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He was full of determination, driven by it as he steered the rental car. His mind was completely focused on getting to the next destination, the town he knew the WWE would be traveling to for the next event.
He grinned maliciously as he thought of all of them. There was a lot of vengeance he needed to take, and he was determined to carry it out. Yes, they would pay - they would *all* pay. If it was the last thing he did, he would make absolute certain of it.
With a sick sense of glee, the man wondered if they'd yet heard the news of his escape. His guess was that they *had*, as he himself had seen the news channel in the location at which he'd been holed up in a motel room somewhere in North or South Carolina - he couldn't remember which. In fact, he'd gotten the hell *out* of that dump thereafter. Who knew how competent the idiot at the check-in desk was? He couldn't be sure if the man had been watching the news, or Bonanza, or whatever, on the broken down old 13-inch black and white TV he'd been watching in the tiny room - but then again, he hadn't been willing to take any chances.
He assumed that the WWE would no doubt be aware and alert of his escape. He scowled as he thought about his former company of employment. The only person there to have ever given him a fair shake had been the owner and chairman, Vince McMahon. While it was true that the older man had threatened him on a few occasions back when he'd hired him for one very special assignment three years earlier, they'd basically been on the same side - allies. But Vince was long gone from the WWE, thanks to the events from those three years past. He'd been tried and convicted of conspiracy of murder. He'd also been captured by the police in the midst of manhandling his own daughter... The little bitch princess, Stephanie...
Despite his bitterness toward the brunette, the man's face broke into a wide grin. He'd come close to having his way with her once. And once upon a time, he'd been captivated by Stephanie McMahon, so doing so would have been like a dream for him. He'd always imagined what it would feel like for him to get between those shapely thighs of hers, to impale her on his powerful shaft... To make her scream like no one had ever been able to make her scream before.
He had to get hold of himself. He was growing hard just thinking about the troublesome bitch. Stephanie and Amy Dumas - actually, now Copeland - were the two of the four women he had targeted whom he'd never gotten the pleasure of experiencing. However, if all went well, and according to *his* plans, he would get to savor both of them. He didn't give a rat's ass that they had Kurt Angle and Adam Copeland, respectively, there to protect them. He could easily take care of them.
A deep frown dominated his face as he thought of Copeland. The tall blond man had been the biggest thorn in his side, but at the same time, he'd proven to be a formidable enemy. Hell, Copeland was the reason he could never physically wrestle again, even if he *hadn't* been sent to prison. The damn bastard had shot him in the left thigh, tearing his quadricep muscle to shreds. Despite the three years since past, the organ had never fully returned to normal. In fact, he had a slight yet permanent limp because of the injury.
As he continued to drive, some ideas began to shape in the maniac's mind. He knew
exactly what he wanted to do. And his mind was focused on accomplishing it.