August 24th- Book One in the May 3rd series

Chapter 45- le quack.

Warnings ⚠: Child Abuse, Rape, Violence, Religion, Drug Use, Alcohol Use, Use of Slurs, Homophobia, Bullying, Mention of Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Actions, Gun Use

Damien's P.O.V.

-Sunday, October 31st-

Saturday was uneventful, other than talking to Josiah and attempting to calm him down, and wandering around the city.

Right.

I hope he's doing better than he was.

He sounded so scared.

He ended up falling asleep after a while, and once he was silent for about a half an hour, I hung up the call.

My parents return about an hour before we have to leave for the meeting.

My dad has put on a suit, and my mother a dress. I dress up, too, putting on my black dress shirt, and suit jacket, ditching a tie.

It's really hot to be in a suit, but I'll survive.

I put my holster on my belt and make sure I have my gun loaded.

I put my knife on the other side and my jacket conceals them well.

I leave my room once I'm done, and my mom nods to me.

"You have your weapons?" She asks.

"Yeah. What will this meeting be exactly?"

My dad, who is sitting on the couch slipping his shoes on explains, "It's just a routine for our new customers. Whenever we get a new big buyer such as this, we make sure to do a final, in person meeting to look over all of the first shipment details. After that we continue things over phone and email, as necessary. This is a pretty standard meeting it shouldn't take long. An hour at most."

I nod.

The only actual meeting I've been to is the one we had at home, and that was with our people.

From what I understand, we're finalizing an order.

Dad seems to make it out to be an easy thing.

So I take a deep breath and try to relax.

Focus on how relaxed he is.

He knows what he's doing.

I trust him.

Mom...is a loose cannon.

But I still trust her.

And I've been training at least twice a week since I was fourteen, and that's just the official training. That doesn't include the fact that as soon as I could walk they were training me as much as they could.

I'm a weapon.

I'm a threat.

I've got this.

Do what I was taught.

Be quiet and ready for anything.

We load into the car that picked us up from the plane.

The security team comes with us, and even though I have my weapon, this makes me feel better.

"You brought the kid?" The annoying asshole in the passenger seat asks them.

I roll my eyes, and before I can break his kneecaps, my dad laughs and says, "Gotta train him somehow."

He flashes the jaded man in the passenger seat a signature Cohen smile.

I know this look.