, using the railing against his back for support and praying his own tottering limbs would hold once he got there.

"I need a drink." He heard the words tumble from his mouth, but for the life of him couldn’t figure out why he’d said them. He didn’t need whiskey, didn’t even like it much, truth be told. He needed to stay here, close to Buck, just in case. In case what, J.D.? In case he dies?

His own thoughts taunted him and added to his confusion. Who was he trying to fool? He had no earthly idea what the hell he should do. Buck didn’t want him here, yet he couldn’t just leave. He tried to focus on Ezra, he’d know what he should do. Except once again he felt his body mock his brain’s will and he felt himself running.

He could hear Ezra calling after him, but he lacked the will to answer. J.D. didn’t remember navigating the steep stairs that led away from Nathan’s, nor did he realize where he was going. Right now that didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered except Buck.

*******

Nathan knew Buck was suffering, but his first priority was to keep him still. His leg was badly broken and one wrong move might be the difference between saving or losing the limb. The healer held Buck’s good leg pinned to the mattress, releasing his hold on the splint and waiting for Buck to either calm down or wear himself out. He should have given him something for the pain before he even tried; then again, he’d given him a dose of morphine barely an hour ago. Buck had to be in severe agony for that to have worn off so quickly.

Nathan motioned for Vin to take his place and quickly drew up another syringe. He didn’t want to overmedicate the man, but he didn’t dare try to re-splint the leg without making sure he wouldn’t wake up thrashing again.

Larabee grimaced in sympathy as Nathan injected the painkiller, even though Buck barely flinched.

Nathan waited a few moments as Buck slipped into a restless unconsciousness, before repositioning the bones again. The leg looked deformed, swollen much more than Nathan had anticipated and he wasn’t even sure he was setting it right.

"How soon ‘fore that doctor friend of yours can get here?" Chris didn’t bother to disguise his worry.

"If he leaves in the morning, he still won’t get here ‘til evenin’. I’m not sure I got enough morphine to last that long with as much pain as he’s in, though." Nathan bit down on his bottom lip so hard he almost brought blood as he focused on replacing the splint on Buck’s distended leg. He ignored the nagging worry in his gut, choosing to hold on to the belief that the doctor who’d once saved J.D.’s life would be able to do the same for Buck. Dr. Matthews would come, even if Jackson had to ride all the way to Bentonville and bring him back.

*******

The church stood like a beacon in the haze of moonlight, drawing J.D. in. The sanctuary was empty, a lone candle burning at the altar the only sign that someone had been here at all. Josiah’s prayer for Buck. J.D. could feel the pressure of sorrow building in his chest until he was sure he would burst. He told himself he needed to be alone, but he knew that was a lie. He’d hoped Josiah would appear behind him, put his arm on his shoulder and tell him things would be ok.

Stupid kid notions, J.D. Damn well time he grew up and faced the truth that wishing it so don’t mean it would be. Unshed tears obscured his vision as he made his way up the aisle and toward the brightly-burning light. Guilt streaked through him when he realized the only times he tended to seek comfort from God’s house was when he didn’t know where else to turn. Like now.

J.D. slowly dropped to his knees. He focused on the glowing flame and tried to push aside the horrible sight of his best friend, broken and bleeding in Nathan’s room. It wasn’t like he’d never seen people hurt before; not like he had been sheltered from hardships or suffering. Even before his momma died, he’d learned that death could be a cruel master not just to the weak and the sick, but that even the strong and seemingly invincible could be made unwilling servants.

People like Buck.

Tears rolled silently off his cheeks; his heart hollow from the thought of losing the closest thing he’d ever had to a brother. What would he do if Buck died? Sure, life would go on, he might stick around, might finally go and join the Rangers. Damn, he didn’t want to think about this, but his thoughts rushed at him like bugs to a lamppost and he futilely swatted at them. He wasn’t ready for things to change. Not again. Not when he was just getting used to having a family again.

He’d come out west for a lot of reasons, one of which *had* been adventure; Buck had been right about that part anyway. J.D. had also left to escape the familiar, oppressive bonds of who he had been. A poor child of a chambermaid, forced by necessity into long hours of back-breaking work, occasional whippings and more responsibilities than any eight-year-old should be made to shoulder. God, he hadn’t thought about that in a long time. Those memories had long been pushed back into the basement of his mind and he could have sworn he’d bolted that door tight.

Yet, he’d been luckier than most of his friends. J.D. might have never known his father, but he had been blessed with an exceptional mother; a fiercely loyal and devoted woman who had loved him more than she had loved life itself. She taught him to be strong and independent, but at the same time managed to instill in him an unwavering trust and adoration for friends and family. No matter how small that circle happened to be.

He’d been damn lucky to have his momma, even if it hadn’t been long enough. He’d also been lucky to meet up with these men. Anybody else would have sent him packing, probably with a few splinters in his backside, but here he felt accepted. Like one of them.

Especially with Buck. The man could be such a pain in the ass sometimes. Always telling him what to do, what not to do, that his hat was stupid and his aim was off. Still, J.D. knew Buck loved him with the devotion that his mother had. J.D. had a brother. Another family. And that he wouldn’t trade for all the fame and glory he’d thought he’d wanted his whole life.

J.D. smiled sadly and wiped his face with his sleeve. Of course he might not have anything to trade anyway. Buck could be dying for all he knew and he knelt here thinking about what used to be. No. J.D. shook his head in denial. Buck wouldn’t die, damnit! He just couldn’t.

A wave of desperation washed over him, bringing with it the realization that he had no control over the situation. No matter what he or Nathan or Chris or anybody did, none of them had a say in Buck’s fate. That rested with something he couldn’t see or hear or touch. He could do nothing except wait and pray while strangers who might have taken everything from him went on living without remorse and not giving a damn that they might have ruined his life. J.D. closed his eyes and tried to block out Buck’s distorted leg and the pain-laced shouts for him to get out.

Another memory. This one fresh enough to make him gasp. The Nichols brothers. The darkness of the church sent a chill down his back and he could almost see the siblings in front of him. He remembered all too well the sinking feeling of being outnumbered, the quickening thump of his heart and the roar in his skull when he realized their exact intentions. He could feel the first blow low in his belly as it blossomed into blinding pain all over his body. The futility as he fought back, the helplessness as he grew weaker and the fear that he’d die in agony on the dusty ground.

Just like Buck must have felt.

Rage swelled to replace the grief in his heart and he trembled with weakness. Buck had taken care of him then. Helped him upstairs, out of harm’s way, trying to reinforce Chris’s orders to take care of Casey. J.D. knew it was all a ruse, but he hadn’t had the strength to argue. Even after he’d been shot himself, Buck had been more worried about J.D.’s bruises and sore ribs than his own injury. Now Buck was hurt bad and all J.D. could do was run and cry. He hated himself for not being strong enough, tough enough to handle what Buck seemed to do with ease. How could Buck stand to watch someone he cared about in pain? J.D. certainly proved he couldn’t do it.

Another memory ripped through his head. ‘Gun ‘em down if you have to.’

Blazing pain in his stomach had distorted most of what had happened the day Mattie Stokes shot him, but he remembered that. The malice in Buck’s words reverberated in J.D.’s ears, but didn’t hide his unmistakable concern. Concern for him. Hatred manifesting itself out of fear of losing something dear to him. J.D. had always believed that and now he knew it was true, because he felt that same wrath now gnawing a jagged trail through his insides.

Revelation soothed the confusion in his mind, but not the fire in his soul. J.D. knew what he could do. What he had to do. He might not have the fortitude to sit at Buck’s bedside, but he sure as hell had the guts to find the bastards who put him there and gun them down the first chance he got. Buck’s destiny might be in God’s hands; but J.D. would make damn sure he’d have a say in the fate of every last one of those men responsible for hurting his best friend. If it took him his whole life, he’d get them all.

An icy chill ran through his body as he stood up and retraced his steps up the aisle. His earlier defeated shuffle had grown into a determined stride spurred on by a purpose that filled him to overflowing. Deep down he knew this wasn’t right and he didn’t belong in God’s house with these feelings of hatred and revenge. Yet, he couldn’t, or didn’t want to, control his empowering anger or his craving for justice that gave him hope when nothing else seemed to.

He’d leave tonight, while the frenzied hunger in his soul demanded to be fed and before anyone could stop him. This was something he had to do to prove his loyalty and his place with his friends…and his love for his family. His heart ached at the thought of leaving Buck, but J.D. didn’t plan to be gone any longer than it took to make sure none of the outlaws that tried to take his brother from him would see another minute’s peace.

*******

Ezra stood on the middle steps, torn as to which obligations took precedence in this case. He had wanted to follow J.D. The young man looked so distraught and scared, yet he thought J.D. might fare better if he didn’t meddle or try to comfort him. Ezra felt a stab of panic, hoping that J.D.’s behavior wasn’t due to their friend’s death. Of all the men he’d come to think of as friends, Buck had always seemed the most accepting of him and the gambler cringed at the thought of Buck’s infectious laughter and good-natured banter being absent from his daily routine.

It would take a miracle for Buck to still be alive. He had assumed the man was dead when they’d seen him lying in the dirt, his clothes shredded and bloody, his face the color of fresh milk. Ezra wouldn’t have laid odds on him surviving the ride back into town, but he had. Thank God Vin had been with him. Ezra knew what a travois was, but suspected his attempts to make one on his own would have either taken too much time or resulted in finishing Buck off.

He heard the door creak open above him and made up his mind. He had to know first, then he’d go after J.D. Ezra climbed the stairs slowly, every bone in his body aching with dread as the men trailed dejectedly out of the shack.

"Where’s J.D.?" Chris’s words were solemn and Ezra froze on the steps, merely shaking his head in answer.

"Is he…?" Ezra heard the tremble in his voice, but right now he didn’t care.

"He’s sleepin’." Nathan motioned for Ezra to join them. "I’ve got Dr. Matthews comin’ in tomorrow, leastways I hope so. Buck’s leg’s broke too bad and I just don’t have enough doctorin’ skills to fix it."

"He gonna be able to walk when it heals up?" Vin asked the question that loomed on the tip of Ezra’s tongue and he flinched inwardly. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the answer just yet.

"I dunno. Right now I’m just hopin’ he don’t lose it all together."

Nathan’s eyes glistened as he spoke and Ezra could feel the lump in his throat growing into the size of a cannonball. This could not be happening. Not to someone as vibrant and full of life as Buck Wilmington. It just couldn’t.

He turned to stare at the somnolent town, attending to its business as usual, as if nothing had happened. Ezra didn’t blame the townspeople really. Heaven knows he knew too well how easy it was to cast aside pain when it wasn’t your own. Except now, it felt like it was his too.

*******

J.D. led his bay into the far stall, hoping to hide his intentions from anyone who might stumble into the livery. He finished stuffing his saddlebags with enough essentials to get him through the next few days. Jerky, water, Buck’s rifle that he’d retrieved from the gunslinger’s room, and bullets. Lots of bullets.

J.D. wanted to do this on his own. Well, didn’t necessarily want to, but he knew with the others along he’d be prevented from doing what he had to do. Besides, he didn’t want to share his revenge. Not this time. This was his responsibility. Nothing short of what Buck would do for him.

He knew who they were. He even had their wanted posters tucked inside his coat pocket. Ethan Foxx and his gang. Buck had told Vin and Ezra one of the times he woke up on the way back. J.D. had never heard of them before. Vin had though. He said they were a clan of brothers, cousins and in-laws who saw no need in obeying the law or having an ounce of respect for anyone who wasn’t one of them. They’d fled to Mexico a few years back after murdering a couple of Pinkerton agents; apparently the group wasn’t bright enough to figure out they’d still be wanted. Or they didn’t give a damn. Vin said they were heading back across the border, obviously not in a hurry and believing no one would be crazy enough to follow them.

Fear prickled the fine hairs along the back of J.D.’s neck, but his rage fueled his determination as he pulled the cinch tight. He tried to take comfort in the fact that at least they wouldn’t be expecting him to find them. Oh, but he would. He’d sketched Ethan Foxx's grizzly, murdering face to memory, and he’d find him first, follow him to the edge of hell if that’s what it took.

He'd kill Ethan Foxx and as many of his worthless kin as he could - one way or another.

PART 2

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