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Chapter Twenty-Five
Nick
While at war, I initially struggled with taking another man’s life. When the time came to act, doing so didn’t come as a decision I made, it was more of a reaction. An instinct to survive. Contrary to the belief of many, Soldiers, Sailors, and Marines during wartime didn’t kill without cause. In almost every circumstance when I was required to take a life, doing so was to protect myself or my fellow SEALs from being killed.
At no point did the value of another man’s life diminish, but the decision to kill became much less of a struggle. In the end I decided I had become insensitive and damaged.
A byproduct of war.
My decision to start the MC was done to rid my mind of the day-to-day demons that seemed to take possession of my soul after the war ended. It worked, but I was left void of the voices in my head that somehow provided justification for the atrocities of war. What remained was a soulless shell with the body and mind of an insensitive killer.
I pointed the barrel of the pistol at his head and sighed. “I struggled with this, you know. I told myself it wasn’t necessary, but it is.”
The muscles in his jaw went tight. “Do what you gotta do.”
It was the first time I’d seen him since our fight in the bar. No differently than Peyton, I regretted decisions that I had made, and wondered if I should have just killed him and Panda the day they came into our bar.
I could have even done something when they trespassed on our turf.
Had I acted on either of those occasions, Peyton’s life would have been as it was before. Filled with guilt, sorrow, and a tremendous amount of hatred, I stared back at him. In his eyes, I saw nothing. No regret, no sorrow, not even fear. I wanted to say so much. I had envisioned giving a long speech, telling him how murdering him was the final step in serving justice for the life he had chosen to live. For the pain that he caused so many others.
Instead, I simply pointed the pistol at his forehead and pulled the trigger.
He fell to the floor with a heavy thud. The carpet around him slowly darkened as the blood poured out of the cavity in his skull.
I felt no differently. I expected to be cured. Free of pain. To immediately believe that Peyton’s life would quickly transform back to normal.
But I wasn’t cured.
My heart still ached.
Filled with the belief that the only cure for what I was feeling would be the passage of time, I stepped over Whip’s body and walked away.
