Raw Vengeance (The Rich Fordham Series) by Josh Handrich Page B

center in the media spotlight? This will make national news and has political implications with your mother and all. Shantell Cogan is your mother, right?”
    Before answering, Tyler sat on the edge of the bed at the end and placed his hand next to Dan’s foot. Tyler looked at Dan, “I don’t want any attention—”
    A doctor who looked fifty entered and surveyed the group of men. “Hello, gentlemen. I don’t mean to intrude, but I’m Doctor Ally Lacey. I’m the chief of staff here. How is everyone doing?” They all nodded or said “good.” “I just wanted to tell Tyler his mother will be flying in an hour via helicopter.”
    Tyler’s eyes went wide “Really?” he asked. “Why would she do that?”
    The doctor looked at him in confusion. “To make sure you’re alright, that’s why. It’s her motherly duty.” She looked him over and asked hurriedly, “You okay with that?”
    “ Yeah, yeah, I didn’t expect her so soon,” he said nervously as he gave Dan’s foot a slight nudge with his hand. Rich noticed the gesture.
    “ Well, I just wanted to poke my head in. You boys behave.” She smiled and left as soon as she’d arrived.
     
    CHAPTER 17
     
    Reggie Taylor listened to the voicemail for the third time. “NOOO! God-damn-mother-fucker ! This isn’t happening! This can’t be happening!” He kicked and punched the lockers in a rage-induced meltdown lasting for five minutes before he settled down. He dialed his girlfriend, who had left him the message. “Dead, how can he be dead?” he spat. He swung a right hook and put a new dent in the locker. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of this.” Then he hung up. He felt no pain, only madness, pure unadulterated madness.
    He stood alone in the men’s locker room where he worked as a janitor in a health club. In his off time, he enjoyed the perks of the job and worked out daily with the goal to get into competitive boxing. Mike Tyson was his hero, and he even wore the same facial tattoo on his bicep. Now thirty-four, he bore the burden of being a father to a dead son.
    His son, Deon Taylor, was a spitting image of his father: tall, lean, pure muscle, and he had a temper and personality to match. When Deon’s mother died, it would have been easy to give up on him and let someone else take the reins. A pastor told him to be a man of God: Reggie must take the child and raise it on his own or risk being punished and sent to hell. He was sixteen and went full charge into fatherhood.
    Reggie had never felt such rage, which meant a lot for a kid who grew up on the street. His temper had ruined most of his relationships and had gotten him into jail for repeated assaults. He had no fear of the police, nor of anyone else.
    Reggie’s mind became so drunk with thoughts and sensations of hatred that he couldn’t see straight. He grabbed his coat, raced for his car, and headed toward the interstate doing Mach I. Doing over a hundred twenty, he swerved in and out traffic, trying to avoid slow cars, cursing them as he passed. Nothing could stop him. Reggie wanted revenge for killing the only thing in his life with any sentimental value. Something primal erupted within him, and he decided the only way he could go on was to inflict the greatest amount of pain possible on the person responsible for his son’s death.
    Reggie found Mitchell Trauma Center’s ramp and took the first available parking spot. He jumped around back and popped the trunk. The adrenaline and anger-induced state did nothing but seal his fate on what he was about to do. The area around him was deserted. He stuffed the weapons into a backpack and checked the clip on his pistol before putting it into the back of his waistband. Not wasting another second, he trotted toward the entrance and stopped dead when he saw the two officers guarding it. He had to make a choice: either take out the cops silently or leave the weapons behind.
    Seeing the stocky black man coming toward them, the officers