Chapter Thirty-one

        Robert gulped down what was his ninth shot of tequila, his face crumpled tight as he downed another one almost immediately. He let out a huff at the effect the alcohol was beginning to have on him and yet again, poured himself another shot. This seemed like the only remedy for all the different emotions he was feeling at the moment.

After he’d left George Brown’s confinement, he’d gone to the bar, not stopping for any pleasantries with the lot who greeted him. He’d finally ‘taken care’ of the man behind Mary’s death, or at least, the executioner. He was supposed to feel some kind of relief right? But he didn’t feel anything, except more anger, more hatred, more emptiness, more pain. At some point, he doubted doing the exact same thing he did to George to Simon Tunes would make him feel any better. It was as if realisation dawned on him all over again: Mary wasn’t coming back. Even if he took care of all the people that might have ev