A/N: Hi, all. Thanks for checking out the previous chappie, and for leaving me some feedback. It is most appreciated. This instalment has a fair amount of violence and blood. This one is particularly dark and Rick-centric. You have been warned. Enjoy!

Rick's POV

Five years is a long time. Five years of hate and screaming for vengeance. I remembered that Blake was snide, but I didn't realize he was this stupid. He must have known that I would find out that he had returned; that I would find him. His eyes flitter open; the dim light of the room seems to assault them. I wait a moment, just until he notices me. Until it registers that he is tied to a chair against his will. He squints in my direction, and then glances around the room.

"I don't know why you showed your face back around these parts," I say, as I sit on the chair in front of him. Blood is still trickling from his temple where I had struck him with the butt of the pistol back at his home. He seems disoriented at first, but when he finally recognizes me, the one who has ambushed and captured him, he smiles. It makes my anger rise. I swallow hard and hold his gaze.

"I didn't expect to see you this soon, Grimes," he says.

"Likewise," I offer.

"Nice set-up you've got here," he says. "I'm guessin' we're out in the sticks where no one can find, or hear me? Probably a cute little cabin your family owns."

"I ain't here to talk real estate with you," I say.

"Well, what are we here for?" he asks.

"You know why," I say, as I stand up and step close; he nods his head.

"Yeah," he replies. "Always knew that would come back to bite me in my ass."

"Then why'd you come back?" I ask, taking the hunting knife from the back of my jeans.

"Because I got another chance," he says flatly.

"What does that mean?"

"Come on, Grimes," he says with a grin. "I got a chance to be reborn; you of all people should know what that means."

…..

5 years ago

"So, all of this is yours," Mr. Wheeldon said as he pointed to a sum on the bottom of a piece of paper.

"From the Farm?" I asked. I knew we did well with the legitimate side of the family business, but I had never seen the figures. It was impressive, and it was now all mine. I never wanted to take over in any capacity from my Daddy, but now his wealth would help me with my plan: To exact revenge.

"That's correct," Wheeldon replied.

"What about the other money?" I queried, leaning my elbows on my father's desk in his study.

"The other money?" he asked.

I sighed loudly then leaned back in the seat, before saying, "The money from his gun racket."

"Right," said Wheeldon. "I wasn't sure what you wanted to do with it. If you wanted to see the books."

"I do want to see them," I said evenly. He nodded his head and then got up from his seat. He made his way to the safe that was hidden behind a painting in my father's office. He keyed in a code, and then retrieved a ledger. He brought it back to me and placed it down on the desk.

"We haven't upgraded to anything electronic," he said in way of explanation, before opening up the book and flicking through a few pages. "It's all accounted for here, but comes under a grain and feed supply company."

"As a cover?"

"Yes, son," he answered. "As a cover for what your daddy really sells."

"Guns," I said to no one in particular.

"Right you are," Wheeldon confirmed. "If you look here, you'll see how much you have access to."

My eyes scanned the handwritten accounts. There are meticulous entries that Wheeldon has personally made for years for my father's illegal business. When I reached the bottom of the page, I saw the sum of my father's dealings. My eyes grew wide for a brief moment, before I glanced back at the trusted accountant.

"How much of that has he taken?" I asked. "And how much has he left for me?"

"He took half of his entire earnings, plus what was in his offshore accounts," Wheeldon explained. "And the rest, around twenty-three million, goes to you."

I nod my head and say, "And I have access to these funds right now?"

"Yes," he replied, before sliding another document towards me. "As soon as you sign your name on the dotted line."

I take up a pen, and then ask, "Where?"

He points to where my signature should go to make the transaction official. With one afternoon of meetings, I had my father's house; his farm; and now his fortune. Everything I needed to operate in the twilight underbelly of the criminal world. Everything I needed for revenge.

…..

"A second chance?" I ask of Blake. "You came back to get a second chance?"

"That, and to bring your old man down," he offers.

"What does my old man have to do with your second chance?" I query. "He's of no consequence to you, now. He's gone."

"Not for long," he retorts. "The Feds are working to bring him back."

So, they're extraditing my father, and Blake wants to speak up to cover his ass? As the kids say: What a plot twist! It'd almost be laughable if I wasn't so filled with hate and rage. I don't know whether or not I should believe him. Now that I have him seated in front of me, bound and bleeding, he seems so small. In my bloodstained daydreams, he appeared larger than life; more significant than death. The hate I feel for him was, for the longest time, all consuming. Now, looking at him, with his cracked skull, and broken body, he is nothing. He is small. He is someone who, through greed, did what he had done to hurt me; and now, I have the upper hand. I am going to make him hurt.

"And your little deal with them is gonna help, uh?" I ask with a laugh.

"Guess the deal is off now that you've got hold of me," he muses.

"You got that right," I say.

"Ya know, Grimes," he starts. "You think I'm bad guy in all o' this…"

"You did kill my family…"

"I killed your brother," he says with a mocking smile. "But you'd be stupid to think I did it without permission."

In all of the shit he has been spilling, this catches my interest, causing me to ask, "What?"

"Come on," he smiles. "You think an up-and-coming drug dealer like me would go after a Dixie Mafia boss' son without being given the go ahead? Your brother's death was a hit. The whole thing. Your daddy paid me to kill your junkie brother, and you're too fuckin' stupid to realize it."

…..

Michonne's POV

I thought I'd hear screams by now. It's been almost thirty minutes, and Rick and Blake are still locked inside of the cabin, while I am left sitting the front of the van waiting. Although I wanted to stay in there with him while he interrogated Blake, I am kind of happy that Rick insisted I leave them alone. I have been a witness to his rage before; his brutality. And even though the beast inside of him leaves me a quivering, aroused mess, this time, it is best that I leave him to his own devices. This is something that he has to do on his own. I will be there for him when it is done. I will be there to offer him some light in amidst the darkness.

…..

Rick's POV

"You lying piece of fucking shit," I say quietly, even though my words are laced with venom.

"I'm not lying," Blake says, before he spits the blood from his mouth. I land another punch to his face, al

"Why should I believe anything you say?" I ask. "You're just some lowlife sadistic fuck who is trying to worm his way out of dyin'."

"Why would I lie to you now?" says Blake. "You're gonna kill me here today. Self-preservation doesn't have shit to do with it. You're going to kill me. I know that. Nothin' I say can change that. I might as well tell you the truth."

"Why?" I ask, shaken slightly by what he has told me; still unsure of if I believe him.

"I'm tellin' you this now," he admits, with the hint of a smile on his cracked, bloody lips. "Because I am a sadistic fuck. I am telling you this truth now because I want to hurt you just this one last time."

Without giving his motivations another thought, I step closer to him and grab him by his throat with one hand; I ready the knife with my other. He sputters, chokes, and tries his hardest to fight for his breath all while I tighten my grip on his neck and hold his stare. In spite of his tough-talk and nonchalance about his who ordeal, I see it there lurching in the back of his glazed over eyes: It is fear. He may have come to terms with his impending death, but it doesn't mean he isn't afraid. I see it, and it makes the pounding in my head dissipate.

My face offers no readable expression; it is impassive and empty. I release my grip on his throat and shift it to his hair. Taking hold, I pull his head to the side and expose his neck. He coughs and swallows hard, closing his eyes.

"Look at me," I command, as I place the cold blade against his neck. "Now."

He does as he is told, and I stare into the grey of his eyes. When the knife pierces his skin, he does not cry out. By the time I rip it across his throat, he is unable to scream. Blood spurts from the wound and covers my face and clothing. I watch as his body jerks unceremoniously and the life drains from him. I let go of his hair, and his head falls to the side. Before I grab the bedlinen to cover his corpse, I spit on his remains.

…..

Michonne's POV

I am startled when Rick taps his knuckles on the window. I turn quickly to meet his gaze. He is covered in blood; his eyes are wild and he looks slightly unhinged. Nevertheless, his stare is mostly cold; the type of cold that sends a quiver snaking up and down my spine. I roll the window down and wait for him to speak.

"Grab the bag," he instructs, referring to the change of clothes that his people sent when they exchanged vehicles. "I need to get cleaned up, and then we can go."

I pick up the duffle, and then climb out of the van.

"Michonne," he says softly in protest.

"It's fine," I say. "I want to help you."

He nods his head and then takes the bag from me; I follow him inside of the cabin. The same bedsheets we brought from Blake's home are now covering his lifeless body. Rick doesn't look at it as we pass. His clean-up crew is already on their way; there is nothing else he needs to do other than wash this man's blood away.

We make our way silently to the bathroom. He places the duffle bag down on the modest vanity, and then looks at himself in the mirror. I stand behind him and watch; our eyes lock for a moment, and then he turns to face me. I step forward and begin to unbutton his shirt. He keeps his eyes on mine the whole time. The redness of the blood covering his face is a stark contrast to the cobalt blue of his steely irises.

I undo the last button, and then place my hands to his shoulders. Slowly, I draw the shirt from his body and let it fall to the floor. His chest rises and falls steadily. I run my hands down his firm body; his skin is hot under my touch. I come to a rest at his belt buckle, and then unclasp it. I can see his erection straining against his jeans. I feel that familiar throbbing between my thighs. His hands cover mine and stop me.

"Turn the shower on and get undressed," he says, and I oblige.

I run my fingers under the stream of cold water, and then begin to disrobe. When I turn around to face Rick, he is as naked as I am. I search his form; my gaze slinking from his bloodied face to his large erection. He places his hands to my hips and walks me backward until we are under the shower. We stare intensely at one another before I begin to wash the blood from his face. It runs down his body, and slips away down the drain.

Soon thereafter, all evidence is washed away, but I continue to stroke his face. I can see the conflict still swirling away inside of him. It seems that killing Blake has not brought him much peace. I do not query him, I do not speak, instead I keep caressing his skin. I draw him closer and palm away the tension in his muscles. I press my forehead to his while running my hands up and down his arms.

The water pours over us as I touch him. It is cleansing. It is cathartic. Our lips meet in a gentle kiss. Rick's hands soon find my ass, as he lifts me from the floor, and presses my back to the wall. I wrap my legs around his waist as he inches his cock inside of me. He bites, sucks, and kisses my neck while thrusting his hardness into my eager pussy again and yet again. A loud moan escapes his lips before he offers me an earnest and grateful, "Thank you."