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“Keep in touch, Owen. I don’t want to struggle to get hold of you again. That wasn’t cool.”
I hang my head low in mock agreement. “Yeah, sorry about that, boss. It won’t happen again.”
Respect.
That’s all these assholes want.
Respect, whether it’s real or not.
I know how to play the game.
“I will speak to you soon.” I smile as I back away from him. “With some good news.”
“Yeah, it better be. I can’t wait much longer, all right?”
Fuck, what the hell am I going to do? How can I handle this in the best way possible, keeping everyone happy and alive?
Impossible.
If Vinnie doesn’t get his money, we’re all dead.
The gunshots are unpleasant to listen to as well, as I’m trying to leave this hell hole.
My shoulders keep rolling up around my ears.
Fuck, why is it necessary to have a God damn shooting range in here?
I know they want to train up their men, but hearing the ruckus is a trigger…
My palms get sweaty.
All of a sudden, my heart is thundering so hard it feels like it might burst out of my rib cage at any given moment.
It doesn’t matter how hard I suck in air, I can’t seem to fill up my lungs.
I’m shuddering all over. It’s painful actually. I don’t like this feeling one bit.
Shit.
Not here, not now.
I don’t want the PTSD to affect menow.
Not at the Lucchese HQ…
I want to get out of here without anything dumb happening.
With my head on my shoulders.
The hardest thing about the memories from my time in the military is knowing that while I was on the battlefield, shielding myself from the never-ending bullets whizzing through the air, isthat while I was doing everything that I could to keep me and my platoon alive, my wife was dying.
Justine was in a car wreck, dying.
I was told that it was quick and that she didn’t suffer, but that’s not how I feel inside. Every time I close my eyes, she’s screaming and in agony. Crying out formewhile I’m a million miles away, unaware.
Struggling in my own way.
I try not to crumble, but it’s hard to remain upright.
