With Daniel's address scribbled on a piece of paper, John left the bar. His thoughts were only of getting new blood on his hands, to get rid of another useless person. The objective was clear.

Dispose of Daniel Marx.

He didn't live far from the bar, as John found out, and he hoped with sadistic glee that Daniel would be completely drunk when he arrived to bash his skull in. When you were drunk, you barely felt pain. And since John planned to make a mess of things, he'd prefer this time that his victim didn't feel anything.

It was a kindness, really, to spare the other man.

A kindness that John would not allow next time.

He reached Daniel's street in less than half an hour, found his house, and promptly knocked on the door. The door opened to expose Daniel, shirtless, sweating, and as John suspected, wasted. It would make things simple.

"Who are you?" Daniel asked.

"You don't remember me?" John asked. "How hurtful." He frowned, feigning surprise. "I'm the man who stopped you from hurting Eden some time ago."

"Oh, it's you. How did you get my address?"

"The bartender at Millers was very persuasive after I bribed him. I told him I needed to speak with you about a job. Naturally, that's not why I'm here."

Daniel's eyes widened. "Then why are you here?"

John grinned. "To see what your brains look like splattered against the wall of your home. May I come inside?"

Daniel tried to close the door, but John was faster, wedging his foot in between the frame and the bottom. He smashed the door into Daniel's face and watched him go down.

"I told you," John snarled, "that you would be sorry if you ever put your hands on Eden again." The knife appeared, and as Daniel struggled against him, John whispered, "I always keep my promises."

The End

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