Wilson (Wilson Jack Series, Book 1)
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Justice: What do we do when it is stolen from us? Gang members rip from Wilson's life his wife and child, but die in the process. With no hope of true justice, he is burning away inside until one day he finds those who died were not the only ones involved in his family's death. Will fighting for justice consume him or set him free?
Kenneth Guthrie
Kenneth Guthrie is a writer of sci-fi, fantasy and crime novels.Profile image credit: Vincent Gerbouin at Pexels.com
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Wilson (Wilson Jack Series, Book 1) - Kenneth Guthrie
WILSON
Wilson Jack Series Book 1
Kenneth Guthrie
Copyright 2015 Lunatic Ink Publishing
Find more at Kenneth Guthrie’s Book List
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty One
ONE
There's no greater torture in the world than something lost and no way to make it right. A smile and a set of blue eyes, that's what he wants to forget. In his calloused grip the metal clangs when lifted full extension. Sinews, veins and flesh bulge and throb. Pain is a welcome friend – a constant reminder. Never does he look away from the cold hard stare reflected back at him. Always he hears the sharp high pitch wail that he couldn't have heard because he was too late.
Wilson Jack dumps the weights. They pound to the ground. Steam rises from his huge body. It wasn't this big before the incident, but too much time lifting iron has built a better man of him; better being limited to his size and not to the person inside.
He reaches down, jacks it up, hammers it down and waits. Again and again he'll do this. No sets, no rep counts. Up-down, up-down until the pain goes away. Maybe he'll stop then - probably he won't.
The eyes stare at him throughout. He doesn't look away like he used to. The ones that killed the owner didn't care when they hurt her. They didn't think about the aftermath of their actions; what a lost wife and child might do to the husband and father. It is one of the greatest disappointments of his life that he could not be there to save the woman that changed his life and made him a man and the child that freed him from a childhood that most would describe as 'hard' in a tone of optimism that tries not to look at the reality of things too deeply.
Dropping the weight, he stands and walks straight to the squat rack. Now that his arms are near useless, Wilson must take his feelings to another set of limbs. He mounts the bar on the white towel he throws over his neck. Men and women glance his way. Concern. It's a lot of weight for someone to move without a spotter to check the weight. Wilson grunts as he brings it up on to his shoulders with a very loud clang. The big man comes down and piston like slaps out 10 reps of something that even the bigger men of the gym might give a little more respect. Each repetition stretches way down and comes way up. The pain is excruciating. On the last two he thinks that he might collapse, but the knowledge that the heavy weight of the bar – nothing in comparison to his hurt – will crush him, much like the weight of his feelings, keeps him moving.
He dumps it down and stares down at the cold hard metal at his feet. Justice: That's what the eyes and that smile want. It's something they can never have. Those that killed the one's he loves are dead and buried. The cops gunned them down at his door while he was upstairs on his knees experiencing the most agonizing of experiences a father can have – his young daughter destroyed. He couldn't even bring his eyes to them at the time. It was only in the morgue later that he truly saw what had been done. Justice is something he cannot give. For all of his training, for all of his desire, it is an impossible hope and nothing more than that.
Wilson walks over to the dumbbell rack and picks up the heaviest that the gym has. There's more pain to work out. That's all he has to give.
TWO
At the back of the gym, the fight room is in full swing. Men joust with each other to show off their skills against better or worse opponents. This place has become a new home for Wilson since his wife and child were murdered by men that will forever go unpunished. The fighters here are friends, rivals and sometimes mentors. A lot of hard times packed into a room with four padded walls.
Joey, a rival, looks up when he comes in and grins.
Hey Wilson. You good?
he calls out.
Yeah, I'm doing alright,
the big man replies, dumping his gym bag on the floor in the corner.
Want to do some sparring with me, Ed and Thomas?
Sounds good.
Their instructor, Bob, is working with two younger men on their grappling skills as the others come about. They've been having words of late about his fighting style – that it is getting too violent. Wilson doesn't like to be at odds with the man, but that's what happens when you get as good as he has gotten. Bob isn't jealous; he's being careful. That doesn't change anything though. Training has been Wilson's life these last few months. He's not really sure why martial arts has caught him up so much. He has always been interested; however, recently he's been obsessed.
You boys want to do 1 on 3?
he asks.
There are grins all round. Looks like this was what they wanted.
Sure.
Ed is a large built man. That's not saying he's well-built, more on the chubby side, but that works for him. In the entire gym the man is the best grappler. His skill on the mat is near legendary in most circles. Wilson watches as he circles left in perfect timing with Thomas, who is his regular sparing partner. Where Ed's main food of choice is a steak hamburger with extra fries, Tom's choices run more towards salad and vegetables. He's lean to the point of having his muscles look nearly painted on; however, his speed is unbelievable. No one's fists are faster than his. Even Bob, who is the lean type, hasn't been able to match a jab from this man.
Joey comes in first. His bandanna keeps the long links of his hair out of his eyes as he surges forward with a firm right. Wilson knocks it aside without much need for work and pops his other hand up under the elbow, knocking the limb upwards and coming over and across with his elbow in a wide movement that requires him to nearly step right behind the other man. Of course, it is blocked by a quickly raised hand as Wilson clears his opponent, putting the other two behind their comrade in this little game of school yard honor.
Coming on the offensive, as is his preference, Wilson steps in with his left on Ed as he comes in. His fist comes around and down in a sharp movement. It is intercepted in both arms, which allows Thomas to jab Wilson in his unprotected side. They are going a lot harder on him than they usually do. He grunts as one firm shot connects with his kidney.
Keep it undercontrol,
he growls at the bean pole of a man.
What? Can't take a hit?
Tom retorts, skipping back and showing off.
Wilson gives