Free Breaking Bedrock (Book Two) by Britney King Page B

although, sometimes it certainly felt that way. He was being tracked via
his ankle monitor to ensure he didn’t disobey the restraining order that little
bitch had put in place.
    It had been easy for someone as brilliant as he was to get around
under the radar. Even if he weren’t as smart as he was, there were fucking
devices you could find to intercept the GPS tracking device tethered to his
ankle simply by typing it into Google for goodness’ sake. People were so
stupid! His excellent tracking skills—he had been a boy scout after all—had
gotten him closer and closer to the little whore. He was smart about it too. He
was an outlier. He switched out vehicles and he wore disguises. Mostly, he made
sure to blend in. That was the real trick. The joke of a security team Hartman
had surrounding her hadn’t seen him, but that goddamned kid of hers had somehow
managed to foil it all. Now, thanks to the little bastard, his attorneys were
breathing down his neck, and the police had questioned him on his whereabouts.
But he was no dummy. He knew they couldn’t put anything on him. Scott Hammons
was a master at all things. He would show them soon enough.
    For starters, he’d understood the art of deflection. He had left
the house that day to see his psychotherapist. The damned attorneys insisted on
him seeing this idiot, said they’d needed his testimony in court that Scott was
of sound mind and body. Bloody fucking attorneys! Of course he was in his right
mind. He was a goddamned Rhodes Scholar, and no one, especially not
bloodsuckers like William Hartman or trashy whores like Addison Greyer, could
take that away from him.
    William Hartman had humiliated him in front of everyone: the
public and even his own family. He’d befriended Scott under the guise of
helping him, only to steal his business out from under him. He’d made a fool
out of him. So, yeah, maybe this idiot therapist couldn’t understand why he was
so angry. Scott knew he had every right. It was his duty to get revenge. Of
course, he wouldn’t be telling the dummy therapist or idiot attorneys or even
that dingbat Penny Greyer any of this; it was his little secret.
    Oh, and one other thing he wouldn’t be sharing . . . The voices
were back. Well, his wife used to call them the voices, but Scott Hammons had
the kind of brilliance to know that it was really God and his angels instructing
him to do their will.
    Furthermore, he hoped all of this was making sense in the mind of
the readers, those who would be lucky enough to read his journals. Admittedly,
his thoughts had been a bit jumbled recently. He was so busy plotting and
planning that there was little time for anything else, even sleep. Also, he
couldn’t take the meds the doc had prescribed anymore because, with all of this
electronic medical record bullshit, it was too easy for them to see that he was
on them again. And he really didn’t need the meds anyways. He just took them to
appease the doctors and to win his family back. His angels always informed him
in all the right ways, and those meds were poison. Plus, he wasn’t crazy
anyhow.
    If he were crazy, he wouldn’t have the sense to see the visions.
Only the chosen ones had those powers. His latest vision had thrown him off a
bit though because he had been plotting and planning how to get back at all of
the wrongdoers, starting with Hartman and his whore. Scott stepped back,
admiring his handiwork, which was beautifully displayed before him. He had
collected dozens upon dozens of photographs of his intended targets, and each
day, he paid careful attention to how they were all arranged on the wall. He
liked to arrange and rearrange them because God had informed him that this was
his riddle to solve.
    Of course, he’d taken all of the pictures while he was waiting
and watching, save for a few newspaper clippings about the “incident” and the
upcoming trial. He also had everything meticulously written down in his
journal. His grand plan had