chapter twenty-one.

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It's me

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It's me. I'm the problem.

Damn that. I shouldn't have said the most random shit in the most random time. Who even made this weird antibiotics that made you want to sleep all night, and all morning. Really? I was shot, just shot! It wasn't even close to my heart.

I even got to run for a few minutes before I passed out. 

I'm a strong man. 

I glanced at Alisha, her eyes boring into the wall. She's been lost in thought since she got inside my room, begging me quietly to shut the fuck up. Which I tried to give.

"How long has it been since I slept?" I asked, blinking while I looked at her.

She doesn't glance at me, or even acknowledge my voice. 

I clenched my jaw; men loves attention, and I'm surely not getting my daily dose of it these past few days. The clock ticked, while my patience was near to exploding.

"Twenty-eight minutes." she spoke with no passion or feeling.

I tried sitting up, my whole body trying to pull itself up. Alisha quickly walked beside my bed, her hand ready to take mine. 

"I can do it myself." I spoke gruffly.

She doesn't listen to me, her hand touched my arm softly, her touch making me shiver. The beeping sound making my head hurt. When I got to sit up, she glanced at it.

"You okay?" she asked.

I nodded, shifting myself. "Just got tired." 

That was a lie, she was so near I almost fucking got caught. When she straightened herself, hands behind her, she nodded.

"I'll call the Doctor." she spoke.

I grunted in response, rubbing my eyes with my hands slowly.

I could hear Alisha talking, then, she shut the door. 

"Phoebe will be here soon." 

When I found out that the New Yorkers were starting to hunt our city slowly, I had to go back as soon as possible, and as quietly as I can. Since they knew I was all the way up at Mexico, they had the advantage on me, and my men. From what I know, Roger had everything handled until he lost it.

I've always thought he'd make a good leader, but that was different.

And different meant bad. Especially for that big guy. He's the last person who wants things to be different. 

When I came back, everything was shit. I knew Roger tried, fuck, I asked too much from him, expected more than I knew he can handle. I mean, he told me that he can't do shit for a living, but still, Roger saved my life way back.

And now, I'm saving his.

I hope I am.

I met the New Yorkers, the lot of them. At first, we talked, and I knew something was wrong with them, I had my brothers behind me, so if shit happened, they'd be my back up. I didn't really like bringing others when it came to private discussions with different mobs or gangs. 

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