I stayed just behind. The place smelled like cigarettes and fast food oil. It was heavy and pungent, like these people had lived on nothing but McDonald’s for the last few weeks. Wrappers were left on the table and fry boxes were piled on the counters.
I wanted to scream with terror. Connor was just below my feet, tied up to a chair.
The living room beyond the doorway was empty. Juan took a step forward, then another step, sweeping his gun around.
The TV was on, playing some soccer game on mute. I didn’t recognize the team—it looked like a foreign league.
A cigarette still burned in the ashtray and a half-finished beer stood pooling condensation beside it.
Juan moved forward again.
“I think someone’s here,” I whispered, heart beating rapidly. The cigarette, the drink, the game—
Juan turned to look back at me just as someone roared and threw himself forward, smashing into Juan and knocking him sideways against the wall.
The deafening report of a pistol ripped a scream from my throat.
* * *
Mack
They were just standing around talking.
I couldn’t believe it. I watched everything through the scope of the rifle, moving from target to target, making my plans.
They just kept talking.
The Doyle family stood around like they were waiting for pizza to show up. Meanwhile, the Lionetti family was in position, ready to strike, but they weren’t moving.
They just kept going over the plan, again and again.
I wanted to scream. How could these indecisive little children run a powerful mafia family? If I were in charge of this hit, I would’ve killed half the Doyle family already, and held the rest of them hostage. Once the goods arrived, I would’ve traded a life or two for control of the vehicle, then killed the rest.
Easy. Plenty of blood, but easy.
Instead, it was like these children didn’t want to hurt anybody, and it drove me crazy.
Five minutes dragged past and finally some action. Down below, the Doyles started getting excited. A big rental truck lumbered down the road toward them, the kind of vehicle that could fit a whole lot of drugs in the back. It pulled into the parking lot, turned around so its back faced the majority of the Doyle guys, and killed the engine.
The Doyle goons moved forward and opened the back.
It was packed with brick on top of brick of heroin.
“Holy shit,” I said.
“Holy shit,” someone said over the radio. “Team One, goods have landed, get moving. Sniper, eyes on the driver. Take him out when you get a chance.”
“Roger that.”
My finger brushed against the trigger like a lover’s thigh.
Like it was Fiona’s lips.
Below me, Team One came sprinting around the corner, guns out and ready. The Doyles started shouting and getting into cover, but nobody fired a shot, not yet at least. The Lionetti guys rushed the truck and were screaming at the Doyle guys, who were screaming right back.
What a pain in the ass. Still no fucking shooting.
So I took matters into my own hand.
One of the Doyle guys was crouched down toward the side of the truck. I lined up a shot, took a deep breath, and as I exhaled, I squeezed the trigger.
The rifle bucked against my shoulder and the Doyle guy’s head exploded.
I pulled the bolt and prepared another shot.
But that was enough to get the whole party started.
Lionetti and Doyle men began firing wildly. More Lionetti family guys flooded down from inside the school itself, which meant they were right below me the whole time—good thing they didn’t come up to the roof or I would’ve been fucked. As they approached the Doyles, flanking them, I started the slaughter.
One after the other, I aimed and killed.
Lionetti men fell under my rifle. The Doyles did a decent job and killed a fair number themselves, but they were outnumbered and outgunned. I was right at least—the Lionettis did bring most of their strength.
I cut them down like leaves on a tree.
One shot after another. I blew open a skull, splattered a man’s heart across the pavement, ripped open another’s guts. I left blood like paint on a canvas, killing and killing and killing, over and over with each shot.
I didn’t feel a fucking thing.
I was made for this moment, trained and hardened my whole damn life. Evgeni wanted to make me into a killing monster and now I served my purpose, squeezing the trigger again and again, taking a life with each shot. I paused to reload then began the slaughter again, wiping out all of Team Two, then Team Three, then half the Doyles, until my shoulder hurt from firing, my ears rang from the noise, and only corpses remained down in the parking lot.
I watched for a few minutes then stood up and headed downstairs.
The Lionettis left some gear behind. I helped myself to a new gun before I stepped out into the sunshine.