I watch the empty street below, filled with adrenaline and anticipation. This may be a ploy to help me and my family escape danger, but that doesn’t mean I can’t release a bit of frustration first. There will be a good ten minutes of fighting before word of this trap gets out, and it’s only then that I’ll leave to grab Cat and Oscar—but those ten minutes of fun won’t be for completely selfish reasons. I need to see with my own eyes that this is working; there isn’t anyone else I trust more to tell me when the exact right time to leave is.
Suddenly, my line of sight is accosted by a bright light.
Good. That’s the signal. Dante’s men are coming. Beside me, Jesus takes out a piece of glass and responds. We’re ready.
Through the quiet stillness of the empty block, I hear a rumble off in the distance. Fuck. I knew there would be a lot of heavily armed men coming this way, but I wasn’t sure what kind of vehicles they would have on them. That rumbling sound has made it clear that they have a tank escort.
Well, it’s a good thi
ng we brought a fucking rocket launcher.
Jesus nudges me and I nod over at him. This is going to get even more destructive than I had originally thought. It will be a nice distraction from my domestic problems.
So many will die...
This is no time to grow a conscience. The first of Dante’s men are marching around the corner now. They’re followed by bullet proof SUVs with machine gun artillery and more men with more guns.
Under normal circumstances, we’d be far outgunned, but we’ve placed enough explosives along this street to blow everything to the moon. Now, we just have to wait until these motherfuckers get far enough in...
Suddenly, my eyes catch a horrifying sight.
No. Fuck. FUCK.
A woman is being pushed up through the approaching ranks. She stumbles ahead until she leads the pack. Her hands are tied behind her back, tears stream down her puffy cheeks.
It’s Lady.
They caught her. How the fuck did they know to do that!?
I watch in a shocked daze as the portly old maid is pushed ahead with the barrel of a gun at her back. She scuffles forward, each step looking like it could be her last. The poor woman...
She’s walking right towards the explosives. My first instinct is to call off this attack, but then the rational side of my mind grabs me around the neck and knocks some sense back into me.
This is too important. If we succeed here today, we not only strike a huge blow against Dante, but I also get the chance to whisk my family off to safety. One more woman dying seems more than worth all of that...
But Catalina’s guilt won’t let me look at this objectively... or is it my guilt? I can hardly tell the difference any more. Lady isn’t just anyone. She helped Catalina when she was at her lowest; she’s risked her life to look after Oscar; she was probably out grabbing groceries for my family when someone picked her up...
Still, three years ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated. Hell, I’ve allowed people like Lady to die countless times before, all in the name of chasing power. My empire was built on the bones of friends and foes alike. Sure, I never kill friends, but sometimes people die in the chaos.
The old me and the new me duke it out as I watch Lady approach. There’s no fighting how bad I feel for her; she looks terrified. Her steps are short and heavy and her arms look like they’ve been tied for far too long; there’s also a bruise around her eye...
There’s a bruise around her eye.
Suddenly, it hits me.
Why the fuck did it take me so long?
Lady’s been roughed up, but why? Isn’t it fucking obvious!?
They were trying to get information out of her! Lady may be heroic in the history of my little family, but how tough can an old maid like her really be? If her captors asked the right questions, I have little doubt that she told them about Cat... and maybe Oscar, too.
My heart falls and my vision tunnels. My family is in danger. Cat and Oscar are in more danger now than ever before, and I’m not there to protect them.
The battle for my conscience evaporates in lieu of more pressing matters.
“Call off the attack,” I order to Jesus as I unstrap the AK-47 I have hung around my shoulder.
“Where are you going!?” he calls after me as I jump in through the nearest window and sprint for the staircase.