Everything leading to now was child’s play. This is the moment the war begins. Carlos, Matteo, Alessio, and myself will fan around the corner, picking motherfuckers off quickly and quietly. Not knowing the layout of the room is dangerous, but we’ll work in tandem like a fucking well-oiled machine.
I grip my gun tightly in my right hand, holding up my left with a closed fist. I eye each man as I lift one finger, followed quickly by another. As the third finger stands tall, we move as a singular unit, each person’s attention focused on a different area of the room.
I’m in first and scan the room quickly, my focus zeroing to the left. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Four bullets leave my gun, and four fucking bodies thud to the concrete in the bay area of an old auto shop. Luckily for us, there are two rusted out, seventy-something model cars taking up the center of the room. As I run for cover, I fire two more shots. Both men fall, but one is gripping his leg and reaching for his weapon as I hunker down near the rear tire. Peering beneath the ass end, I send another bullet into his eye socket.
Gunfire erupts around me, but I stay intent on my mission: get to the door on the other side of the room and kill every motherfucker who crosses my path along the way. The sound of fast-moving footsteps meets my ears just as a pair of boots rounds the corner. Reacting swiftly, I jump up and shove my palm into his nose, sending him reeling backward. Another fucker takes aim, and instead of ducking for cover, I grab the stunned idiot and use him as a shield, his body jerking with each bullet he takes in my place. One precise shot sends the other man’s brain splattering against the wall behind him, and I toss the dead body to the floor as I advance my position to hunker behind the second car.
A quick look underneath tells me there are five motherfuckers using the front bumper for cover as they exchange rapid gunfire with my men. I move to the rear corner and take aim, dropping the closest one like a sack of potatoes. That draws attention, though, and another sets his sights on me. I have no choice but to retreat and wait out the spray of bullets that starts ricocheting off the car and cutting through the metal bay door. When there’s a lull in the spray, I hear a pair of boots moving rapidly in my direction. I wait until just the right second before jumping up and clotheslining the motherfucker. Then I drag him behind the car and mount him, grabbing a fistful of hair and slamming his head against the concrete.
The first blow knocks him fucking stupid, and the next sends him into oblivion, but I don’t stop there. I allow the rage to take over, and the monster revels in the blood that covers my skin and spills onto the old cracked concrete. I’m in the zone, everything around me non-existent. The smell of iron assaults my senses, only escalating my murderous high, as what was once bone meeting concrete turns into splintered fragments and a bloody mass of brain splatter.
Only one thing has the power to reach me in this state: my brother. His roar echoes through the garage in chorus with a spray of bullets that draws closer and closer. I jump up quickly, fear gripping me, only to see him splitting the final man in half with an unchecked onslaught of gunfire. Horror flits through me as he charges around the car and bursts through the closed wooden door.
My feet can’t move fast enough. I’m behind him within seconds, but it’s still too late. Harold King has the barrel of his Glock shoved to Ivan’s temple, and my brother’s limp hand drops his Uzi to the floor. In the back corner, Madeline is seated in a chair with a swollen purple eye and blood dribbling down her chin from a busted lip. William King stands next to her with the tip of a knife shoved into her side.
“Drop your weapon,” Harold says smugly.
The choice I face is a horrifying one, but this motherfucker has no goddamn idea who he’s dealing with. I’m a cold, calculating, uncomplicated man. Not much matters to me, and though I feel for Madeline, she isn’t my fucking brother.
There’s only once choice for me.
And Ivan knows it.
In the same second I lift my arm, he stomps Harold’s foot and shoves him backward just enough so he can get out of harm’s way. My bullets zip through the air and thud into Harold’s soft flesh, causing him to stumble with each new impact.
I continue until my gun is empty.
My brother is on his feet and charging at William like a mad man, but his action causes a reaction. William stabs the knife low into Madeline’s abdomen and twists just as Ivan hits him full force, knocking them both to the ground.
I don’t waste time on Madeline. I’m not the one she needs.
Instead, I grab my knife and take several large strides before shoving Ivan to the side. I plunge the blade into William’s heart and twist before yanking it out to allow the blood to pump out with every pitiful beat he has left. The look of shock in his eyes as his life dwindles to nothing satisfies the monster and sends him back to his cage to bask in all the blood he’s spilled today.
I look to Ivan, who hasn’t moved a muscle, momentarily stunned by the ferocity of my actions. “Madeline needs you,” I say firmly. “Now!”
His eyes clear and he scrambles to his feet, hurrying to lift her from the chair and lay her across his lap. She’s
