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  Wrong Choice

  A Holt Vigilante Thriller - Book 1

  Sharon M. Thompson

  Copyright © 2019 by Sharon M. Thompson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This story is a work of fiction. Though real locations are used or mentioned, events that take place are made up for the purpose of this story. All the characters are fictional, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Kristina Henneke - www.dreamscapespress.com

  Editor Melanie Underwood - www.melanieunderwoodeditor.co.uk

  This novel was edited to UK English (Australian).

  No ghostwriters were used in the making of this novel. Sharon M. Thompson wrote WRONG CHOICE

  For Kerry Abbott

  AKA The Vigilante Conqueror.

  Brave.

  Smart.

  FUCKer OFFer of cancer

  *Bows to the fierce fighter*

  Also by Sharon M. Thompson

  Layered Revenge Thriller Series

  Secrets - Book 1

  Vengeful - Book 2

  Ruthless - Book 3

  A Holt Vigilante Thriller

  Wrong Choice - Book 1

  Contents

  1. Madison

  2. Madison

  3. Lance

  4. Madison

  5. Madison

  6. Madison

  7. Lance

  8. Matt

  9. Madison

  10. Matt

  11. Lance

  12. Madison

  13. Matt

  14. Lance

  15. Madison

  16. Lance

  17. Madison

  18. Matt

  19. Madison

  20. Lance

  21. Lance

  22. Matt

  23. Madison

  24. Lance

  25. Lance

  26. Matt

  27. Madison

  28. Madison

  29. Lance

  30. Madison

  31. Matt

  32. Lance

  33. Matt

  34. Matt

  35. Madison

  36. Madison

  37. Madison

  38. Matt

  39. Madison

  40. Lance

  41. Madison

  42. Lance

  43. Matt

  44. Lance

  45. Madison

  46. Matt

  47. Madison

  48. Madison

  49. Matt

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  Madison

  I enjoyed hunting the fuckers. The name seemed appropriate given what they’d done, and the team had agreed on the term. TF for short. They weren’t worthy of proper names, or being treated with human decency or respect.

  Each of them were assigned numbers to dehumanise what they were, so we could build a portfolio of their lives, with the purpose of destroying everything of value to them, until we finally cut their lives short.

  We only had one rule—no innocents to be hurt.

  It was my turn to watch and gather information. I’d broken a rule and hadn’t told Gus—the man who owned the Holt Agency—where I was. We were meant to work in pairs, but I’d had a fight with Matt and couldn’t stand to be around him, so I’d gone off on my own and followed TF4.

  I pulled the binoculars from my backpack, placed them to my eyes, and readjusted the zoom to bring him into focus.

  This one had been difficult to watch, he’d been smarter than most, but I’d found a place where security wasn’t as tight and waited until he’d travelled to Molloy Island in the south west, to holiday with his family.

  He stood on the wooden jetty facing the Blackwood River, with one of his hands stuck deep in his jeans pocket. Mist floated across the surface of the river, and when he breathed, a smoky cloud wafted from his mouth on this chilly June morning.

  Wait, was he smoking as well?

  I zoomed in. The tip of the cigarette glowed red as he sucked on the death stick, before he forced the smoke out through the side of his mouth. An odd way to smoke. Most forced the smoke through the front of their lips.

  He didn’t smoke in the city.

  So why now?

  Was it a sign of being nervous, or was he completely at ease?

  He looked normal. Average. Nothing outstanding or noticeable. But what I’d learnt in this business is that you can’t tell by looking at someone what they are like. Most of the TFs looked decent. Dressed well, had respectable jobs, families, and children. These people weren’t monsters in other people’s eyes. They were loved and admired. Sometimes respected. Even role models for some.

  I spat on the ground, rolled my boot over the spittle, and ground hard and deep into the dirt. I would have done the same if his face were under my boot.

  Snap.

  I lowered my binoculars and looked around, kept my movements slow and steady. I didn’t want to give away my position. I’d worn dark clothing head to toe, which made me harder to see amongst the trees. I pressed my back hard against a trunk. The bark bit into my right shoulder.

  I waited.

  Kept still.

  Another snap.

  Followed closely by more noises of underbrush cracking and breaking.

  A kangaroo hopped into view, followed by two others. They stopped, sniffed, nibbled a little grass, then moved on.

  Molloy Island was accessed by a barge. Only owners or people staying on the island could gain entry to the place. A small island. Quiet. Houses, cabins, and sheds were scattered throughout the bush. There were no fences dividing the properties, which allowed the abundant wildlife to roam free.

  I waited until the kangaroos moved out of sight before I stepped away from the tree and put the binoculars back to my eyes. Now, if it wasn’t me who was watching, what would I see?

  He’s neat. Maybe too neat. Shirt ironed. His jeans hung loose from his frame. Not a man who showed off his body, but I’d seen what he had underneath his clothes, and I had to admit his body wasn’t too shabby. I might have even called him semi-hot, had I not known what he was capable of. His arse, his most redeeming feature; I was looking forward to branding his tight butt cheek with a hot branding iron prior to ending his life.

  TF4 sucked hard on his cigarette one last time before flicking the butt into the water. I cringed. A pet hate of mine—people who littered the environment with their butts. He’d pay for that later. Maybe I’d dump a heap of butts into his bed, so when he pulled back his sheets to go to sleep he’d see the mess and think twice about doing it again. But the only problem with making a point? Watching someone was meant to be subtle and doing that wouldn’t have been smart.

  Point to note—find a subtle way to deliver a message about not throwing cigarette butts in the environment.

  He fumbled with his belt buckle, undid the jeans button, and unzipped his fly before letting the jeans slide to the ground. He stepped out of the legs, bent over and exposed his bare buttocks for all to see. He wore no underwear? Maybe this was like his smoking, when he’s away from the city, he goes commando?

  I zoomed closer.

  Yep, definitely his best feature.

  I smiled.

  He placed his jeans over a railing, keeping them off the damp jetty. Next he took his shirt off. He folded that too, first with sleeves together before folding the shirt once more and placing it over the top of his jeans. He stretched and stood naked, walked to the edge of the jetty, and dove
into the dark, murky water.

  I shivered, because I knew once he hit the water there’d be a moment where every muscle in his body would contract. In Perth, his morning exercise routine was kayaking down the river. Here it seemed he wanted to be more with nature. To feel it all around him. I couldn’t see him from where I stood, but once he resurfaced, I heard the splashing of limbs as he glided through the water. I wanted to see where he went.

  I placed my backpack against the tree, covered it with a few sticks and leaves, and walked towards the jetty. Before I stepped out into the open, I stood back and listened. TF4 still swam in the distance.

  His home stood back from the water, large floor-to-ceiling windows commanded views of the river. A lone light shone from the kitchen. Every other room appeared dark. No noise came from the house. It seemed odd that with his children around he’d decided to swim naked. Someone else may see him too. Maybe he didn’t care? But that didn’t seem right, because in the city he was careful with everything he did.

  His wife and kids were here. Two children. A daughter Sarah, aged six, and a son Tim, who’s four. Cute kids. Happy kids, and he seemed to enjoy being a dad.

  I lifted the binoculars to my eyes and scanned the home. Room by room. No one else appeared to be awake. Satisfied the coast was clear I stepped onto the pier and walked closer to the end to look down the river and watch.

  He had a relaxed swimming style. The muscles in his shoulders and buttocks glistened and clenched, then relaxed, depending on which limb pushed through the water. A perfect Hollywood shot, the misty water, the light slowly pushing its way through the dark, and this specimen of a man at one with nature.

  My breath caught in my throat. A primal urge. I stepped back, surprised by my reaction, and knocked the back of my knees into the railing. My foot slid out from under me, I stumbled to get my footing, my other foot slipping because of the dampness and the moss that had formed on the edge of the jetty. I scrambled, slipped some more.

  I couldn’t get a grip.

  One foot slipped, then the other, until I finally fell backwards and hit something.

  Hard.

  Thud.

  I grunted.

  Stars darted and swam through my vision.

  Little fairy lights blinking, and shimmering.

  Pretty.

  I reached up to touch the lights and smiled as I closed my eyes to dance with the fading lights into darkness.

  2

  Madison

  I’m sleeping right?

  No, dreaming.

  Yes, dreaming.

  I screwed my face up tight and winced.

  Where did the fairy lights fit in?

  My head throbbed.

  One thud after another.

  Why does my head hurt?

  Fairy lights.

  What’s fairy lights got to do with anything?

  I forced my eyes open, groaned, and closed them again.

  I fell.

  Where?

  Jetty.

  The memory of losing my footing and scrambling to get my balance darted through my head. I snapped my eyes open, sat upright, and looked around to see where I was. Frantic, and desperate for everything to synchronise inside my mind.

  A man stood over me.

  Their eyes told the story once you got up close to their faces. Evil always lingered deep in their pupils. They couldn’t hide who they were. Eyes always screamed the truth no matter what words spewed from their mouths.

  TF4 stood over me and I lay on his couch.

  “Steady, you need to take it easy. You’ve had a nasty fall,” he said.

  I placed my hand to the back of my head and felt the crepe bandage he’d applied. “You’ve received a cut to the back of your head. Hope you don’t mind but I applied a couple a stitches while you were out cold.”

  I shook my head not sure my voice would work when I tried to speak.

  “If you tell me where you’re staying, I could let your husband know where you are?” He pointed to my left hand and my wedding ring.

  I glanced down at my left hand, wiggled my fingers, and shook my head again then whispered, “No need to. I’m separated.”

  “You’re here on the island by yourself?”

  I nodded. What the hell are you doing? I was giving him information he didn’t need to know. Get your head straight. “I have friends coming later.”

  He smiled. “Today?”

  I nodded again and leant the side of my face back against the couch. “If you give me a couple of minutes, I’ll regain my composure then I’ll leave you in peace.”

  He slid his fingers over my wrist and left them in place for a few seconds. “It’s best you rest. No hurry. Your pulse is a little fast so it might be a good idea to relax a little.”

  I opened my eyes.

  “I’m a doctor,” he added, as he sat on the couch beside me. “When I got out of the water after my swim and saw you lying there, at first I thought you were dead.”

  I whispered, “Dead?”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry there’s nothing wrong, probably some concussion, so you’ll need to take it easy.”

  “How long was I out for?”

  “You were in and out for a couple of hours. You didn’t make much sense when you came to the first couple of times.”

  Please tell me I didn’t say anything stupid

  “Thankfully, you’re making sense now.”

  His eyes conveyed warmth, and his voice had a reassuring soft quality. He surprised me with his gentleness. His voice wrapped a blanket around me. I flicked my shoulder with my fingers and tried to brush the make-believe blanket off and closed my eyes again. “I should go, I’m sure your family will be up and about soon.”

  “My family?”

  Stupid girl, think before you speak. “There are a couple of kids bikes on the ground out the back I assumed you’re here with your family.”

  He patted my hand. “No need to worry. My family had to go back to the city last night. Family emergency. It was a bit of a pain getting the barge sorted in the middle of the night, but thankfully George is a helpful man.”

  Ideas ran through my head.

  He’s on his own.

  How long for?

  Maybe this is where I could do it?

  It’s quiet, no one would interrupt us.

  I could take as long as I needed.

  “I’m sorry. It’s a pity your holiday was spoiled.”

  “Holiday?”

  I opened my eyes. His eyes fixed on my mouth. “I-I’m sorry, I’ve assumed again. This doesn’t seem like a place where you would live full time.”

  He leant back on the couch and glanced out the window, stiffening his shoulders before he responded. “Your intuition is right… Family is important to her. She wanted to go on her own with the kids to tend to her father. Sometimes it’s easier to go along with what she says. Takes too much energy to persuade her to do something else.”

  I could relate to that. Even though my wedding ring was fake, I understood when trying to make a point wasn’t worth it and it was better to go along with what Matt wanted. The arguing exhausted me. Matt and I had tried to make things work. I’d lost a part of myself and I gave in. Pretended to at least. I’d push him away often, then ran into someone’s else’s bed. I’d replaced my alcohol addiction with sex. But not normal sex. I wanted them to hurt me. For them to punish me for being who I was. Sometimes I paid them to make myself feel worse. The urges were as destructive as alcohol and Matt deserved better than me.

  “Why did you separate?” he asked.

  “Incompatible.” I didn’t want him knowing any more about me than necessary.

  “Are you happier on your own?”

  “No. Yes. Maybe… I don’t know.” I shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. Sometimes I think I’m better on my own.” That statement wasn’t a lie. I’d told Matt several times to leave me alone but he kept coming back, tried to make things work. Told me he loved me even when I broke his heart.


  He stood and walked over to the large window overlooking the river. A soft rain started to fall and droplets of water ran down the window. “You know the jetty you were on is private property?”

  I said softly, “No. I was walking through the bush, got off track and saw the jetty and thought I’d get my bearings. I’m sorry.”

  “The tracks are marked well.”

  “Yes, they are, but I saw a group of kangaroos and wanted to watch them, that’s why I took a shortcut through the bush.”

  He glanced over in my direction “You’re lucky I came along when I did.”

  “Heavenly intervention, I guess.” I smiled.

  He smiled back, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Tea? Coffee?”

  “I don’t want to bother you a glass of water will be fine.”

  “Come on, I’ll make you a cuppa, it will help warm you up.”

  “Tea. White, one sugar. Thanks.”

  I drifted back to sleep and woke to a slight nudge to my shoulder. “Sorry, my head is killing me.” I sat, threw my legs over the couch and grabbed the cup from his hands.

  “I’ve made you toast as well.” He placed the plate on the coffee table.

  I didn’t want to eat. In fact, if I’d put anything in my stomach I’m sure it would have ended up in the toilet. “I’m not sure I can. But thank you.” I took a sip of the tea and enjoyed the warmth as it travelled down into my stomach. “I’ll finish this off then…” My eyes faltered again. The pounding in my head grew incessant and fierce. I placed my cup down on the coffee table and laid my head back against the couch.