Chapter 37

Quinn. That blowhard. That monumental ass of asses.

The owner, the legal owner, of everything I hold dear?

It can’t be. It just damn well can’t be.

If he’d stolen it, or if we had to give it, now, suddenly, for a new reason, that would be different.

But this is saying it was never rightfully ours.

Never…ours.

The shame overwhelmed him. That stupid, laughable man’s taunts, his accusatory bellows, still sounded in his ears.

How the hell did I miss this? What did I do wrong?

Shades of damn Afghanistan rose in his mind. When others under him, his platoon, had suffered. Clay and Barney and Crazy Janie, fell, with a thud, into his brain. He pushed it out forcefully.

This day, that had started out so promising, so bright and full of hope, crashed in around him.

The buzzing in his head started again. It was loud. Too loud.

“Hell with this," he spat. “I’ve got to get away. I’ve got to take Storm and go.”