T W E N T Y

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"I want to know what the fuck that was and I want to know now" Mara says as we all enter the house and head to the living room

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"I want to know what the fuck that was and I want to know now" Mara says as we all enter the house and head to the living room. "And somebody get me a fucking sutcher kit."

She's pissed. And it's about to become everyone's problem.

As Mara is sitting on the couch stitching her own wound, Bryn's cell phone rings and a males voice is filtering through the air. Mara and Bryn are listening intently and nodding their heads before Bryn hangs up the phone. "Call Eziah" Mara orders. "Let him know what's happening and that we're going to need some more men to relocate to the states."

Bryn nods her head, and a minute later is on the phone, speaking in French at 100 miles a minute before hanging up the phone. Once Mara is completely stitched back up, we all move up to my office to start building a plan.

-----

Several hours later, its super late and we're not any closer to figuring this out than when were when we started. The bullet that Mara had traced came back inconclusive- there wasn't a name or company attached to the serial number, which has left us in a weird spot. As of right now- we have no other choice but to leave it alone, and hope that we can catch someone the next time it happens.

 As of right now- we have no other choice but to leave it alone, and hope that we can catch someone the next time it happens

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I think that every time you're shot, it adds a bit more character. Kinda like being bullied by your siblings.

I've lost track of how many times I've been shot, let alone how many times I've been shot AT. My shoulder hurts like a bitch, and its been a very long day of trying to figure out where we go from here.

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