Chapter One: Eye For An Eye

[Simon Toews]

The harsh, familiar slap of skin on concrete echoed throughout the room as they threw the broken, battered fighter to the ground. Those pretty blue eyes red with blood with a burst vessel as he stared off into nothing, breath ragged on the damp floor.

Why hadn't they just gone ahead and killed him? Why keep him around but to torture him more? Simon didn’t see the filthy warehouse storeroom. Nor the piled crates or scattering rats. The only thing Simon saw was her face and the terror within her eyes as she was taken in agony from this world while he lay helpless to do anything about it.

As the car continued to burn long after she was gone, Cotter had grimly stared down at him, a note of disappointment in his voice as they told his men to drag him away.

Fine.

Let them do what they will. He didn’t care. No physical pain they inflicted could compare with the hurt deep down in his soul at that moment. Cut him, beat him, shoot him, burn him as they had Cici. Nothing mattered.

Cotter had him tied to a chair, trapped in a cage with one dingy lightbulb over them. The room was filthy, cold, wet. It stank of oil and rust and blood. The cell door creaked open as the big man himself stepped on in, slipping out of his leather jacket. He approached Simon and crouched before him. “I didn’t want this. You know that, right?”

Simon didn’t respond. He just sat there, not making eye contact.

“I loved ya like a brother, boyo.” Cotter said. “Woulda gone through hell with ya, y’know that?”

The cheap cologne mingled with sweat, smoke, and the whiskey that seemed to come out through his pores.

“But you…” Cotter’s voice lowered to a growl. “You had to go n’ break my fuckin’ heart.”

The jab was quicker than it had any right to be. That big meathook of Cotters connected with Simon’s jaw, snapping his head to one side in a daze. Another blow connected with the captured man’s chest, followed by another and another and another. Cotter drew a right cross and hit Simon so hard he fell to one side, the chair breaking on impact. The crime boss stood over him like a victorious prizefighter. Simon’s blood coated his hands splattered the sweat-stained wife beater he wore. The beaten man just lay there, breathing into that grimy floor, red streaming down his nose and mouth in a tiny puddle.

Cotter glanced at his hands, breathing heavily. “Frankie. He’s all yours.”

The cage door opened and second pair of footsteps entered, larger, heavier than Cotter’s. The huge shadow crawled over Simon’s curled body.

“Jesus H. Christ. Pathetic.” Carbone rumbled. “I been waiting for a year to take this son of a bitch down and he ain’t even gonna put up a fight?”

Carbone grabbed him roughly by the hair and leaned into Simon’s ear. “Listen here, you little prick. I’m gonna beat you till you’ll wish you was dead. I’m gonna leave you gaspin’ and broken. And when I’m done with ya...you’re gonna beg me to finish the job.”

Simon didn’t reply. He barely moved. His blood-burst, blue eyes slid shut as he prepared himself. Don’t scream. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Do your worst, Carbone. When the boot connected with him, a grunt was all he allowed. Even as the blows rained down on him, his ribs cracking, his skin breaking and bleeding, he didn’t scream. Even when fists and feet connected with his face, he didn’t scream.
“Y’know...You take all the fun out of it when you mope like this. I wanted tears. I wanted rage. But you?” Carbone gestured to the man. “You just lay there, staring off like someone gave ya a lobotomy or somethin’.”

Simon didn’t react. Aside from breathing, he might have been dead.

“You are a disappointment. Get up! Crawl for me!” He clapped his hands. “Come try and rip out my throat, yeah?”

Again, only stillness.

“No?” Carbone said dully. “Then, maybe you can gimme a scream.”

He stomped on Simon’s back, hard.

“Scream!” Carbone bellowed. “Beg, you weak fuck!”

No. fuck him. Simon couldn’t stop what was being done to him, but he had this. Just one thing, but God damn it, it was his and he would cling to it with everything he had until the big bruiser was panting and covered in Simon’s blood.

Carbone paced around him, panting. “Jesus. You’re really just gonna lay there like my fuckin’ wife in bed? Come on, Toews. Show me what your worth. Gimme a fight!”

Simon stared ahead, thinking about literally anything other than the searing pain coursing through every fiber of his being. Carbone’s fists clenched, his face contorting in a mask of disgust before spitting upon him.

Cotter’s radio crackled to life. “Boss. You there?”

Carbone glanced up at his boss, pulling stringy, sweaty hair back against his scalp.

“Yeah?” Cotter said, annoyed into the walkie talkie.

“We got a car rolling up. Crown Vic. Looks like it might be that cop.” The voice on the other end said.

“Fuck.” Cotter muttered, making a face. He’d have to deal with this. “Hold tight. I’ll be right there.” He tucked the radio into a pocket and pulled

“Keep at it. But don’t kill him. Not yet. I’ll be back later.” Cotter nodded to Carbone, one arm propped upon the bars of the cage. Cotter lumbered out of the room, anger clear in his disposition as he shoved through the door.

“You hear that, Toews?” Carbone said. “We’re gonna get ahold of that bitch out there, and we’re gonna line her right next to you. You’re gonna watch us rip that cunt apart and send her screamin’ right after your little girl.”

Something inside snapped. No. He might die, but if he did...he was taking as many of these mother fuckers with as possible. Starting with Frankie Carbone.

Carbone took a moment to catch his breath, but immediately regretted it. A chain wrapped around his throat from behind as the full weight of Simon brought him down. The pair of them struggled as Simon pulled with all of his might, digging that rusty old chain into the man’s neck as hard as he could. The fat man clawed frantically, gasping for air as trickles of blood came from where the it cut into his flesh. A beefy arm flailed trying to grab in vain at his attacker, his eyes bulging, his face red and soaked in sweat. Every time he struggled, Simon pulled harder.

Simon’s cold, dead-eyed stare glared forth unseen as Carbone’s struggling turned into quick, last ditch jerks...and then faded to stillness as the life left his body. Simon’s grip slackened, the hands grasping at the chain now falling limp to either side. He rolled the heavy corpse off his body and tried to stand, before his leg simply gave out. His body crumpled in a heap, coughing and spitting blood. Simon glanced down. Even through his pants, he could tell his knee was dislocated. He’d have to do something about that if he was to go on. Quickly, he eyed the bars, a plan forming. This would not be pleasant.

He fished Carbones wallet from his back pocket and placed it between his teeth. He slipped his damaged leg through the bars into the opposite cell, his foot caught between the rungs on the other side. This was going to hurt, he thought. But fuck it.

He kicked with all his might, his body jerking upwards as a loud pop and searing pain exploded from his knee.

[Simon Toews]

The car rolled to a halt not far from the warehouse, Corrine peering out of the windshield. A constant stream of smoke pouring upwards, fading into the sky the higher it went.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Stanton muttered, brows knit.

“Looks like Toews beat us to the punch.” She responded. Paige opened the door and stepped out, to Stanton’s discomfort.

“Wait! Where are you going?!” He called to her.

Paige drew her weapon and leaned in. “Call in for backup. I'm going ahead to take a peek.”

“Cor…” he began.

“Don't worry,Evs. They won't even know I'm there.” Stanton didn't get a chance to argue before she was off.

She moved through the yard swiftly and quietly in the approaching darkness. An SUV sat with the roof smashed in. The detective cautiously approached and glanced in to find the ruined remains of Lyla Cotter, her stomach turning at the gory sight. Things suddenly seemed very bleak for Toews.

Corrine steeled herself, her sharp eyes sweeping the emptiness as the burning smell hit her nostrils. That sure as hell wasn't the smoke of industry. Something or someone was burning.

Corrine pressed against the cool aluminum along the side of the main warehouse. Little could be heard through the wall, but that didn't mean there was no one there. She slid the door open carefully, edging her slim body through to the other side.

Most of the place seemed deserted. Not a stirring besides the smoking ruins that had once been a car. Corrine moved forward, checking her corners as she approached. The sight she found sent a chill through her body. She didn't even have to guess who the body in the car was.

It took everything to keep her lunch down as she stared ahead. Cotter had to die. No matter if Toews was alive, no matter if it killed her, she would bring the monster that could do this down.

Footsteps from behind snapped her out of her horror. The man behind her had a pistol pointed at her. “Wrong room, princess.” He taunted.

“I'm a cop, you half wit.” She spat him. “You really that stupid?”

“It look like I give a fuck?”

If looks could kill, Corrine would have blown the man to bits. He gestured with his weapon.

“Lose the piece.” He ordered.

Paige glanced behind her at the smoldering ruin. “You have something to do with this?”

He advanced a little more. “I said-”

“A little girl? Big, tough man has to burn a little girl alive.”

He moved in again, but this time in her reach. “Bitch, do you wanna-”

Corrine redirected his weapon away from her and put a bullet in his thigh. The goon dropped to the ground wailing. Paige stood over him, staring coldly like a goddess of death. “You deserve to burn here before you burn in hell.”

“Please, don-”

His plea was cut short by bullet to the forehead brought his life to an abrupt end. She collected his weapon and ammunition, and set her sights forward. Stanton and backup a distant thought. No, she had justice to serve and death to bring crashing down on Cotter's head. And God help anyone who got in her way.

[Simon Toews]

He was barely aware of the blood running down his face or hitch in his step as he made his way down the hall. His focus belonged to one, singular purpose. Carefully, Simon,ambled down the hall, eyes alert and cold.

As one door opened, he quickly slipped into a maintenance closet, pressing his body flat against a wall. As the footsteps approached, he looked around the room in front of him, finding a broom and a flathead screwdriver.

Well, he decided. Better than nothing.

As the goon approached, Simon lunged. The man was caught completely off guard, both he and Simon hitting the ground. But the tatted fighter wasted no time, the screwdriver stabbed downward again and again into the face and neck of his struggling target until finally it penetrated deep into the man’s throat, holding it there until the body went limp.

Simon glared coldly as blood sprayed up into his face with one last gasp of air. Quickly, he checked the man’s body for weapons, coming up with a .45. After checking the weapon he rose. The pistol would have to be a last resort. The second gunfire erupted the entire place would be on him.

The other weapons pocketed, he moved to the broom handle and unscrewed it from the brush, disappearing into the hall.

Cotter’s people were roaming the halls as he stood in his office,hunched over his desk with a glass of scotch before him and a cigar between his fingers. Those beady, brown eyes upturned, staring out the window at the darkening sky. A tiny bit of movement from the yard below caught his attention, those eyes narrowing. Stanton stood at the driver’s door, talking into the microphone of the car’s radio.

Cotter picked up his own and brought it to his lips. “Looks like we've got a little company. East entrance.”

Calls came in acknowledging the order and he switched channels. “Byers, do you copy?” He called to his man patrolling the main warehouse that was little Cici Toews’ final resting place. “Byers, do you copy?”

Silence followed.

Cotter's fist slammed down onto the desk as he shouted out a swear.

[Simon Toews]

The broom handle cracked against one man’s
face, sending him spiraling to the ground. With a mere glance, Simon caught another in mid attack, throwing a kick to his solar plexus. The victory was short lived as he was grabbed from behind, his arms pressed to his sides.

The goon at his front regained his footing and was coming again, so Simon hefted his legs up, catching the man's face between his feet. One foot hooked around behind the neck as the other drew back and the smashed his heel into his nose. His legs and the man dropped at the same time.

Now, there was the grappler to deal with. Simon threw his head back into the guy's face a few times until the grip loosened. Simon burst from his grasp, jabbing the blunt broom handle into his throat before reversing it to crack him across the face.

Another came around the corner to find his comrades incapacitated and Simon standing over them. The mobster fumbled for his gun, but Simon was already charging, slamming into him. He pushed the man up against the wall as the gun went clattering away. The advantage was temporary, though, as Simon took a knee to the gut. The fighter winced, continuing their struggling grapple.

Finally, he hit his opponent in the stomach, then sent two lightning quick jabs to his face before wheeling him around a throwing the man face first through a windowed door, the bleeding goon hanging against the bottom of the shattered glass.

Simon moved confidently and quickly, sweeping up the man's weapon to add to his collection. His moment to breathe was immediately interrupted as another of Cotter's men crashed into him from the side, putting him into a wall. Simon grunted and drove his elbow into the man's shoulder and quickly kneed him in the gut. The upper hand regained, he drove the mobster back, but the opponent pulled a knife.

Simon grabbed his wrist and sidestepped, shoulder to shoulder with him as they struggled. Again his elbow drove up into his opponent’s nose. He took that moment of daze to disarm him just as another rounded the corner out of Simon's field of vision.

The knife was drawn back for the kill before the unseen goon grabbed his wrist, halting him. Simon immediately turned around put his shoulder into the man's chest, pushing him back as he braced the handle of the knife with his other hand.

Using the built up momentum, he pushed the knife into the goon’s stomach. Behind him, the other opponent drew a weapon, but before he could pull the trigger, Simon wheeled the stabbed man in the bullet's path, using his body to absorb them as he charged forward.

Now in striking distance, he threw the bullet riddled man aside, deflected the shooter’s weapon aside, and slashed at his belly. The mobster pulled in his gut, barely escaping having his guts cut open, and getting away with a nasty cut.

Simon found this unsatisfactory.

He reversed his grip on the blade and drove it up through the underside of the man's bicep, the gun clattering to the floor. The goon unleashed a ferocious scream, grabbing Simon's hand and turning into him, and elbow planted in the fighter’s neck as they stumbled through a door and toppled over a table in a mess of wrestling limbs.

Simon slammed onto the concrete, but ignored the pain immediately climbing atop his opponent and bashed him again and again in the face with his mangled, rock hard fists. The goon had enough of that and grabbed ahold of a bottle and smashed it against Simon's temple.

The blow stunned him momentarily, but it was enough time for the mobster to climb over him and wrap his hands around Simon's throat.

Simon grabbed his wrists and put his knee against the man's chest, struggling to push him off. With a mighty effort he managed to push him off, but the man got back nonetheless.

This time, though, Simon's ankles wrapped around the goon’s neck. The pair struggled until Simon finally reached over and withdrew the knife, letting the blood flow out of the man as agony flowed in. The pain would be short lived, though, as Simon buried the blade into the side of the goon's head.

He fell flat upon the concrete floor, panting so heavily he didn't hear another enter the room his weapon trained on Simon's head. The sound of gunfire echoed loudly in the room, but the blood burst from the mobster’s chest.

Simon's attention whipped over to see the man fall, revealing Paige, her weapon pointed forward. The pair eyed each other for a long, tense moment. Slowly he nodded.

“Detective.”

Paige lowered the gun and returned the nod.

“Toews.”

[Simon Toews]

Toews looked like death. Corrine couldn’t be certain what had happened in the fight or what they had done to him after...after Cici. Simon glanced to the firearm laying on the floor beside the detective and then back to her.

“You here to arrest me, Detective?”

Her eyes flicked down to the weapon for a long moment before kicking it over to him, the gun stopping right before his hand. “No. I’m here to help.”

His hand covered over the pistol as she stepped up, offering her hand to him. Simon grabbed her hand and was pulled to his feet.

“You got a plan?” She asked as he checked the weapon.

“It look like I got a plan?” He looked up, his face battered and streaked with blood.

“No, it looks like you’re about to pass out.” She observed.

“It looks worse than it is.” Toews was obviously running on pure rage at this point. He brushed past her, moving toward the door, ready for more. Paige started after him.

“Wait!” She called, but he didn’t respond. “God damn it, Toews, I said wait!” she grabbed him by the arm, wheeling the traumatized man around. He had the wide-eyed, frenzied look of a man with nothing left to lose. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Do i look like I care?” He asked her.

“I have backup on the way. We can take him down together. Getting yourself killed isn’t going to bring her back.” She pleaded.

“No.” He said simply. “Nothing will. But, I can sure as hell take him with me.”

He started away, Paige gritting her teeth. “Toews….” She called after him to no avail. “TOEWS!”

But he was gone. “Fuck!” she cursed to herself and started off after him. One hand on her weapon, the other on her mic, she called out. “Evs, it’s Corrine.”

“What the fuck is going on in there, Cor? I heard shots.” came his voice.

“Ran into some trouble. I found Toews. He’s going after Cotter himself. I’m going after him.” She informed her partner, rushing down the corridor after Simon.

“Cor, backup is only a few minutes out! Hold back!” he said.

“Just tell them to hurry!” She ordered and thumbed off the radio. “Can’t take your own fuckin’ advice, Corrine….” she muttered to herself.

[Simon Toews]

Cotter threw his radio to the ground, receiving no response to his repeated calls to his men. He ran his hand through sweat-slicked hair in frustration. Everything had fallen apart and he had no doubt that Toews was on his way. Well, fuck him, he thought. If the son of a bitch wanted to kill him, he wasn’t going to make it easy.

He ripped a shotgun down from the wall and started loading. Cotter pressed up against the wall as the sound of gunfire echoed down the hall, ready the second Toews peeked his head into the room.

The doors burst open and he immediately pulled the trigger. But it wasn’t Toews’ head in the path. The shot ripped apart one of his men’s skull in an explosion of gore. Simon followed immediately after, redirecting the muzzle toward the ceiling, raising his pistol to bear on Cotter.

The crime lord turnen his body, elbow nudging the weapon aside and pushing Simon into the wall. Quickly, he pulled the shotgun back, out of Toews’ grasp and bashed him in the face with its length. Simon’s head snapped back as he grunted in pain, the pistol clattering to the ground as Cotter pushed the shotgun against his throat..

“Shoulda run, kid.” Cotter sneered.
Simon suddenly threw a knee right in Cotter’s groin, smashing the older man’s nose in with his own weapon. The mob boss stumbled back, Simon throwing the shotgun aside as he advanced on him. He grabbed Cotter by the collar and pulled back his fist, ready to beat the older man;s face in.

Cotter moved quicker than Simon had expected, though, wrapping an arm around his neck and shoving him, face-first into a window overlooking the warehouse workfloor. The glass shattered as Simon crashed through, his hips slamming against the bottom of the window. He turned to find Cotter grabbing for him again. Toews rose up and threw a vicious right cross against the man’s face, blood and spit flying from the impact.

Cotter got up right as Simon came for him again, ducking another punch and throwing vicious blows into the younger man’s stomach. He drove Simon back against his desk and moved upwards, hammering him in the face with one of those big meat hooks he called hands.

Every time Simon began to try to get his bearings another vicious punch sent his head spinning. But the next blow was blocked, Toews throwing a jab right in Cotter’s throat. The older man gasping for air and stumbling back.

Simon looked positively feral as he leat out a savage roar, charging and then tackling his adversary straight through another window and onto the catwalk below. The two men slammed onto the metal grating in a daze. Both shakily pulled themselves to their feet. Simon glanced up to see him and threw his whole body into a punch that connected with the older man’s jaw. Both fighters crumbled to the metal again.

Again, Simon got to his feet first, grabbing Cotter by the collar of his shirt and pulling him up to his knees. Those angry, beady eyes glared up at him, pure hatred behind them until Cotter gave him an uppercut, right between the legs. Simon doubled over as Cotter got to one knee, hitting him the stomach and then grabbed him by the shirt. But Simon grappled with him, the two throwing each other back and forth against the railings.

In the office, Paige entered cautiously, stepping over the ruined corpse of Cotter’s soldier. Quickly, she traced the path of destruction to the sound of a struggle below. She moved to the window and peered over its edge. 8 feet below, Toews and Cotter were in a fight for their lives. Corrine rose her weapon, trying to get a shot, but Toews kept getting in the way. She grit her teeth and climbed out, dropping onto the catwalk.

The pair continued their struggle, Simon managing to bring the older man about, his back toward Paige. Cotter suddenly pulled Simon toward him, bashing the raging father in the face with his forehead. He took the moment granted by Simon’s daze and caught a glimpse behind him of the detective moving toward him with her weapon drawn. He quickly wheeled Simon around, using his body to knock Paige’s gun from her hand and then threw the man to the ground. Cotter was on her in a second, hands around her throat.

Paige let out a strangled yelp, trying to pry his hands from around her neck to no avail. “I’m gonna choke the life outta you, you miserable cunt!” He snarled.

Corrine lashed out then, he nails scratching bloody tears down his face. Cotter let out an animalistic scream and threw her over the edge like a ragdoll. Paige’s world was a whirlwind as she fell, searing pain spiking in her body as her shoulder banked off a hanging crate. While the pain was intense, it had slowed her fall, so when she hit the concrete, it only hurt like a mother fucker.

Cotter stared down at her as she began to stir. With an arrogant sneer, he grabbed a control switch and pressed the button. 1200 lbs of shipping crate came slamming down upon her, crushing woman’s arm and pinning her leg. Corrine’s agonized shriek echoed throughout the cavernous warehouse.

Cotter grinned down at her, forgetting that the fight wasn’t over. The sound of a chain moving, however brought it rushing back, but not before said chain came slashing down across his back. Cotter dropped to his knees, intense pain taking over. Simon wrapped that chain around the man’s neck and pulled as hard as he could. Cotter struggled, clawing at the chain with one hand as the other arm elbowed Simon in the gut.

The two wrestled against each other until they both toppled over the railing. Simon held onto him with a death grip until they hit the top of a cargo container with a bang. Cotter moved first, climbing n top of Simon and wrapping his hands around the bloodied man's throat.

Simon gasped and clawed at the hands squeezing his windpipe, but couldn't pry them off.

“Die! Just…fucking. DIE!” Cotter screamed in his face, Simon's eyes bulging. The world was starting to get dark. He didn't have long. One last ditch effort, Simon. One last try.

He drew his arm back and then jammed his thumb THROUGH Cotter's left eye, the stocky crime boss letting out a blood curdling scream. Simon gasped, desperately trying to get air back into his lungs as Cotter clutched his face.

Simon's eyes snapped up, catching sight of the chain hanging from the railing above. Those bloodshot blue eyes turned back to Cotter. He stormed over, grabbing the agonized man and dragged him to the edge, quickly wrapping the chain around his neck and locking it into place.

Cotter opened his one remaining eye, all the hate and rage he had in that glare was then replaced with a sadistic grin. A low laugh built up, a sick, rattling wheeze in his throat. “You think you won?” Cotter snarled. “She's still gone.”

Cotter laughed harder. “Your little girl is gone forever. You can't do a fucking thing about it!” He spat. “I won, Toews.” He said, a bloody grin twisting his lips. “I wo-”

He didn't have a chance to finish the sentence. Simon reeled back and slammed his heel into Cotter's chest, sending him over the edge, the chain tightening around his throat. Cotter clawed and kicked as he was slowly choked to death. He wriggled and struggled until those final involuntary jerks overtook his body. And then there was nothing.

Simon climbed down to the warehouse floor, the adrenaline completely worn off and the cost of all the abuse he'd taken flooding in. His entire being was filled with a dull, throbbing pain, but still he made it to Paige.

The detective lay there, her arm smashed almost clear off beneath the container. She was passed out from shock, but she was still breathing. Corrine was still alive.

Quickly, he tore his shirt and went to work trying to tie off and stem the blood flow from her wound. He didn't seem to hear the door open. Didn't seem to notice the cops swarming in, weapons drawn and shouting at him.

Simon was barely aware as they cuffed and dragged him away. Everything was numb. Even the hate. All that was left was grief. Cotter was right. Cici was gone.

[Simon Toews]

9 Years Later

Simon sat at a table, arms now fully sleeved in tattoos. Nine years spent in and out of vicious brawls had given him an impressive collection of scars. Were the guards themselves not betting on said fights, he'd probably have been thrown into solitary.

Little seemed to matter since the events of that day. The trial had been quick, despite Paige’s passionate pleas in his defense, he was sentenced and thrown in the clink.

“Jesus.” A familiar voice said at the door. “You look like shit.”

Simon turned to behold Corrine standing there, decked out in a pair of tight jeans, a red blouse, and a black leather jacket with the left sleeve rolled up where an arm should have been.

“Look who's talking, Nubs.” He said with a bit of a smirk. Paige limped over, pulling out a chair and taking a seat.

“How ya been, Toews?” She asked him, leaning back.

“Well, I was hungry, but I'm not seeing any bags in your hand, so I guess I'm shit outta luck.” Once every couple months the former detective had visited him, bringing lunch. Conversation had was sparing. Mostly, they sat in silence forcing the most minimal of small talk.

“Hmm.” Corrine said, nodding. “You might think differently after hearing what I came to tell you.”

His scarred brow quirked. “You bringing me a steak?”

A tight little smile formed on her lips. “You're getting outta here, Toews.”

Simon was silent a long moment. “You sure it's not steak?” He asked nonplussed.

“Simon, did you hear what I said? You're gonna be a free man. I worked out a deal with the judge and he's releasing you under my supervision!” She said.

Simon didn't exactly seem thrilled. “Great.” He said not at all convincingly.

“Thanks, Corrine! How can I ever thank you, Corrine?!” The former detective said theatrically. “What's the hell is your deal?”

“I didn't ask you to do that.” He said simply.

“Well, excuse the fuck outta me! I thought I was doing your stubborn ass a solid!” Paige said, throwing her hands up in resignation.

Simon glanced up. “What's even out there for me anymore, Corrine?” He asked quietly. “What's the point?”

Corrine truly felt for him. Even the intervening years hadn't been able to wipe away that pain. Some hurts just went too deep, and some things that are broken cannot be fixed.

“You'll have to figure that out for yourself, Toews.” She reached over patting his hand. “You're tough. You'll make it. I believe in you.”

The hints of a smile graced his features. “Maybe. I guess we'll find out.”

Paige watched him, thinking that this man was going to break a lot more than hearts before he was through. Toews was a man without direction, without purpose. What he would do with that was out of her hands. She owed him.

“You ever need me…” Corrine said. “You know how to reach me.”

She stood and looked him over. “You're a free man, Simon. I hope you find something to live for.”

Corrine Paige walked away, leaving the man who had once been her target behind. She would hear of and from him sporadically over the next couple years, but she never forgot her promise. And Corrine always paid her debts.