Page 119 of Gangsters and Guns


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Chapter Forty-Seven

RORY

Thanksgiving is tomorrow, which makes this a short work week, but since I was called in last Sunday, it feels like a fucking eternity. My head is spinning, and my thoughts are unable to keep up with the raging chaos whirling inside my mind.

Everything is a blur.

As I drive home after a long day of work, I don’t notice the scenery. I don’t even remember physically walking down to my car. But here I am, halfway home, with no idea how I got here.

My body is going through the daily motions as it should. I get up, take a shower, brush my teeth, and get ready. Thankfully, most of my decisions are made for me these days. I don’t have to pick out my clothes, decide how I’ll fix my hair, or what shade of eyeshadow to use, since the Dixens choose for me.

I don’t know if I love it or hate it, I’m too numb to actually feel.

This numbness is persistent and almost painful. After experiencing what I have over the past couple of weeks, I guess it’s to be expected. My fractured mind is struggling to hold itself together. More than once, I’ve considered losing myself to the drugs Alistair holds so dear or drinking myself into oblivion every night with a new bottle of wine, because that would be easier than having to weigh the massive decision I need to make.

The Dixens or Bronson?

How can I make this impossible choice?

Every gut instinct I have tells me the Dixens, though no angels, haven’t committed the murder Bronson believes they did. For one, the Dixens are too good at covering their tracks. If they did kill that man, they wouldn’t leave copious amounts of evidence behind. They’re rich and a little pompous at times, but they’re not stupid.

Why is Bronson so fucking convinced they’re guilty? I saw him looking at the pictures of the victim. His teeth were clenched, and there were veins popping out on his neck. He was so angry, it seemed personal.

Something doesn’t feel right to me.

Regardless of my gut feeling, however, I still have no proof either way, which leaves me stuck in purgatory. How much longer can I do this to myself though? It’s actually killing me. Each morning, Maddox summons me for coffee. My hands tremble around the cup and my heart races in my chest from being near him, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. Instead, I drop the cup on his desk and leave immediately.

How can I keep ignoring the way my hands get sweaty and my knees become weak every time Rogan’s arm brushes against mine as we pass each other in the hall? Or how flushed I feel when I hear him call me ‘Ms. O’Brien’?

And Alistair… My poor, broken man has been absent from work all fucking week. Knowing he struggles with drugs and alcohol abuse, I worry about him. I’ve had a few Zoom calls with him, discussing business related issues, and I can’t help but notice he doesn’t look well.

His face has been sweaty and flushed, his hair unkempt. I’ve noticed a wobble in his voice and a shakiness to his hands. What’s going on with him?

I can’t keep avoiding them, and try as I might, my body responds to them, even if my brain isn’t willing. I haven’t looked in their eyes because I’m concerned about what they’ll see in mine.

Terror?

Fear?

Lust?

Deceit?

Will they see the lie in my eyes, the guilt that’s breaking me apart? If they do, will they force me to reveal the truth? Maddox, who’s so intense, would never allow me to keep this secret that’s threatening to drown me. Then there’s Rogan, who refuses to leave any stone uncovered when it comes to my life. It’s like a compulsion for him. He’ll know if I’m lying, just like he intuitively knows if I’m happy, sad, or fucking hangry after a long day at work.

But it’s Alistair I’m most worried about. He barely seems to be clinging to reality, and if I unleash this deception on him, I don’t think he’ll be able to handle it.

The thing is, I don’t want to lie to them. I want to reveal my truths, but with the threat of jail time looming above me, I just fucking can’t.

I’m hiding from them, I’m hiding from Bronson, and I’m hiding from myself. Foolishly, I hope that if I ignore reality, it will just go away. But the truth is just compounding, like a heavy weight growing in my chest, which makes every step I take difficult. I feel like I’m trudging through a thick muck that sucks me farther down with each step I take, though I’m desperate to climb out of it.

Nothing matters anymore.

Food has no taste, coffee brings me no joy.

Even Mischief’s kisses don’t hold the happiness they once did.

I should be living on top of the world right now. I live in the best apartment in the city. I drive the fanciest car. I have all the clothes, bags, and shoes a girl could ever want and three powerful men seducing me.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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