“It was an honor to work with you, Grinder,” I say, my honest words heavy. Then I pull the trigger, keeping my promise to make it quick.
The gunshot fills the room and echoes off the stainless-steel walls. Since the entire building is soundproof, the noise is only heard by Tats and me.
Blood splatters my face as I watch Grinder’s head snap back. Instead of his body flying backward or just slumping into a lifeless pile on the floor, he falls to his knees, remaining upright for a few seconds.
His falling to his knees—like a comrade who’s mortally wounded—flings me back to another time, to another horrendous day where I watched my Marine squad fall one by one after we were betrayed and ambushed. Len, the comrade who had fallen to her knees that day, had been run through the gut with a sword of all things after she watched the love of her life, my unit leader, Nile, die before her eyes. She hadn’t even tried to stop her attacker.
Len wasn’t officially part of our Marine unit; she was a CIA agent traveling with us when we were ambushed.
Somehow, I saved her that day; the extraction filled with more black, empty spots than actual memories.
That day was filled with so much death, so much blood, so much pain and loss, and is the main source of my PTSD.
Right now, I feel that noiseless, black calm. The oblivion. Like I’m settling in to sit at the bottom of the ocean. It’s the siren’s call—one that feels wildly desired and deceptively peaceful, but will only lead to your destruction.
After I was honorably discharged from the Marines and returned to my MC family, I’d experience dissociation episodes like this, but they’ve become fewer. But right now, even though my subconscious warns me what’s happening, I’m unable to resist.
Stay. Stay here just for a little while. It’s calm, and no one hurts.
But that’s not true, because if I’m trapped in a catatonic state, people hurt. I can’t abandon my closest friends and family—Ash, Bane, Digits, and Pix.
Still, the thought of them isn’t enough to pull me out of the dark depths of myself, where I continue to descend.
“Leeva,” a faint voice says.
No, you don’t deserve her, my mind resists.
“Leeva,” the voice says again, louder.
She doesn’t want you. She ran when she found out the truth. She’s pure, and you’re filth.
“Leeva!” the voice shouts, and my body shakes.
Suddenly, my mind reconnects with my body, and I’m pulled out of the trance-like state I fall into whenever I have a dissociative episode.
Tats is standing there, but it’s Ash who grips my shoulders and gives me another hard shake. He knows how to pull me back—by saying Leeva’s name.
Concern is etched over his face. “Brother? You back?”
I blink, clarity and presentness returning. “Yeah.” I drag a hand through my hair. “Sorry.”
His hands tighten. “No need to be sorry. I shouldn’t have let you do this.”
My eyes fall on Grinder’s body on the floor, his position hiding the grotesque exit wound in the back of his head.
I shake Ash off and take a step back. “It’s my responsibility as sergeant-at-arms.” I look at Tats. “How long was I under?”
“About twenty minutes. I couldn’t snap you out of it; that’s why I called Ash.”
Shit. Twenty minutes?
It didn’t feel like I was under that long. But that’s all part of the deception of the siren’s call and the oblivion.
Sighing, I step back, looking down at Grinder’s body. “I’ll help you, Tats.”
“I got this,” he insists.
“I’ll help him,” Ash adds, staring down at Grinder. “What a fucking waste.”
