Page 20 of Deceit

“Are you even allowed to have these?”

Armageddon blinks both eyes simultaneously as he patiently waits as his owner trained him to do.

The dog is eerily responsive. After I learned some Russian commands—because leave it to Bishop to teach adoganother language—he immediately sits, stays, lays down. Half of them I know I’m not saying right, but he complies, so I go with it.

Diving my hand back into my McDonald’s bag, I pull out what Arm has been watching me enjoy, unlike my babbling on and on about things that shouldn’t be a conversation or even a landing thought. “I’m throwing you under the bus if you can’t have these.”

Handing one over, Arm nicely takes it between his teeth, then settles into his seat, laying on his front legs.

“Actually, fuck that, we’re going to have words. Who leaves a poor dog alone in the woods with no babysitter during a torture episode? I mean, he doesn’t even know if you’re alive.”

Yes, he does. You’ve only sent him six photos of Armageddon in a baseball hat, one wrapped in a blanket, another on a walk, two where you’re feeding him from your couch, and a beautifully composed selfie with Arm with my middle finger between us.

Dark brown eyes peer back up at me, not giving a shit about what I’m saying or that I feel any sort of way about the matter.

Just like his daddy.

Except I can’t shove the feeling down that something is up with him, and it’s not a three-week vacation that he decided not to tell anyone on B723 about.

Not only that but if he was on a mission, Kyson would be privy to it as well.

No, he’s up to something, and I can’t help or stop the jealousy and irritation that keeps showing up in my head.

Yeah, he’s a quiet douchebag but a responsible one.

Hell, it’s impressive how he’s the biggest asshole but yet the dude that keeps the rest of our squad in line. I mean, hell, the boys need it. When we’re not assassinating the bad guys because politicians don’t want to get their hands dirty, they’re making poor decisions and creating havoc.

We’re the unseen and unheard, the ones that don’t get the recognition of putting our lives at risk to save this country from terrorists and the likes of people who are out for their own paycheck for the sake of American security. However, the boys like the stakes, I can’t say I’m not guilty of it either, but they’re a bunch of idiots.

First, Marty wrongly kidnapped a woman he believed threw an attempt to kill his sister, Reagan.

Then you have Kyson, who is secretive but sweet who dodges shit, so he doesn’t have to come to terms with us thinking he’s doing something shady.

Mills, our clown, poor asshole, can’t catch a break with women, but he doesn’t seem to care either way.

And Blue…I hate the bitch.

MARTY: Where are you?

I clench my teeth together in an exaggerated grin and scoff. I’m not ratting myself out.

EMMY: Whatcha need?

MARTY: For you to answer my fucking question.

Mhm. I thought this becoming a father would’ve calmed his ass down; however, it’s done the exact opposite. Calling him a nervous wreck would be an understatement because Marty has a built-up notion in his head that he’s going to be a shit of a dad.

I believe he’ll be fucking amazing, but again, no one listens to me. I’d have a better conversation with a wall over these dudes with selective hearing. He is convinced his now wife and ex-kidnapped victim, Stormi, isn’t going to want to keep him around due to his broody and emotional past.

Transforming him into a walking and sneering disaster of nerves.

It’s been a ball—really.

I love watching him pace the floors and drive himself absolutely crazy while the boys do nothing but laugh, and I’m the one that has to settle his unstable ass down.

I think I’ve missed my calling as a psychiatrist.

EMMY: Shopping.

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