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Adam tore at his hair, the rage surging through him greater than perhaps any he'd ever known.

"*Heyman* is behind all of this?!" he shouted. It was a miracle he hadn't disturbed and awakened Amy, but the redhead was in a deep slumber after having taken a sleeping pill earlier in the night.

"I believe so," Trish said firmly. It had taken awhile, but ever since she and Jeff had come here to tell Adam what they now suspected, she'd stopped shaking. "I really believe he's responsible."

"And the guy who grabbed Amy was his nephew? *Fuck*!"

"Yeah," Jeff said somberly. "Sorry, man."

"Oh, don't be," the tall blond man snapped. "I'm glad you both came here to tell me this. And the only one who's gonna be 'sorry' is that fat son of a bitch Heyman." He clenched his hands into fists as he envisioned getting them on Paul Heyman. He would wring the bastard's neck, punch his lights out, kick the shit out of him... and a whole lot more. Paul Heyman's nephew had kidnapped and raped Amy... There was no way Paul couldn't have known. In fact, he must have even *allowed* John Heyman to prey on the young woman. And the asshole was certainly the one who'd been tormenting Amy over the past few months, leaving things that would cause flashbacks. Adam recalled the ski mask on Amy's birthday, the empty plate and fork in his locker room. And the tape recorder he'd found under their bed at one of the hotels - this John bastard had been Paul's nephew. There could have been a close proximity between the timber of their voices. Heyman could have easily impersonated his own flesh and blood's voice.

"You two stay here with Amy," the blond man suddenly said. He spun on his heel and bent over to rummage quickly through his suitcase, instantly coming up with the offending tape recorder. The urge to go after Paul Heyman right *now* hit him, and hard.

"Adam, what are you-"

Jeff silenced Trish with a touch of the hand. The little blonde cast him a look of concern as their friend then fled from the hotel room.

Trish exchanged horrified glances with Jeff. She didn't have to verbalize what she was thinking as the young man perfectly read her mind.

"Paul Heyman is a dead man."

*

He raced down the hotel stairway, all he saw being red. He wanted - no, *needed* - to get his hand on that greasy slimeball.

Adam's eyes were wide and wild as he strode down the hall on the next floor. He'd seen the bastard enter his hotel room at some point earlier in the night. He knew which room Heyman was in.

The tall, furious blond man finally reached the room for which he was searching. He inhaled a breath sharply, pacing himself. If he gave into his instincts and pounded on the door violently, he would get nowhere. Instead, he kept calm as he raised a hand and knocked.

That did the trick. In a minute, the door opened, and that was when Adam made his move. Letting out a growl, the tape recorder falling to the carpeted floor, he lunged at Heyman. He grabbed the fat man and hurled him to the floor, and, in a flash, the blond man was on the bastard, pummeling him with his fists.

"So, it was your worm food nephew, was it?!" Adam shouted, raising the man up to his feet. "He's the one?! And *you're* the one who's been fucking with her mind all these few months?!" He drove a fist into Heyman's portly stomach.