by Samson Weld
SUMMARY
For fans of Death Wish, John Wick, The Punisher, and Jack Reacher comes a new relentless vigilante...
Ash Wexler was a mild-mannered insurance adjuster before his wife and kids were brutally murdered. Before he was shot and left for dead.
That was ruthless drug lord Osorio’s only mistake, because now Ash has nothing left to lose.
Having spent five years recuperating and training in martial arts as well as firearms, Ash follows Osorio to Dallas with only one mission: to take down Osorio’s entire operation, one man at a time.
With Detective Anna Bellucci tracking him down, Ash will need to be careful. He wants justice. He wants vengeance.
~ ~ ~ ~
Ash Vengeance
Wexler Vigilante Book 1
by Samson Weld and TW Gallier
Copyright © 2019
The cover art for this book makes use of licensed stock photography. All photography is for illustrative purposes only and all persons depicted are models.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Ash Reckoning Sneak Peek
About the Authors
Chapter 1
Step one: find a scumbag who deserves to die.
Step two: kill him.
These two simple steps had taken up Ash Wexler’s life for the past few months. It was all he thought about. He woke up in the morning covered with sweat at the prospect of doing this. He didn’t fall asleep until three or four in the morning. His brain was in overdrive.
It needed to be done. The reason was simple. He needed to know if he could do it. Could he take a life? Could he commit murder?
Most of all, could he live with himself afterwards?
That was what the plan was for. And the plan was solid now. He had found someone worthy of this. He had done his research.
The man was called Steve Horatio Moonves, even though everyone called him Stevie H. He was forty-two and had spent most of his life in one correctional facility or another. His biggest stint inside had been for manslaughter.
He was currently out on parole and it didn’t stop him from peddling coke, smack, and underage girls. Ash knew about the latter because he had pretended to be interested. Stevie H had promised to deliver primo merchandise, a ten-year-old Salvadoran girl, for the right price.
There was no question that this guy was one bad motherfucker.
Ash observed him two more days from across this very rundown Tulsa street. The man had no sense of remorse, showing no signs that the things he was doing filled him with regret. It was the opposite. He looked happy. He thrived as he sold drugs and kids and human misery.
This in turn gave Ash a sense of purpose. If there was anyone who deserved to die, it was Stevie H.
Nevertheless, it wasn’t why he was going to do it. It was a test. Ash was testing himself. Soon he would have to do the same to a bunch of people, criminals who deserved it even more.
Criminals who had destroyed his entire existence.
It was a Wednesday night when the time came to take the test. Much of it was a blur. The only thing Ash knew for certain was that he checked his phone for the Powerball numbers and he didn’t win. He’d figured that if he had, it would’ve been a sign not to go through with this plan. But he didn’t so he had to do it.
He crossed the street when Stevie H was alone, standing on the corner chewing bubblegum and simultaneously smoking a cigarette. There were no friends, no customers. The moment was perfect.
In Ash’s gloved hand was a Ka-Bar knife with the sharpest blade in history. He walked up to the deadbeat until they were face to face.
“What’s up? You ready for some young piece of ass now? Price goes up as the age goes down though. You got cash?”
Ash didn’t utter a single word. He drove the knife into the man’s stomach, twisting one way, and then another.
He gutted the stunned Stevie H until he collapsed, nothing but a bloody mass on the pockmarked sidewalk. He was dead in less than four seconds.
More importantly, Ash wasn’t troubled. Although his hands trembled a bit, he didn’t break down in tears. In reality, he felt proud. He had just gotten rid of a despicable character.
And now he knew that he could handle committing murder. He was ready to do it again. In two more months, when all the pieces would be in place, it would happen.
He was ready for justice.
Chapter 2
The two months passed quickly and somebody was going to die today.
Violently.
That was the plan anyway. It would be cathartic. It would be therapy. Ash Wexler needed this more than anything.
It was another cold January day. Cold by Southern California standards, at any rate. It dropped into the mid-thirties at night, and then only rose to mid-forties for a high. Hell, the locals thought it cold, too. Ash had lived all his life in Southern California before moving to Dallas. Yeah, it was cold.
A bright red Chevy Silverado rolled up to the El Diario Creamery’s back gate.
He squinted. Was that… Yeah. Right on time.
Ash watched the pickup find a parking spot behind the plant, before a familiar figure slipped out. Charlie Cox was a big, tough black guy. Six foot tall, he was burly with a shaven head and big beard. In Ash’s mind, he was Teamster tough.
Charlie greeted a few of his fellow drivers as he walked toward the dispatch office to get his route for the day. Ash’s body tingled, tensed. His eyes narrowed. He already knew Charlie’s route and all about a special unscheduled stop he’d be making.
Maybe not.
Exiting his car, Ash crossed the street as he made for the auto repair shop next door. The mechanics were all busy, heads down and full attention on their tasks at hand. He loitered a moment, watching the creamery’s dispatch office door.
Ash dressed to appear an average forty-something, down on his luck white man: short brown hair, brown eyes, nothing special.
Even his coat was a faded bluish-gray, above faded jeans. The effect worked.
Everyone’s eyes passed over him without actually seeing the man. Therefore, standing close to the street, as if he was waiting for someone, garnered no interest within the shop. He was just a blip on the radar of passersby.
Charlie finally came out and made for one of the refrigerated trucks backed up to the big bay doors. Ash watched him, noting which truck he claimed. Now he had his target.
The truck driver quickly checked his truck, while others finished loading it. Ash headed toward the plant’s exit as soon as they stopped loading it and closed the doors. He pulled on a pair of warm leather gloves, zipped up his coat, and listened for Charlie leaving. Charlie didn’t disappoint, wasting no time setting out on his route.
Ash reached the exit after Charlie stopped to check traffic. Turning to go behind the idling truck, Ash pretended to be too impatient to wait. Charlie pulled out onto the street just as he reached the back of the large refrigerated truck.
Grabbing a hand grip, Ash stepped up on the back bumper and let the movement of the truck swing him flat against the doors. Charlie accelerated and Ash waited for that first pothole.
The truck hit it loudly and he opened the roll-up back door. Slipping inside, he pulled the door closed. It felt even colder inside than Ash anticipated. He produced a wool cap out of his coat pocket and pulled it down over his ears.
The overhead light showed everything stowed so that deliveries were readily at hand at each stop. What Ash wanted to find had to be dug out. And dig he did. At first, he carefully moved boxes of ice cream treats aside with care, not wanting to make any noise. Until he found that special package.
Ripping the packaging open, he found Charlie’s real delivery. Heroin.
The true root of evil, Ash mused, eyes narrowing.
The truck came to a stop. He knew where they were. Ash knew Charlie’s route as well as the truck driver. He moved the heroin to the back door so it would be found when he finished the task at hand. A moment later, the light changed and Charlie turned onto Ledbetter Drive. It was a long road through an industrial-warehouse area of south Dallas.
He glanced at his watch. It was time.
Ash began throwing boxes of ice cream treats around. Throwing them against the back door, against the walls. He destroyed a lot of treats and made a god-awful noise doing so. The truck came to a quick stop.
His body tensed, while his mind went through scenarios.
I’ve trained for this, he thought, heart racing. I can do it.
There was no other option. It had to be done. Charlie deserved it. The truck driver had earned it.
When Ash heard the driver’s door slam shut, and heard footsteps, his mind stilled. His hands curled into fists and he prepared for action. He could feel the adrenaline pumping. So when Charlie started to open the back door, he was ready.
“What the hell is going on back here?” Charlie snarled. “If I catch a motherfucker back here, I swear I’m going to…”
Ash watched the door roll upward. He spotted Charlie’s thick body first and then the door flew up to reveal an angry face.
“You’re going to die!” Ash snarled.
Charlie already had one foot up on the bumper, a hand on the hand grip to pull himself up into the back of the truck. Ash didn’t give him time to realize the danger. He charged at the truck driver and kicked him in the face. Charlie went flying back onto the street, cursing a blue streak.
“I’m gonna fuck you up!” Charlie screamed.
Ash paused, standing above him in the back of the truck. Charlie didn’t appear to recognize him.
What a shame.
Charlie surged to his feet. Ash launched himself at the big man, kicking both feet into the truck driver’s chest and knocking him back down. Rolling back to his feet, Ash pulled a pair of ice picks out of his pockets. He was on Charlie in a flash, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting into the big man’s back and belly.
“Son of bitch!” Charlie shrieked with agony.
A dozen ice pick wounds had to hurt. He hoped and prayed they did, remembering all of the pain and misery Charlie had inflicted. Ash wanted him to suffer, but mostly he wanted Charlie to pay for his crimes.
“I’m gonna kill you,” Charlie roared, moving into a boxing stance.
Ash fought the urge to mirror his stance. It would feel so good to beat him down, but Ash wasn’t that foolish. Charlie would kick his ass in a straight up fight. The truck driver had a good fifty pounds of hard muscle on him.
“No, you’re going to die for your crimes.”
“Crimes?” Charlie looked confused, pausing to search Ash’s face. “Are you fucking crazy or something?”
“Or something.”
With ice picks in hand, Ash attacked. Charlie tried a right jab, but he was ready for that. Ash drove the ice pick through the back of his foe’s hand. His tormented scream ripped the early morning calm.
“Yeah, I bet that hurt.”
Charlie growled and threw a left cross. Ducking, Ash thrust the ice picks into his ribs five times before disengaging. An incredulous look spread across the face of his opponent. A grim smile tugged at Ash’s lips.
“You’re dead meat, motherfucker.”
Ash smiled sadly. “I’ve been dead a long time.”
That confused the driver. Charlie only paused a second, before attacking with all he had left. He forced Ash to backpedal off the street, and into a parking lot. Slipping between two cars, Charlie hot on his heels.
“Gotcha!” Charlie cried, getting a hold of Ash’s left coat sleeve. He pounded his fist into Ash’s belly, twice. “I’m gonna break your neck.”
In desperation, body racked with pain, Ash thrust up with all his strength. The ice pick went up under Charlie’s chin, piercing, plunging up through the mouth and into the roof. Charlie froze, staring at him in disbelief.
“Do you recognize me now?” Ash sneered.
He pulled the ice pick out, and then slammed it into the side of Charlie’s head. Blood spurted out. Ash locked eyes with that man and swirled the ice pick around through his brain.
Charlie slowly dropped to his knees before Ash plunged the other ice pick into his chest. Into his heart. The man he’d hated and reviled for so long toppled over face down. Dead and gone.
“So it begins.”
Chapter 3
Three black Cadillac Escalades rolled to a stop before the entrance to Club Wild Child. It was very early. The club wouldn’t open for many hours, but staff was already arriving to start the day to get everything clean and ready for another night. A familiar car waited at the curb. There couldn’t possibly be two orange Aston Martins in Dallas with purple racing stripes.
“Do not send the Russians any more money until I say so,” Mateo Osorio said into his phone. Dave Collins, his account and money manager, balked, but Osorio wasn’t afraid of the Russians. “We don’t pay until they deliver.”
Osorio glanced out his window from the back seat as he ended the call. His primary bodyguard, Rojas, quickly got out of the front seat and opened his door. The Mexican slid out and looked around. He took in the rather drab façade and then looked up and down the street. Dallas’s club district, Deep Ellum, looked so much different in the light of day.
A few young people remained, one of the women on all fours and puking. Her friends stood around unsteadily and laughed. He spotted an elderly homeless woman pushing a shopping cart full of junk. Was she talking to herself?
Osorio shook his head and forgot her. He smoothed the jacket of his five thousand-dollar tailored suit, and then patted the slight bulge under his left arm. He felt naked without his Desert Eagle. Then he nodded at Rojas after his other bodyguards joined them on the sidewalk.
Rojas led the way to the door. The Mexican thug was a thick bruiser of a man, dressed in a nice suit. He knocked and a white man answered a moment later. Osorio recognized the Russian mobster. He was one of Sokolov’s men: Nikolai.
&nbs
p; Rojas sniffed contemptuously. “Osorio is here to see Sokolov.”
His bodyguard said “Sokolov” like it left a bad taste in his mouth. Osorio smiled. No one liked the Russian mob boss, especially him.
The Russian nodded and then closed the door. Osorio bristled. The Russians always disrespected him. One day…
The door opened a few minutes later and Nikolai waved them inside. Rojas and three others preceded Osorio inside, spreading out to secure the room. Osorio walked like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like he was the biggest, baddest man in the world.
Pyotr Sokolov watched his approach with a raised brow. His pretty blonde girlfriend by his side in the booth. She wore a metallic gold dress, lots of gold and diamond jewelry, and had her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She didn’t bother to look up from her phone until Osorio stopped before them.
“Hey, Ozzie,” Kennedy said. “How you doing, big guy?”
His breath caught, before he snapped at her. Why did she always call him “Ozzie?” Was that an Ozzie Osborne reference? If so, why would she insult him like that? He wasn’t a stupid English rock singer who’d burned his brain out with drugs. Sokolov looked amused, so maybe he’d put her up to it.
“I’m fine, Kenny,” he replied, which made her frown. He looked at the Russian mobster in the eyes. “We have to talk. Private business. Nothing Miss Faulkner will be interested in hearing.”
The big Russian regarded him coolly for a moment. He was a bear of a man. Six seven, barrel chest, and stout. His suit probably cost more than Osorio’s, but nothing ever looked good on him. Even his dark curly hair looked uncombed most of the time.
“Go powder your nose,” Sokolov said in his slow Russian drawl.
His girlfriend sighed dramatically, rolled her eyes, and left. Sokolov pointed at the other side of the booth with his chin, so Osorio sat. They just stared at each other for a long moment.
“What’s taking so long?” Osorio asked. “My people are asking about the promised shipments. I especially need more heroin. Twice as much.”
“You will get everything I promised,” Sokolov said. “Just be patient. These things take time.”