CHAPTER 16

Dean and Mark made it outside to the upper part of the Hoover Dam. The two men panted and were out of breath. Mark bent over, his hands resting on his legs, and turned his head to the left.

"Any sign of him?"

"No," Dean replied. "I think he's taking his time with us."

Mark agreed. He stood upright and looked around him.

"Okay," Mark said. "I'm gonna be perfectly honest with you."

"Tell me."

"We are out in the open with nowhere to hide. Nothing to protect us with. We are being chased by a madman with a gun that wants to kill us."

"Nowhere to run. Nowhere to go."

"We're trapped."

"Like rats."

"So, basically, in this situation, what do we do?"

"I'm not sure. I have no plan as of now."

"Neither do I."

*BANG*

"AHH!"

"DEAN!"

A bullet hit Dean in the right arm and he fell to his knees. Mark knelt in front of him examining his injured arm.

"Dang..." Dean hissed through gritted teeth. "That stings."

Mark looked at Dean. "You just got shot in the arm and all you can say is 'that stings'?"

"You're looking at a guy who's wrestled under some extreme conditions before coming to the WWE. Pain doesn't bother me too much."

"Jon Moxley. Right."

"Besides, I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"Not for long," came a voice from the side.

Papa Good approached the duo, aiming the gun at them.

"Look at this. A lovely family reunion. The father, the stepfather, and the son. How marvelous. How wonderful. How heartbreaking knowing that the both of you are at the end of your lives right now. But the question is, who is going to get it first? Hmm."

Papa Good moved the gun back and forth from Dean to Mark.

"Decisions, decisions, decisions. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. Catch a tiger by the toe. Who shall it be?"

Papa Good smirked as he aimed the gun at Dean. "Looks like...we have a winner."

Papa Good kept his aim on Dean ready to fire.

"Actually...now that I think of it..."

Papa Good rapidly turned the gun on Mark and fired. The impact of the single gun shot to the chest knocked Mark onto his stomach.

"NOOOOOO!"

Dean rested on his knees beside Mark. He placed a hand on his stepfather's back. Dean shook him. Mark didn't move.

"No. No! NO! MARK! MARK!"

Dean shook him again. Still no movement. Dean began to weep.

"Get up. GET UP! GET UP!"

Papa Good lowered the gun to the ground, then pounced on Dean. He rolled to the right, bringing Dean with him. He had Dean on his back and his legs pressed against Dean's upper torso. His hands wrapped around Dean's throat.

"You know, I realized using a gun to kill you isn't going to work for me. I kinda like this approach better.

Dean struggled under the weight of Papa Good. He coughed and gagged as the grip around his neck grew tighter.

"You were both going to die tonight anyway. Just like Brock Lesnar and Paul Heyman. Just like the Usos and Roman Reigns, Just like Mark died. Just like I rid the world of them, I'm going to rid the world of you. Let's not forget your mother. Died in a car crash. Drunk driver that fled the scene. You're probably wondering how I knew all that. Who do you think was the supposed drunk driver that put an end to her life, Jonny-boy?"

Dean stopped struggling. He looked up at Papa Good.

"To be perfectly honest, I wasn't drunk that night. I knew what I was doing. All along."

Flashbacks came to Dean's mind of the funeral. Everyone that loved her was there. Dean, at 23, stood in front of the casket, Mark standing to his right.

Flashback over.

Dean's brought his right hand up, gripping Papa Good roughly by the throat. Papa Good released his grip and began to move off of Dean. Dean began to rise from the ground and stood, still clutching Papa Good's throat.

"Wait..." Papa Good strained. "Wait. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Dean shook his head back and forth, glaring menacingly. "It's too late to say sorry."

"No it's not. Please."

"Nope."

Dean released his grip on Papa Good, then balled up his right fist and struck him hard in the face, sending him to the cement walkway. Papa Good groaned as he made it to his hands and knees, wiping the blood from his nose.

"You hit me. I can't believe you hit me."

Dean took a couple steps back, then jogged forward and delivered a hardkick to Papa Good's ribs.

"That was for Renee."

He delivered another hard kick for good measure. "That was for Kaia and Michelle."

He delivered a third kick. "That was for Mark."

He grabbed the collar of Papa Good's shirt and pulled him to his feet. "And this...is for me."

He balled up both fists and decked him with a right-left haymaker. Papa Good landed hard on his back, groaning more at the pain. Dean lowered himself to a knee.

"And this...is for my mother."

Dean hit him over and over with lefts and rights to the face and to the body. He didn't care how bad his right arm hurt from the gun shot wound. He kept on swinging. Papa Good put his arms over his face, but that did not stop the blows from coming.

Dean had finally had enough and wanted to end it. He stood panting and rubbing at his sore knuckles from the many punches. Papa Good raised himself to a seated position, hands stretched out in front of him.

"No. No more, Jonathan. Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Dean walked over to where Papa Good sat the gun down and picked it up in his hands. He walked back over to where Papa Good sat and aimed.

"Wait. Wait wait wait wait wait wait! You don't have to do that!"

"What makes you think I don't?" Dean asked glarind down at Papa Good. He pulled back on the hammer.

"NO! No no no please!" Papa Good pleaded crying. "PLEASE! You don't know what you're doing! Do you know what happens if you shoot me?! Think about it!"

Dean's angry expression softened. What was he doing? Holding a gun in his hands intending to kill this man? He wasn't a killer. This wasn't him. He was a better man than that. He wasn't Papa Good. He couldn't take another life. Dean sighed as he released the hammer and lowered the gun. He took a few steps back and lowered the gun near Mark's body.