Deadly Temptation (Book 3)

Deadly Temptation (26)

Marshall Ryder lived in one of the better neighborhoods in Pasadena. It was a simple two bedroom home not far from where his parents still lived. He had bought this house with his wife at the time while he was serving in the army. It wasn't much, the house.

As a matter of fact, it seemed like the walls were caving in as Marshall sat in his arm chair and stared at the front door with a glass of whiskey in his hand. Every night was the same. Every night she came to him... spoke to him. He couldn't sleep even if he wanted to.

Seven years ago, after he was discharged based on an injury, he was just starting out in the police force. His wife had loved the idea of having him home more often but as the work piled up and the cases got more bloody... he gained enemies.

Enemies that knew where he lived and where his wife worked. She had told him a million times that she felt like someone was watching her. She didn't feel safe being home alone while he was stuck at work during the late nights.

—and he should have listened. He knew that now.

They came for his wife one night while he was at work. They broke in and did things to her...

Marshall shook his head as his grip tightened on his whiskey glass. Those fucking bastards deserved what they got. They deserved the pain they endured for putting her in pain.

When Marshall came home and found his beautiful wife's body on the floor. He knew then that he would never be the same. The light of his life was now gone but he got his revenge. He found those murderers and gave them justice.

Now, sitting in his chair half drunk and half asleep, he heard her. He heard her calling his name like she did every night. Most nights, she would blame him— accuse him of being negligent and for putting her in danger.

"I don't know how to make it better," he whispered.

"Why won't you let me go?"

"Because I can't."

"It's your fault I'm stuck here."

"I'm sorry, I don't know how to make it right." He pleaded into thin air.

"Let me go,"

"I can't."

"Marshall let me go! Marshall! Marshall! Marshall!"

"Marshall, god dammit, open the fucking door!" A male voice boomed through the front door.

At first he was confused, he wasn't sure if what he just heard was real or a part of his hallucinations— so he ignored it and took another sip.

"Marshall, please!" A female voice followed right behind.

Through his foggy haze, he recognized those voices but he was in no mood to talk to them. Not when his wife was still glaring at him.

"Why wouldn't you listen to me? Why didn't you just come home?" She accused.

"I'm sorry," he choked out.

"Because of you, I'm dead Marshall."

"I'm sorry," he said again as tears blurred his vision.

"Stop saying you're sorry and do something." She hissed at him then pointed to his army knife on the table beside him. "Show me that you're sorry."

He paused just then; actually considering ending his life to be free of his guilt. To be free from another endless night of no sleep. He picked up the knife and contemplated how long it would take him to bleed out. He had seen a lot of men end their lives out in the field.