Turner
Two months later…
“Emotional triggers,” Bradford breathes out, standing above me as I sit on the shitty leather couch, staring up at him. “Let’s see what we can do with these.” He places cards down on the beat-up coffee table in front of me.
“You almost assaulted some guy at the mall yesterday,” Bradford cuts me off, his eyes icy beneath his black cowboy hat. “You fucked up, Martin.”
“He was in my space, and I was asserting my needs,” I reason, folding my arms across my chest. “You know, part of that whole defense mechanism bullshit we learned about last week. That’s a healthy coping mechanism, according to your cute little cards.
I even laughed afterwards. It’s part of not taking life too seriously and all that. ”
Bradford doesn’t react, his expression unmoving. “Assault and battery are not an assertion of needs. You communicate with your mouth, not your fist.” He taps the deck of cards. “Quit acting like a fucking toddler. Get control of your emotions.”
I don’t say anything as Bradford arranges the cards on the table, and I let my mind run back to the cabin, before I asked for help—before I ever had to be talked to like a fucking five-year-old having a tantrum. Back when I still had her.
Fuck, I miss you, Em.
“Pick a people trigger, a place trigger, and a situation trigger. Then pair it with the emotion it makes you feel,” Bradford’s harsh tone cuts into my daydreaming. He steps back as I flip through the stupid fucking cards, reading them each one by one. He gives me a few minutes to finish.
This is so fucking stupid.
“Okay, Martin, which three did you select?” He asks me, looking nearly as bored as I am. “State the trigger, acknowledging it applies to you using ‘I’ statements, then state the type of trigger it is, and the emotion you would pair with it.”
I sigh out an irritated breath, holding out the first card. “I don’t like being shown disapproval or criticism,” I glare up at him. “Criticism is a situation trigger. It makes me feel shame, as if I can’t handle something.” Like going to the mall.
“Uh huh,” Bradford smirks at me. “Keep going.”
I toss that card down and pick up the next. “I don’t like shopping malls. This is a place trigger. They make me feel…” I pause, and then shake my head as my chest tightens. “They make me feel fear.”
“Great realization,” Bradford deadpans. “Next.”
“I don’t like any people. That’s a people trigger.” I shrug, leaning back against the couch. “I pair this one with anger.”
Bradford nods, letting out some sort of incoherent grunt.
My jaw clenches. “You know what?”
“What?” Bradford scoops up the cards.
“I definitely won’t be punching anyone in the face at the mall now. These cards just saved my life. Thanks. Really fixes everything. You’re a miracle worker.”
Bradford chuckles. “Here’s a question for you. You’ve got the target in the crosshairs. What do you do before you squeeze the trigger at the range?”
I make a face at him, already knowing we’re going somewhere deep. “I wait until I’m halfway through an exhale, then increase my pressure on the trigger just a little.”
Bradford closes the box of cards. “Why?”
“Because my aim will be steadier, I’ll shoot truer.”
“Hmm,” Bradford tosses the deck of cards back down. “And what happens if your aim isn’t steady?”
“I might miss my target,” I mutter, fighting the urge to roll my eyes.
“Right, and your purpose—your mission—is to hit the target. That’s correct?”
“Yeah, okay, Ghandi.”
He ignores my jabs. “But it’s satisfying? When you hit your target?”
My heart jumps at the thought. “Yeah, it feels really good.”
“Exactly,” Bradford shifts onto the heels of his cowboy boots.
“So, in a therapy session, you have a purpose to get better. If something I say is critical, you’re going to feel shame.
But you have a mission to accomplish, and if you pull that trigger while you’re still feeling the shame that criticism causes, it’s the same as pulling your rifle’s trigger on an inhale.
You’re gonna miss the target of getting better because you fired too soon.
Emotional triggers are just like your rifle at the range.
You should wait to fire until the emotion has passed. ”
“And if it doesn’t pass?”
“It will pass if you make the conscious decision to clear your mind, just like you do on the range. Focus on the mission, not the emotion. So,” he chuckles.
“Maybe the next time you’re at the mall, focus on the mission of getting what you need and leaving without causing any bodily harm. Let the anger pass.”
“Or maybe avoid malls,” I reason.
“Or maybe consider exposure therapy,” Bradford retorts with another one of our great fucking topics. “Slowly and safely—”
“I’ll get over it,” I cut him off.
“If you’re ever going to be good enough for Em, you’ve got to win the war with the demons in your mind, Martin. Otherwise, you’ll be a victim of yourself.”
I fall silent to that one, the darkness in my head threatening to sneak back in.
Bradford opens his mouth to say something more to me, but then stops, his phone buzzing in his pocket. “Hang on a second.” He gives me his index finger, and then steps out of the living room to talk on the phone.
As he moves away, I let my mind wander, and it runs right back to the taste of Em on my lips. I’ve never wanted anyone or anything so bad. And that’s reason I know I’ll deal with all this bullshit therapy if it means I can be better for her. Safe for her.
It’s just so goddamn hard.
“All right,” Bradford steps back into my earshot. “It looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us. I have a client that’s been getting his operations all fucked up at some community college because of some unwanted gang activity. He wants us to take them out cleanly, without anyone noticing.”
I perk up at the challenge. “At a college? What kind of operations are happening at a college?”
Bradford ignores me, as per usual. “There are three targets. They loiter in a parking garage off campus every night. It should be easy, and since you’ve been working so hard,” he pauses, as if he’s not sure he actually believes his own words, “I’m one man short tonight due to a situation.
So, I think I’ll let you work out a few of those kinks you still have. Consider it a night to let loose.”
“Fuck yeah,” I grin.
He glares at me in a way that brings back my military days, and instantly eats my smile. “We need to get moving.”
Most of the snow has melted, but it’s still cold as I sit in my truck. I glance down at my hands covered in a pair of gloves.
I could fire with them on.
But tonight, I actually get to have my rifle back in my hands. And there’s only one thing I like being intimate with, other than Em.
The goddamn trigger.
I like the way the grain of the steel feels against my skin, and the way it gives me something to focus on in the middle of an operation. I guess that’s fucking mindfulness.
Maybe all this hypothetical, philosophical trigger talk has gotten to me. Maybe I should tell Bradford in our next counseling session. Inflate his ego.
Or maybe not.
All of the sudden I’m completely rattled as Bradford’s voice comes over my in-ears. I immediately fuck with the volume, trying to lower the fuzz of the static reverberating in my head.
Shit, this is way too loud.
“Okay, Trigger, time to get those hands warmed up and that rifle ready,” he booms. “We have a positive ID on our targets. All three of them are together as planned. It looks like tonight is going to be an easy one. They seem to be headed towards the east parking lot, labeled F as in Foxtrot. You should have a clear view from the second tier in C as in Charlie parking garage.”
“Got it.” I glance over to the parking garage sign in front of me. “I’m in Charlie for cover currently. Will head to the second tier.”
I gun the engine of my truck, accelerating up from the ground level to the second story. I have no idea what cameras might be in place or who might be paying attention to me. This whole thing feels dicey.
But fuck, does it feed the adrenaline pulsing through my veins.
The parking garage is dark, and other than a few vehicles, it’s dead. I back my truck up, facing the parking lot. I roll my shoulders, screw the silencer onto my rifle, and then climb out of the driver’s seat.
“Eyes say they’ve landed,” Bradford comes over the earpiece again. “Take care of it and then I’ll head over for clean-up. Don’t fuck this up. They’ll be loading up in a black Tahoe parked there.”
“Got it.”
I grab the quilt I keep in my truck and unfold it once, placing it over the concrete rail of the parking garage. Could someone see me up here? This is public. Why is campus so dead? How does Bradford get this kind of clearance?
I inhale and exhale slowly, steadying my heart rate as I ready myself. I need to focus. I need to calm down.
My mind drifts to the many times I would watch Em sleep when she was at the cabin. Somehow, even in the cold night, I can’t stop thinking of the way her chest would rise and fall so steadily, despite the fucking hell I was putting her through.
I rack a round in the chamber, and suddenly, the thoughts of Emersyn fade. Gunner whines from the passenger seat, and I clear my throat, my heart palpitating in my chest.
Keep it together, Martin. Remember the mission.
I steady my rifle, whispering to her as if she can hear me. “Let’s do this.”
After a few dull minutes, three men come walking out of a building, heading toward a black Tahoe in the parking lot. I watch through my scope, and then freeze.
Wait a minute.
“Uh,” I take a moment to hit my mic, my ungloved finger now cold. “Bradford, we have a problem. There’s a girl walking with them.”
“Is she with them? Or just a passerby?”
“Hard to tell,” I watch the blonde-headed woman through my scope, trying to gauge the way she’s interacting with the three men. She seems distant.
Until she’s not.
Oh fuck. My heart jumps as one of the men reaches for her backpack. Maybe he’s going to carry it for her?
I watch as the guy rips it away from her, and she falls, her ass hitting the concrete so hard even I wince. “I think they’re not friendly. He’s taking the bag by force.”
“Hold your fire,” Bradford commands. “Let’s see how it plays out.”
I don’t say anything as I watch the girl stand to her feet, and then make a beeline for a sedan parked near the Tahoe. The expressions on the three men come into focus, and they appear amused. The one who has her backpack takes off after her.
And somehow, I doubt he’s going to just return it.
The guy tosses the bag at the woman’s feet, and then reaches for her ass. She slaps his hand away, but the guy keeps encroaching, now pinning her against the car.
“Fuck, let’s just do this another night,” Bradford mutters. “I don’t have time for this bullshit. I don’t know who that girl is.”
“Okay, well—”
I’m cut off by a blood curdling scream, the woman’s voice so piercing that it echoes through the stillness of the night. Everything in my body goes rigid. I peer through the scope.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“His hands are on her throat,” I say, my voice strained. I feel my own throat constrict as I watch the violence play out, and an entirely new sort of rage builds in my chest.
I can’t stand the sight of this.
And the closer I look, the more I picture someone I love—someone like Em—as the victim of the asshole’s hands. My ears start to ring, as I remember the fear in Emersyn’s eyes. When she looked at me.
Eliminate the threat.
“Oh shit,” Bradford grumbles, his calmness almost eerie. “Maybe I can drive by and they’ll let her go. Either way, it’s time to call it a nigh—”
My first round cuts Bradford off, slicing through the throat of one of the other two men standing ten feet away from the sedan. My breath slows as I keep working through it, firing on the exhale as I take out the other man.
And then it hits me.
Bradford’s saying something?
“Turner! What the fuck?” He’s literally screaming in my ear. “There’s a witness! What the hell are you doing?”
“Roger…” I fight to come back to my senses, but my heart is pounding. “Um… I had a clear shot…”
“What the fuck! You didn’t!”
I peer back through the scope, the guy at the sedan now holding a knife to the woman’s throat, looking around.
Does he really think a knife to her throat is going to stop me?
“We can’t have any fucking witnesses, Turner,” Bradford’s level of distress is now evident. “This isn’t the time to play the goddamn hero!”
I breathe in. “Well, I’ll… I don’t know.” I peer into the scope, but as I do, there’s a black blur that obstructs it. “Passing vehicle a block over,” I mutter, waiting for it to clear.
But as soon as it passes, I’m met with a gruesome sight.
Oh fuck. The woman slumps to the ground, her neck gouged with the knife of the assailant. I was too slow. I was too fucking slow.
And for that?
I unload the whole clip into the blade-wielding asshole.
“Hey Bradford,” I press my mic on, letting out a chuckle. “I think for the situation trigger of killing assholes, I’ll pair it with relief.”
Bradford lets out a sigh. “Just get the fuck down here so we can clean this up. It’s going to be a long night.”