Bratva Boss’s Secret Triplets by Bella King

Chapter 2

Alan

My hands tremble, sweat leaking into the tight cracks of the textured plastic grip that’s wrapped around the handle of my pistol. It normally holds fifteen rounds, but Peter gave me an extended magazine for the occasion. He told me to use all twenty-four rounds this evening.

That’s easy when you don’t have to aim. I’ve shot people before, but I’ve never done something quite so reckless as this. It feels like the perfect way to end up in prison.

I’ve been there, but never for more than simple drug possession and a misdemeanor assault charge.

Tonight, my crime record gets a little more serious, but I said I wanted to prove myself. I’ll do anything to be a part of the Saint Gray Mafia. They take care of their members unlike the street gangs I grew up with. They have honor and values.

Being raised in a group home made me an easy recruit for Saint Gray. I had spent the last five years of my life being abused by the older kids in the home, and since I was smaller than them, I had almost no chance of standing my ground. Saint Gray gave me a family.

The price for a family like this is high, but when you had nothing and nobody growing up, you’ll pay anything to know what it’s like to feel like you’re a part of something bigger than yourself.

I grip my pistol tighter, taking a long breath as the silver sedan rolls through the apartment complex in search of a particular vehicle. Peter told us to take a silver car because they’re already so many on the road. We’ll be able to disappear in traffic even if someone reports the crime.

Someone will report it. It’s inevitable when you’re shooting in a crowded apartment complex that someone is going to see it. It’s not even late enough for people to be sleeping. They will rush to their windows at the first sound of gunfire.

There are two of us shooting – Jonathan in the back seat and me in the front. I don’t know the driver’s name, but he says he’s done this about a dozen times already.

That doesn’t make me much calmer about it. It only takes one time getting caught to land a life sentence for something like this. They don’t go easy on people who already have criminal records, and gun charges are almost always serious.

I know the license plate we’re looking for, but my eyes can barely focus outside of the tinted window. I keep having to dig my knuckles into my eyes, whipping away the sleep that threatens to settle there. I always get tired when I’m stressed out. Maybe it’s the adrenaline.

“I’m doing another round,” the driver says, shaking his head. “Watch the fucking plates this time.”

I look back at him, studying the serious creases that have found a permanent home on his forehead. He’s pissed off about this. I don’t think he wants to be here any more than Jonathan and me, but that doesn’t make a lick of difference to Peter. He makes the rules, and we just follow them.

“That fucker probably isn’t even here. Someone tracked him to the wrong address,” Jonathan says. His tone sounds like he’s pleading the driver to leave, but he’s trying to sound strong and commanding.

“We’re doing rounds until you assholes find the damn car. Peter said we ain’t leaving until the job is done,” the driver barks back.

I turn back to the window, looking out and trying to read the license plates again. I don’t want to find the one we’re looking for, but I also want to be the first to see it. I don’t want Jonathan getting the credit that I deserve for this hit. I need to look good for Peter.

I doublecheck the magazine before I look back to the building. It’s full, but I’ve had nightmares were I put in a full clip and it’s empty when I pull the trigger. I know it’s impossible for it to be empty by the weight of it in my hand, but I still check it anyway. I know through experience that nightmares don’t only exist in our dreams.

“There it is,” Jonathan blurts, causing me to focus back outside of the car again.

Dammit, he found the license plate before I did. I’m such a fucking idiot. I’m always worried and that’s why I fuck up. Peter doesn’t trust me because of that. He’ll never trust me if I don’t get my shit together.

I tighten my grip around my pistol. I wish Jonathan would get his fucking head split open my a bullet one of these days. He’s always following Peter around like he wants to drop to his knees and suck his cock or something. I fucking hate that prick.

I take another slow breath, reminding myself that finding the car isn’t the point of this hit. I’m supposed to empty the entire clip into the side of that apartment building, and if our target ends up dead, then I’ll be seen as a hero.

I just have to squeeze the trigger twenty-four times. I can do that. I don’t even have to count. I’ll just squeeze it without even aiming, and the magazine will be empty in seconds.

“Get all the units,” the driver says as he stops the car and shifts it into reverse. “We’re not moving until we hear sirens.”

I look up at the building behind the expensive black car Jonathan identified. It’s three stories tall and holds at least six units out front. I try not to think of all the innocent people who are living here. We don’t know which unit our target is in, so we’re going to have to shoot at all of them.

The driver stops the car again, this time immediately in front of the apartment building. He turns off the car, pulling the keys out and placing them into his lap. “Alright boys, get to shooting.”

Jonathan already has his window rolled down, and he doesn’t hesitate to fire the first shot. It hits the cheap side paneling of one of the units, making a small hole in it as it enters.

I can do better than him.

A shape moves in one of the windows. It’s probably one of the residents coming to check the sound. I lift my pistol and aim it at the glass as I roll my window down. This is my chance to be the hero, but I feel more like the villain.

The first shot is a shock to my entire system. Sickness lurches in my stomach, threatening to eject my small lunch out onto the road. The second shot comes quickly, and I stop thinking as the third and fourth ring out.

The air is filled with the frantic pop of two men trying to prove themselves worthy of being in the Saint Gray Mafia. The figure that was in the window disappears, but I don’t care about who I kill. Adrenaline has taken over, and my mind goes blank.

I’m numb to the experience, like a ghost watching my body move as I participate in felony murder.